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impala-dreamer · 5 months ago

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Worn Out Leather

A Supernatural Story

~ It isn't easy, but you know when it's time to go.~

Dean Winchester x Reader

5,267 Words

Warnings: Super Relationship Angst. Sexual Scenes. Show-Level Action and Blood.

A/N: This stands for my "strained relationship" square for @jacklesversebingo Hope you enjoy! If you've ever had a breakup like this, you probably won't get through without tissues... just FYI.

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Things hadn’t been right in a long time.

There were vicious fights that erupted out of nowhere. Fists found their way into walls, biting words struck their targets, eyes glared like daggers.

It hadn’t felt like love in a long time, but neither wanted to admit it.

There were good times too. Late nights spent passing a bottle back and forth, roaming kisses that sent tingles down their spines, hands reaching for each other in the dark.

Once upon a time, it had been love. Whether true or imagined, passion-fueled or written in the stars, it had been there.

It had been something altogether different for each of them.

Now, Y/N sat on the bed, propped up by a stack of dying pillows. Her legs were crossed and her fingers gently turned the pages of an old book she’d found in the library. Something about it had struck her fancy hours ago, but the pale, handwritten words inside were now blurs on the yellowed pages. Her attention was gone; her mind was somewhere else.

She stared off into nothingness, lost in the void between her eyes and the edge of the bed. If she was calm enough, she could see flecks of dust dance like snowflakes in the light, cast down like disobedient angels from heaven, floating on the warm air coming from the vents above.

She didn’t notice when he walked in and didn’t bother to tear her gaze away from the dust.

He did what he always did before coming to bed.

First, he tugged off his flannel and tossed it onto the desk chair. Then, he sat on the foot of the bed and lifted his right leg. With a dramatic flourish, he tugged the frayed shoelace end and whipped it into the air, undoing the knot.

She watched as he worked- one boot, and then the other. The thick muscles of his shoulders tensed then relaxed, and long the line of his spine bent then straightened. She used to love watching his body move. Loved his broad shoulders, and trim hips. She loved to stare at the nape of his neck, the soft spot where his hair stopped and his freckles started. Loved to think about running her lips across the velvet of his skin and feeling the short hairs tickle her cheek.

Now, she stared with ice shards in her gaze, wondering if he would even speak to her before going to sleep or if another night lingering in heavy silence was their fate.

His voice all but startled her, knocking her thoughts far away.

“You still mad at me?” he asked. His chin was turned towards her over his shoulder, but his heavy eyes refused to lift to meet hers.

Y/N clenched her jaw. “Yeah.”

Dean exhaled loudly in a huff that hid a thousand harsh words. “Awesome.”

‘Was it awesome?’ she thought. Had it ever been? What were they fighting so hard to keep?

She turned the page with such annoyance that the force of it nearly ripped the fragile paper. With similar angst, Dean ripped the blanket back on his side of the bed giving it a tug. Y/N sighed curtly and closed her book. She moved slowly while he waited, knowing that he couldn’t move again until she placed her book on the nightstand and got up off of the blanket. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and curled his fist into the blanket corner.

Finally, she moved and he pulled the blanket down for both of them to crawl beneath.

The mattress didn’t move as they slid into their respective places. The foam remembered them, how they used to curl into each other’s sides; how Dean would rest his head on her shoulder while he slept, or how Y/N would twist herself inwards and hide in his left side after they made love. It remembered everything that was gone, and adjusted without judgment to their new positions. Dean hugged his pillow and turned towards the right, almost teetering on the edge. Y/N lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling until her eyes burned and she succumbed to the depths of sleep. No foot passed the invisible barrier between them, no hand roamed to caress a sore back, no body shifted closer seeking warmth.

The line had been drawn and neither dared to cross it.

Dean punched his pillow and settled into it, desperate to find a bit of comfort in the synthetic down.

“Night.”

His voice was soft to her ear but the tone was like knives on slate.

Her stomach tightened.

“You don’t even want to talk about it?” she asked, already sure of the answer.

Dean sighed. “Not really.” He shifted, bending his left knee and turning farther away. “Not if you’re just gonna yell at me.”

Tears burned in her chest. She could feel them coming but she fought to keep them down. “Oh, right.” She sucked her teeth hard. “Because that’s all I do. I yell and you do nothing.”

“Here we go.” Dean groaned and tossed back the blanket, sitting up. He leaned against the headboard and scrubbed a hand down his face. “So?” He turned to look at her and Y/N pursed her lips, finally looking at his face.

He looked so done, so tired.

‘Do I look like that?’ She pulled in a deep breath, struggling to keep the anger and stave off the tears. “So what?”

Dimples popped above his lip. He closed his eyes. “So talk.” He threw his hands up in surrender. “You wanna talk, so talk.”

How strange that months ago, the same words would be used to comfort her, to coax out whatever was hurting her and help find a solution. How did love curdle so easily?

She dug her nails into her palm. “No.”

“No?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Now you don’t want to talk?”

Y/N shook her head.

“Fine.”

Giving up, he sank back down and pulled the blanket up over his shoulder.

“Goodnight.”

It was so final, so firm, that Y/N started to shake.

“You such an asshole, Dean,” she spat. “You don’t even care what you’re doing to me, do you?”

It wasn’t fair, she knew. He wasn’t doing anything to her that she wasn’t doing to him, but still, she couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t stop fighting. When the fighting stopped, they were really done.

Without a word, Dean rolled out of bed and reached for his robe. He shrugged it on and huffed loudly as he tied the sash around his waist.

Y/N watched with teary eyes as he turned away and headed to the door.

“Where are you going?”

His jaw twitched and green eyes narrowed on her face. “I don’t want to sleep next to someone who hates me.”

The words landed on her chest like an anvil and her breath fell away as he slammed the door.

“Dean…”

Something was broken. Inside him, maybe, but between them most definitely.

Dean traveled the hall, his bare feet sticking slightly to the tiled floor. For a moment, he thought to go back for his slippers, but he knew that was more trouble than it was worth. She’d be curled up on the bed crying, he’d be resentful of her tears, they’d yell at each other and neither would get any sleep.

Cas’ bedroom door was open so he snuck inside and flipped on the light. In the back of the desk was a pint of whiskey that he’d stashed a million reasons ago, and he hoped there was something left.

His prayers were answered and Dean pressed his lips to the cold glass bottle, closing his eyes as he took a long drink.

Maybe he should just man up and end it already. Why was he hanging on to something that was too broken to mend?

I still need her, he thought. But why? What was the magic power she had over him? Sure they had fun together. She was a hell of a hunter. She was clever. She was quick-witted and sassy. She was beautiful. But the constant arguments and bloody knuckles were wearing away at his soul. He was exhausted.

Dean sat on the foot of the bed and took another drink. The bottle was only half full and he knew it wouldn’t be enough to push the pain away. Wouldn’t stop him from trying though.

Her footsteps had been silent but the door creaked loudly. She stood in the doorway with wet cheeks and hurt in her eyes.

Dean looked up and felt that familiar tug in his chest. He reached out a hand and she came to him, slowly crossing the threshold and meeting his touch.

When her hand slid into his, he knew why he wouldn’t leave. He needed her. Needed a warm touch after a long day, needed some comfort after forty years of scars and trauma.

He turned his wrist and bent to kiss her hand. He lingered there: chapped lips on warm, soft skin. She didn’t pull away, didn’t make a sound.

He couldn’t break away, couldn’t let her go. Not yet. Not ever.

Y/N took in a shaky breath and lay her right hand on his head. Lightly, she ran her fingertips over his scalp and Dean sighed, melting into her touch.

When he tugged her closer, she didn’t protest. When he laid back and brought her with him, she went willingly.

They kissed like it was the last time: long and slow, drawing out every movement, every breath. Her back arched under his groping palm; he hissed against her ear as she tugged down his shorts.

Y/N spread her legs for him and Dean dove down, kissing the length of her body, hitting every spot he knew she loved, every inch that he had memorized over their time together.

He brought her up fast with his mouth and broke the dam with the crook of two thick fingers.

She clawed at his back, held on tight to his strong arms. Rolling her hips against him, she begged with sad eyes and desperate moans.

Lightning passed between them, igniting every pleasure receptor, sparking something akin to love deep inside, but it faded too quickly.

They lay naked and panting on Castiel’s abandoned creaky bed, each one afraid to speak and shatter the moment.

At least there’s one thing that’s still good.

Three months earlier, Y/N had mistaken a stranger’s intense flirting for everyday kindness, and watching the scene unfold had driven Dean into such a jealous rage that they screwed in the back of the Impala for over an hour while he tapped into kinks she’d only ever peeked at. He called her a slut and she scratched lines down his back. He slapped her cunt and she cried out in ecstasy. He bruised her wrists, and she damned near drew his blood. They reclaimed each other in the dark misty night behind that club in Denville.

Now, he sat on the opposite end of the bar, forehead held up by one hand as the other toyed with the rim of his whiskey glass.

Y/N’s voice carried over the crappy music to his ear but he didn’t bother turning her way. She was saddled up next to a tall blond man with giant arms and a shirt so tight she could trace every cut in his chest and abs with her eyes. He was spending a fortune on top-shelf vodka that she drank down like water, edging ever closer as the minutes ticked by. Keeping one eye on Dean, Y/N laughed wildly at the man’s unfunny jokes, smiled coyly, and bit her lip to entice him. He was smitten but she couldn’t care less. She just wanted Dean to give a shit. To show a hint of that animal who’d torn her panties to shreds and sucked her nipples so hard that they hurt for the next two days. She wanted him to rush over and push the hipster douchebag away, rightly claim his property, and dare anyone around to say anything about it as he escorted Y/N to her waiting punishment.

She wanted him to notice.

She wanted him to want her.

He kept his attention on the amber solace of his drink and ignored her fake laughter.

As her suitor leaned to whisper a proposal in her ear, Dean tapped his fingers on the bar, ordering another drink.

Her stomach turned at the man’s disgusting premise, but her heart ached for the man she used to know.

Dean knew what game she was playing, but it didn’t cut him any less. He drowned his feelings in the cheap stuff, ordering another while she ran her hands down the stranger’s chest. He clenched his jaw so tightly that his back molars hurt when he released the tension. He was boiling inside but refused to give in.

The bartender was a curvy young woman with creamy dark skin and tight curly hair that bounced with every step she took. Every time Dean called her over, she would smile enticingly and lean over on her elbows to give him a good shot of her cleavage. Rich brown eyes slid over his face with carnal interest and by the fifth whisky, Dean was drunk enough to give her the time of day.

Y/N peered over her date’s shoulder and saw Dean reach for the bartender’s hand, lightly resting his fingers on her delicate wrist. Her stomach burned and when he looked over at her, she dramatically slid her hand down the stranger’s arm and tugged him away from the bar.

Dean watched her leave, blond man in tow, her hips swaying in a display that made every dick in the place twitch. He cleared his throat, pushing away the hurt, and set his eyes back on the bartender’s crimson-painted lips.

He was still awake and drinking when she tugged her key from the motel room door and slammed it shut behind her.

Silhouetted in yellow lamplight, he looked like a villain waiting to attack.

Just as he’d done in the bar, she ignored him and dropped her stuff on the table, nearly knocking over the bottle of bourbon.

She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it onto the floor by his feet. She knew how much he hated it when she left her things all over the room. It was unsanitary and annoying. Digging in deeper, she kicked off her shoes one at a time, shooting them in opposite directions.

He drew in a heavy breath.

“Have fun?”

Y/N looked at him and wiped a finger at the corner of her mouth. “Sure did.”

The gesture made his stomach churn and he nodded slowly. “Good for you.” He took a drink, emptied the cheap plastic cup, and reached for the bottle. “Good… for… you.”

Y/N swallowed an angry growl and turned away.

Alcohol burned away his sense and Dean went on. “So glad you’re out there whoring yourself out to anyone who buys you a drink.”

She spun on her heel. “Excuse me?”

His eyes cut into her. “You heard me.” He downed a shot and reached for another.

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “That don’t change the fact that you just swallowed some other dude’s load.”

“Fuck you.” Her heart was racing, her muscles twitching for a bout.

He laughed bitterly. “No thanks. I don’t need your sloppy seconds.”

Y/N seethed. Her eyes narrowed. She took a step closer. “And what about you? I saw you drooling over that young thing behind the bar. Was she all you dreamed of? Did she squirm under you, Old Man? Did she scream your name?”

Dean slammed the cup down. The thin plastic buckled beneath his fist and tore. Whiskey puddled on the table but he didn’t care. “I didn’t touch her,” he said, voice hard and righteous.

“Sure you didn’t,” she laughed. “Probably wouldn’t let your drunk ass near her.”

She turned and he sprung to his feet, knocking back the chair as he went. The wood crashed to the floor, thumping on the worn green carpet. He grabbed her arm as she spun away and Y/N gasped loudly when his fingers dug into her flesh.

“Get off me!”

He grimaced but held tighter. “The fuck is wrong with you? You go off and fuck some guy and then come back here like we’re all good and you can just crawl into bed with me? Who the fuck do you think you are!”

The anger in his voice shot through her and Y/N shuddered. Biting back tears, she wrenched her arm away and stared up at him defiantly.

“You think you know everything, don’t you, Dean?” Somehow, she kept her voice calm and even. “You think you’re some fucking superhero and everything has to go a certain way for you. You’re the chosen one and the world has to bend to your whim. But I’ll tell you what you really are. You’re an oblivious, selfish asshole and you crush everything and everyone around you to dust. And one day, you’re gonna be left alone on this planet surrounded by nothing but the carnage you left behind and your own goddamned tears.”

Dean balked. His spine straightened and his eyes went wide. He took a step backward.

She’d gone too far, she knew, but it felt good to hurt him just a little bit more than he hurt her.

He blinked quickly to clear his vision and shove the waterworks back inside. He dropped his fists and ran his fingers across the hem of his flannel just to have something to do, some way to ground himself.

Shit.

Y/N softened, hating herself. “Dean, I’m-”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. Don’t.”

A tear escaped and slid down his left cheek.

Fuck.

Y/N watched it fall, wondering how he could leave it there, how the feeling of sadness trickling down his face didn’t annoy him into taking care of himself.

“I didn’t mean that-”

He chewed his bottom lip and she reached out, swiping the wetness away with her thumb before he could pull back.

“I don’t know why I said that, I just-”

He didn’t answer and it burned her more than if he’d yelled back. She pulled her hand back and held his tear in her fist.

Once upon a time she would have hugged him close, cradled his head, and let him cry into her shoulder. She would have soothed his pain, been a tourniquet for his soul, but now she was the blade.

Silence hung between them and Dean gathered himself up.

“I didn’t fuck her,” he whispered, cementing his earlier confession.

Y/N sighed and her shoulders fell. “Neither did I.”

Dean’s gaze fell to the ugly carpet and he took her hand in his. “I need some sleep.”

She squeezed his hand and nodded. “Yeah,” she sighed. “Me too.”

There are many reasons a simple case can turn sour and become a clusterfuck of epic proportions. A lack of credible witnesses or an uncooperative police force could slow things down. The lore might be wrong, the map may have changed, and the moon might shift phases in the midst of the investigation. There were a million things that could go wrong and the worst of them seemed to align in Pittsburgh.

The city was too big to sneak around in. The streets were packed with tourists converging downtown and stammering through the summer heat. Police Chief Warren had been overly dismissive of any reports of an odd nature and therefore threw out over a dozen eye-witness accounts, making things incredibly annoying and difficult when occult dealings started becoming more obvious.

The pair of recently arrived feuding faux F.B.I. agents was icing on the shitty cake. Partners Dunne and Jones worked the case, rushing through the gorgeous city and beyond, hunting a murderous crew that was dropping bodies up and down the Allegheny River.

Beyond case details, they barely spoke. If it didn’t need to be said, it wasn’t. If it had anything to do with their personal life, it was ignored.

Dean slept on the sofa.

Y/N stayed up most of the night staring at him.

She couldn’t tell through the dark that he was staring back.

They used to be a great team. She was fearless and he was protective. He didn’t know when to shut up, and she cleaned up his verbal spillage. They communicated with winks and nods; blinks spoke volumes. They were always in sync, always had each other’s back, and when things went to hell, they were there to patch each other up without judgment or placations.

Now the rhythm was gone. He went left and she took three steps back. She forged on, he was already back at the car.

It wasn’t easy, but the job needed to be done.

By two in the morning, they had tracked a trio of shape-shifting maniacs to a rundown townhouse on the edge of the city. Without mapping out a plan, Dean kicked down the door and Y/N rushed inside.

Bullets flew.

Fists collided; bones cracked.

Blood flowed from shallow gashes as the last shifter standing morphed into a tiger and slashed at Y/N’s shoulder. She screamed, tumbling down and rolling onto her back on the dusty floor. Dean heard her yell and raced to the scene, instantly taking aim.

From the floor, Y/N cocked her knees and steadied herself. She dug her heels into the floor and closed one eye, ready to fire.

As her finger hovered over the trigger, a shot rang out and the tiger fell. Blood sprayed across her face and she scrambled back as the animal collapsed at her feet.

“Damnit, Dean! That was my shot!”

Stashing his pistol, Dean shook his head. “Yeah, whatever. You’re welcome.” He leaned over and extended a helping hand, but Y/N shoved it away, refusing.

“I got it.”

“Let me help you,” he snapped.

Despite the pain in her shoulder, Y/N pushed herself up and spat a mouthful of blood at his feet. “I said, I got it.”

Annoyed, he threw his hands up and turned away. He jabbed at the corpse with a boot and sighed. “What the fuck are we supposed to do with this?”

Y/N looked down at the monster and shrugged. “I don’t know. Pretty sure the zoo’s closed at this hour.”

There was no way they could burn the bodies in town, so they piled them into the trunk and took off into the open pastures of Pennsylvania.

Silence hung thicker than the stench of death and Y/N sat with her head nearly out of the window. Anytime she went to speak, Dean turned up the radio. One notch on the dial for every word she didn’t say.

The blaze burned high and the tension between them matched its intensity.

Dean refused to look at her.

Y/N pretended it didn’t break her heart.

When the embers cooled to ash and the sun began to rise, Y/N kicked some dirt onto what was left and watched the last wisps of smoke dissipate.

“Shall we?”

Dean nodded without a word and fished the car keys from his pocket. The metal glinted in the virgin light and Y/N stared into the shine, praying that he’d say something, anything.

God wasn’t listening.

Dean drove the back highways like they were running from a nuclear attack. They headed west, away from the sunshine and into the boundless landscape of muted colors that transversed the country.

Y/N was balled up against the door, as far away as she could possibly get. She closed her eyes to the whipping wind and longed for an answer.

Dean watched her sighing into the breeze. There was a time when he was captivated by the small things like this. The way the wind lifted her hair and a gust stole her breath. The way her eyelashes graced the tops her her cheeks; the hint of a smile upon her lips. Now all he saw was another fight, a dense script of harsh words that neither could take back.

He took the next exit.

She sat up when the scenery changed and the long stretch of highway became a bumpy country road.

Without turning her head, she looked at him from the corner of her eye. She used to love to watch him drive. Loved how his thick fingers curled around the wheel, calloused hands on worn-out leather. Loved how his bowed legs fell to either side and he kept his left hand draped on his thigh. So comfortable behind the wheel, it was like the Impala was made for him. As if the metal was forged with him in mind. She used to love to watch him drive, to cuddle up at his side, drop her head to his shoulder, and relax as the miles flew by.

It was different now.

It was strained.

The magic was gone.

“What happened to us, Dean?” she asked, voice crackling over the drone from the speakers.

Hendrix played on and Dean shrugged. “Uh, we got our asses handed to us by a couple of shifters.”

She snapped the radio off and turned in her seat, denim sliding over leather as she tried to face him. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.” He leaned his elbow on the door and rubbed his forehead.

“So,” she took a steadying breath, already feeling the tears brew again. “So what happened?”

He bit his bottom lip and shook his head, too afraid to look at her lest he break down. This was it.

“I don't know.”

Y/N looked away and let her eyes burn as the tears gathered. If she blinked, they’d fall. If she took a breath, she’d break. She stared at the road, at the faded white line and blue attraction signs, wishing she could go back in time, do it all over again, do it better.

Dean cleared his throat and pushed on. They were about a day from home and he longed for the safety of the bunker. He wanted to see Sam and have a beer. He wanted to call Jody and ask her how to fix this mess. He wanted to crash on his own goddamned pillow and pull on his giant headphones and listen to some fucking records before he lost what was left of his mind.

Y/N was a million miles away and he had no idea how to reach her, how to fix what was broken between them. He still didn’t know which misstep had cracked the ice, but it was quickly shattering beneath his feet.

He snuck a look across the bench seat, wondering if she knew the answer.

She met his eye and something snapped inside her.

“Pull over,” she whispered.

His heart ached. “Are you OK?”

“No.” She sighed and looked away. “Pull over.”

She was done. All the nights lived in silence, all the chances he had to fight for them- it was too much. She was done.

Dean pulled off onto the shoulder and hit the hazards. He twisted towards her with concern in his gaze and a plea on his tongue.

She hesitated, hand hovering over the door handle, but when she gave him the chance, when she looked him in the eye, begging him to speak, there was only silence.

The door creaked open and her shoes hit the dirt. She grabbed her backpack from the backseat and slammed both doors shut.

Confused and broken, Dean watched her set off. He knew he needed to follow her, but his body fought him. His legs were like lead, his arms were numb.

She wouldn’t look back. She knew he wasn’t following her. The bag was heavy but she shifted it on her shoulders and took a deep breath.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t look back.

He called her name and she stopped walking.

Boots hurried behind her.

“Y/N-”

She shook her head but he didn’t give up.

“Where are you going? Come on-”

She sighed heavily and hung her head. “I’m done, Dean.”

“Done?”

A laugh bubbled up and she turned. “Don’t act surprised, Winchester.”

He licked his lips and shifted on his feet. “Look, I know things suck right now but-”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not just now. We- we haven’t been right in a long time. You know we haven’t.”

His stomach burned. “So that means you just walk away? You give up on us?”

Anger swirled. “This is not me just walking away. This is me climbing over the hundred million little reasons we don’t work and leaving. It’s for the best.”

“It’s not. No part of this is for the best.”

It almost broke her heart all over again. Almost.

“Come on, Dean. You’re sick of me. I’m nothing but a bitch to you lately, and you’re… half the time you’re mentally checked out. We can’t stand each other.”

He clenched his fists, his jaw, his resolve. “That’s not true!”

“It is. You know it is.”

“You can’t-” He swallowed hard. “You can’t leave.”

“I have to. It’s the right thing to do. There’s nothing else here and it’s all just a distraction. One of us is gonna get killed. Or worse.”

Heels spun in the dirt but Dean grabbed her arm. She looked down at it in shock and he retreated instantly.

“Please, Y/N. You can’t end this.”

If she’d ever seen him so hurt, so utterly heartbroken, she couldn’t remember. There was a darkness in his eyes that tugged at her soul.

“One of us has to.”

He closed his eyes and a tear trekked down his face.

Fuck.

“Please…”

She shivered. Her body was revolting against her plans, but her mind was set.

“I’m leaving, Dean. Unless you’ve got a good fucking reason for me to stay.”

His lip trembled. He searched for something to give her but there was nothing left.

“Just one…”

His eyes closed again and Y/N’s shoulders shook. She couldn’t stop herself from crying, but she could keep herself from caving.

“See- if you loved me at all, you could give me a reason. That would be enough.” She smiled sadly. “But you can’t say it. Because you don’t.”

He held her gaze, sadder than she’d ever seen him.

His voice cracked. “I do love you, but-”

Another laugh. Another pebble on the mountain. “You see? There shouldn't be a but. Love is love, Dean. Either you love me or you don’t.”

“It's not like that for me,” he said, barely breathing. “For us. This life, it-”

She cut him off with a hard shake of her head. “Do not blame the life.” She took a step closer and pressed her toes against his. “It's you and me right now. Either you love me or you don't.”

Kiss her. Grab her. Make her stay. You need her.

Dean couldn’t move. He couldn’t think.

The longer he stayed silent, the more sure she was.

Midday peaked above their heads and their tears dampened the gravel below.

Y/N placed her hand against his left cheek and pushed up on her toes to kiss the right. He closed his eyes and wrapped his hand loosely around her wrist.

“Please…”

She was all out of reasons.

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lunaroserites @lyarr24 @nancymcl @nix-rose @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @rosecentury @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05

#dean x reader #angst #jacklesversebingo23 #spn fanfic #dean winchester/reader

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carmyberzattosjournal · 28 days ago

Text

Entry 32: Wretched Chimera (Crossed Wires pt. II)

Screenshot credit: @boardchairman-blog

Continuation of Crossed Wires

Summary: Carmy's girlfriend (who he calls Darling) introduces him to impact play (flogger), and it wrecks his wiring. Smut.

Warnings: Swearing, impact play (flogger), safeword use, mentions of The Devil (Chef David), fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, handjob (barely), aftercare. (981 words)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi Original fiction sideblog: @midnight-fables

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for weeks.

02 Nov 2024

“What was that, pretty boy?” she cooed.

Her hands on my throat again, pressing up against the bottom of my jaw, trying to get me to look up at her. My bones were lead, muscles were steel cable, locked in place from this new sensation that was the cursed child, the twisted, wretched chimera of pain and pleasure. I couldn’t even piece together what the tension on my throat was because every fiber of my being got spiraled around a single concept: more.

She squeezed again, and my eyes rolled back, and I whined a high-pitched sound that embarrasses me to think about now. My head spun so violently that the only way I knew I was still upright was because my knees were aching.

“I asked you a question, Carmy.”

“More,” I choked out. Please, please, I am begging you, I am on my knees, please, hit me again. Please. Don’t stop. I am victim to this white-hot pleasure coiling ever tighter in my navel, you have to understand, I want more, I need more, I need to cum, this feels so good it might be fucking killing me.

The thing about tangling pain and pleasure together is that it fucking short circuits everything. Here, I have been taught through a lifetime of injury—fights on the playground, roughhousing with my brother, limbs getting twisted during wrestling, slices to my fingertips from knives, burns from hot pots, pans, baking dishes, sputters of oil, sauces, glazes, the screaming, unforgiving pain low in my spine. The blast of hellfire from industrial ovens, garlic, onions, peppers under my fingernails and in my eyes—I have been taught through a thousand little insults that pain was to be avoided.

She tightened her hand in my hair, used her grip to press the side of my face into the mattress, and struck me with the flogger again.

And pleasure? Pleasure, through that exact tumultuous lifetime, through that fucking cesspool of bullshit that I survived, remained forever out of reach, but it was this nebulous something that I was supposed to be chasing, right? That’s what the United Fucking States of Fuckery bashes into our heads at school, right? That we should do what makes us happy, whatever the fuck happiness is supposed to be—figure it out, it ain’t hard, its fucking happiness, you’re hardwired to seek it, dipshit. If someone as fucked in the head as me and figure out Darling feels like heaven and I want more of her, more of everything to do with her, then surely, anyone can figure it out. Pleasure is sought. Pain is avoided and pleasure is sought.

“Fuck!” my voice died halfway through the word.

I barely got another breath in before another sting erupted across my back. I didn’t even hear this one; my pulse was thundering in my ears too hard. I could feel how wet my sweatpants were, and if I wasn’t so wound up that I couldn’t fucking think, I might’ve shoved them down and stroked myself off to get release from the tension. Another strike. Far from sinew threatening to snap under a dull blade, an orgasm lay tensioned just out of reach, a longbow drawn past its failure point yet somehow still whole, threatening to explode into shards. My breaths came in ragged, lips stung when I grimaced at the next strike—this one exceptionally more painful, a raw sort of pain, like a smack over a sidewalk scrape—likely splitting from how chapped they were. How long had I been here? When did I close my eyes? How long had I been crying for?

So, you know what happens when you tangle the two of them up?

It fucking breaks you.

“M-mercy,” I mumbled, barely managing the word. The tension in my hair changed as Darling shifted her position. The flogger didn’t come down on my back, but that’s all that happened. “Mercy, mercy, mercy, mercy, please. Please, I need to cum… please, Darling…” Why did that sound like a sob?

Something thumped on the rug behind me. The hand that had my hair in a vice turned gentle, soothing, comforting.

“Shhhh, you’re okay—”

“’m not, Darlin’, please, mercy—”

“Okay. Okay, baby boy, come here.”

She tugged at my wrist, and I blindly followed the tension, crawling up and collapsing onto the bed. No sooner was I no longer holding myself up was her hand under my waistband and wrapped around my dick. She pumped me twice, and I came undone. I swear to whatever the fuck there is to swear to, I screamed into the bed. That white-hot pleasure in my navel? It surged through every inch of me, blazing a path of flames up my stomach, my chest, my throat, and into my face. A hot knife could’ve been carving Darling’s name in my back where the flogger did its work, and the scariest part of the whole ordeal is that I would lie there and let it. Carve your name into me. Why don’t you slice me open and tear back the sinew? Look at what’s left of me, Darling. You’re a surgeon; you can find The Devil’s claws in there, can’t you? You can get them out. You can keep my flames from choking everyone I love.

Cold on my back. Warm everywhere else. Comfortable. Cozy. No tension in my shoulders, no aching in my knees. No buzzing in my hands. Conversations from The Bear evaporated into the ether. Faint memory of pain between my shoulder blades, now succumbing to numbness from the ice pack. Fingers feathering through my hair.

“Hi, pretty boy.”

I blinked my eyes open and found Darling in my view, lying next to me, nose an inch from mine.

“Hi,” she whispered. “You okay? Lost you there for a few minutes.”

I nodded.

Yeah.

I’m more than okay, baby girl.

End Note: I'm still on my health break; turns out I'm just amiable to peer pressure. This one's for you @carmenberzattosgf and anon on Olive's blog

#cb journal #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #the bear #carmen berzatto smut #carmy smut #carmy berzatto smut

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aziraphales-library · 8 months ago

Note

Hey :) thanks for all you do for the fandom!

I was wondering, can you recommend any good (canon-verse) fics that have Crowley and/or Aziraphale being temporarily human or loosing their powers (and having to deal with what that entails)? I'm asking specifically for temporarily because I've found plenty that have them turn human for good but somehow couldn't figure out a way to search for ones where it's temporary.

Thank you already and I hope you have a lovely day!

We have a #turned human tag, and some of the summaries specify "temporarily", so look for those. There's not really a way to search for fics where there's not permanently human, other than skipping to the end to check. So that's what I spent ages doing...

Damned to Humanity by Justanothernerdsstuff (T)

“I thought,” Aziraphale said, his smile starting to shift. “That I was already excused from heavenly duties. Seeing how my last visit upstairs went,” He noted, silently thanking Crowley for stepping into that fire for him. “You were. But this,” He flicked the card towards Aziraphale and it swayed through the air until it rested at his feet. “Is much more than being excused. You’ve fallen,” Gabriel clarified. *** Aziraphale falls, but Hell doesn't want him any more than Heaven does. As a result, he is turned human. Trigger warning: the possibility of death is briefly mentioned.

human nature by attheborder (T)

When you’re talking about bodies locked in orbit, forever circling each other, it takes two to tango. Forces opposed; action and reaction. One, and the other. But the blank-slate version of Aziraphale sleeping beside Crowley in this cold little bed had no fear of Heaven, no fear of Falling. Not even a fear of snakes. He only had, as all humans did, the knowledge of good and bad, and the ability to make a choice. *** Crowley must turn Aziraphale human in order to hide him from Heaven. (Inspired by/fusion with Doctor Who’s Human Nature/Family of Blood arc)

Human Incarnate by nikkiRA (M)

“They think I’m immune to demon fire, see,” Aziraphale said, in a slightly airy voice. “So they had to… get creative.” “Aziraphale, what. Did. They. Do?” “Can’t you tell?” Aziraphale gave a little laugh. This must be what shock felt like. “Can’t you sense it?” He grabbed Crowley’s hand and pressed it to his chest, so the demon could feel his rapidly beating, very human heart. “I’m a human now, my dear. Very, very mortal.” Aziraphale is punished. Crowley refuses to accept it. Shenanigans, feelings, and plots ensue.

It's Not the Fall (It's the Landing) by Ginger_Cat (E)

To save each other from Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale and Crowley become human. Things, predictably, do not go as planned. Crowley thought about what he’d come there to do. He thought about what it meant, in the context of God’s warning. Really thought. There wouldn’t be hopping from restaurant to restaurant with his best friend for the next six thousand years (give or take). There wouldn’t be any more miracles, or tempting. There wouldn’t be any skirting Hell’s wrath for eternity. And when it was over, the deepest, darkest, horriblest pits would be reserved for him. Crowley said, “Will you make me human, too?”

The Human Dilemma by theshoparoundthecorner (G)

“That’s not possible. How could my eyes just change overnight?” Crowley snapped his fingers. The mirror remained stubbornly shattered. He looked up at Aziraphale, face pale. Aziraphale took a step forward. “Like I said, I think something’s happened.” “What’s going on? Why isn’t it working?” Crowley snapped his fingers again, his agitation growing. Aziraphale placed a hand on his shoulder. “Crowley, let’s leave the mirror be for now and talk this over. I’ll make us some tea, or coffee, or whatever you’d like. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to for either of us be around broken glass at the moment.” Crowley nodded, taking Aziraphale’s hand and stepping over the shards to safety. Aziraphale could feel his hand shaking in his. “Crowley,” he said, “I need you to take a deep breath.” “Why? I don’t need to breathe.” “Yes, I rather think you do. I think we both do.” “Angel, what is going on?” Aziraphale reached forward and placed a hand on Crowley’s chest, feeling a strong heartbeat racing beneath it. Crowley reached forward and did the same. “Crowley,” Aziraphale said after a moment, afraid to speak the truth into being, “I think we may be human.”

And because I know someone will mention it if I don't...

Pray For Us, Icarus by Atalan (Series) (G-T)

For three centuries, Crowley has been reincarnated over and over as a human with no memory of his past. Aziraphale has tried to find a way to restore him to his true self, but all he seems to do is hurt them both. This time, he only means to steal a brief moment when he walks into Crowley's flower shop. But Crowley can't let it go...

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #turned human #mod d

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woneuntonzz · 6 months ago

Text

𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖈𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖎𝖊 || s.mg x reader

An alternate universe of wizards, witches, and celestial beings

ꜱʏᴘɴᴏꜱɪꜱ: In the tales created by the rulers of mystic society, all the magic in the world came from a single stone —the White Diamond— and was bestowed to the world by the very first sorcerers that hailed from the heavens; the Keepers. Those tales turned out to be true. And now, an evil force seeks the the power of the White Diamond. This evil overpowered the Keepers, leaving you who had retired from being of high power. Now it is up to you to fight this evil and await the hero from the prophecy that is said to be the saviour of the world.

contains: angst, fluff, a dash of humor, slightly suggestive (just squint maybe?), combat and blood, fantastical, names and themes derived from greek mythology, angels and demons, use of spells and incantations, (an attempt) made up greek chant, telepathy, wizards and witches, and wands, extensive backgrounds

word count: 8.17k

[an: yes, there is a part two (and quite possible a three) after this week]

⛦ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ!

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭 .ᐟ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You’ve laid out a new batch of freshly baked cookies, straight out the oven and still bathe your face with steam. The smell of different cooked sugars and the aroma of the dozen flavors you had to offer whistled for customers that roamed the outside world. It was a heavenly time of the day, where wizards, witches and their children came with such delightful faces that wanted nothing more but a bite of your warm and delectable pastries.

“Lemon chiffon please, five slices.” the velvet-haired witch smiles at you with her pearly white canines, holding her son’s hand. The boy was about the height of your shoulders and he wore a junior wizard badge on his blazer.

“Coming right up!” your voice, jolly and as sweet as your baked goods, made them smile. You’d watch them from the corner of your eyes as you got them five slices of the lemon chiffon cake from the display case.

The bells chimed right as you went back to them. More customers had arrived as the sunshine warmed up the sorcerous lands.

Those were simpler times. When magic was as wonderful as they’d be in children’s fantasies. It was all gone. A dark force took over what was once the land of joy and enchantment, now an ominous place where it was all shades of black, gray, and blood. Then, no one would dare challenge the sentinels that watched over the mystic grounds, but they were all gone with what seemed like a snap of a finger. Evil reigned upon the kingdom of sorcerers, the king they praised and loved was slain and his head was hung at the Fountain of Tears, the very center of the land.

You had failed to aid the sorcerers at battle, concealing the last shard of the White Diamond —what the great Ahriman seeked that would give him all the magic in the world. He’d be unstoppable. You had it with you, ever since being brought down on Earth as a Keeper. The White Diamond was the source of all magic that ran through the very land you walk on. The dawn of mystic society began with the Keepers shattering the White Diamond, releasing its magic and finding its way to the wizards and witches of today. There was no use for the Keepers to hide such power as you were already granted with eternal life and sorcery at birth. Each shard was kept between twelve Keepers —including you, and with the progression of mystic society, you left the guardian life behind, settling at a cozy spot in town as a baker. It was no ideal life for some, but for someone like you who had endured thousands of years and hundreds of wars, it was the best gift life could offer. Living amongst the mortals, you carried a shard of the White Diamond, keeping it hidden with an obscuring spell.

You knew the time was bound to come, that one vicious soul would one day seek the power of the White Diamond. It was the sole reason why the shards were kept separately. It was in the prophecy.

“Destruction awaits your haven, and a sword with the devil’s essence…”

Ahriman was once a loyal servant of the south kingdom where there was no magic. He lost his family to an unforeseeable attack that killed a few dozen families. There was no truth to who might be the culprit, but Ahriman believed it was the mystic society. Blue flames and glittered fumes, it was magic, and he was certain it was the work of a sorcerer. Yet, there is no motivation for the mystic society to attack. With the lack of reason, Ahriman was hindered with his mission to seek vengeance and was locked away by the king. He spent two decades inside that dungeon, with pent up wrath and anguish. The spirit of Belial sensed the great power he withheld. Belial was banished under the oceans of eternal agony —Keeper Cordelia’s prison for banished spirits— but his power remained puissant, as his remaining disciples chanted his name he was able to whisper to Ahriman and grant him the strength of six armies. Ahriman escaped, leaving the walls of his prison obstructed. He was to come back to the south to kill the king, but not without the power of the White Diamond.

At the occurrence of those events, you were already retired from being a Keeper and surrendered your magic to the old Keepers’ well. You blended in with the mortals, using incantations and spells, and a wand granted to you by Keeper Zephyr as a token. They were your family, and they understood your reasons. Never did they question nor oppose your decisions. You’ve served well, and it is you who gave the mystic society its mystique. You found the White Diamond from the caves of the lost tribes, and the spirit of the tribes told you to shatter the diamond, and the fate of the society would be in the hands of the Keepers. It was from those spirits that you’d be given that prophecy. Along with Ahriman’s rule, was the rise of a hero.

“Young eyes you’ll meet, and he will wear the darkness when he returns. He is the might of the society, his heart is the true yielder of the White Diamond and he will save a Keeper’s soul.”

The hero was yet to come. But you had to wait. You hoped that the hero was a sorcerer who can help you revive your magic from the well. Because after Ahriman’s attack on mystic society, what was once your sanctuary for your passions of tending to the wizards and witches, would become a desolate place for potions and wands bound to no possessors. You were in no power to resist nor attempt to fight the circumstances. You’ve had futile attempts at the well, unable to solve the Keepers’ riddles, and your magic would remain with the well’s dew. Ahriman’s soldiers would come into your shack thrice a week for duneberry serums to get rid of any wounds, relieve any pain. On occasion, they would stop by to retrieve special potions —that you had received a mandate letter for— that you could only guess was for battling and slaying the mystic beasts of the society woodlands. You’ve been given an order to brew silver hare drops at the time of Aries. It was used on weapons, splayed on blades. Once the solution is mixed in with a being’s blood, their heart will stop within the count of five seconds for smaller bodies, and twelve seconds for larger ones. You knew they visited your shop for a cruel purpose, under vengeful orders. You knew you shamed Keeper Fauna’s values. The mystic society was meant to house and protect those beasts because they protected the mystic from monsters that dare threaten the society’s inhabitants.

For years, you’ve been devising a plan to escape this land of chaos, and retrieve your powers from the well. And soon you’ll meet the hero in the prophecy and save the mystic society. It just won’t be very soon. Escaping was harder than living under Ahriman’s ruling. The sentinels became punishers, minds corrupted to serve the great evil. You did not have enough strength or magic to get past them, and they were near every means of escape. It was a seemingly impossible dream that you’ve fostered for a decade. And Ahriman was still on the hunt for the White Diamond’s missing piece. You knew by then that he had killed the other Keepers with Belial’s influence. You could hear Belial’s whispers again, that’s when you knew that he was coming back once he’s garnered all the power Ahriman had to offer to him through bloodlust. He would rise from the oceans of eternal agony with his army of undead wizards, then he would yield all the gold of Earth and call for the wrathful dragon, undefeated and fated to destroy the world, the gateway to Ragnarök, Flauros.

As long as the last shard is with you, Ahriman’s malevolent schemes will be thwarted. Nights left no room for sleep as you studied the shard. Tapping the end of your wand against its sharp edges, it creates small sparks that produce puffs of smoke and magic dust. It smelt of dew of the caves from which the White Diamond was found. The shard would illuminate when held, but it would be very meek. The first time you held the White Diamond —when it was still intact— its shine lit up the entire cave. The diamond as a whole emitted sparks of endless magic dust that landed all over your hands and all over your silk, translucent robe. The shard alone that you held in your hand at this very moment does not behave the same if not thoroughly meddled with.

“...his heart is the true yielder of the White Diamond…

and he will save a Keeper’s soul…”

It was midnight, and the sudden knock to your shop’s locked door spiked the fear in your nerves. It could be Ahriman’s soldiers —or Ahriman himself, coming to seize that last shard. You are defenseless without your magic, your wand and spells will never be enough to fight him or his men as they were granted power by Belial and were under his control. Belial’s spirit would only grow stronger, and soon, fragments of his consciousness would live within their souls. You feared that when you answered the door, you'd look straight into Belial’s eyes, like you did before when you sought to capture him. It was you who battled him with telepathy —the gift of your magic— and loss, your soul almost being eaten by him. Taking a deep breath, you unlock the door, sliding the latch off, you release some air, right before opening the door, just enough for you to peek.

But you would be met with nothing but the darkness of night. “To who’s knock have I answered?” you’ve counted the few seconds of silence —twenty long seconds, before a hand slightly pushes the door open. “You mustn't enter without your answer. To who’s knock have I answered?”

It was a man, and he would clear his throat before he sounded his response, “I am looking for the sorceress Y/n.”

He tried to push the door open, but you’d keep it still with your hand from the inside. “To who’s knock have I answered?”

“I am Mingi. I’m the son of the head witch of Celeste’s manor.”

Celeste —the name given to you by the Gods as a Keeper. You were one with the celestial bodies, their light giving you power to look into the minds of mortals and immortals alike, and control them. But you no longer had that power with you. “Inside.”

You spread the door open, finally seeing his full figure. He was dressed in black, a long coat and a homburg on his head. You meet his eyes that were the color of silver. You knew him, and his mother most of all —the only mortal that knew of your true self, the witch you’ve entrusted your treasures, crystals, and manor with, head witch Verbena. Your manor was a shelter to young witches who attend collegiate courses for sorcery, alchemy, and psychomancy at the mystic academy. You used to visit when you had the time, dropping off pastries for the witches, and for the little boy that ran through the halls to ask if you had brought his favorite. The little boy who asked for lemon chiffon cake, was now the man who stood before you.

“Why do you seek me?” you ask, rushing to lock the door behind him.

“You do remember me, right?” his voice was deep, yet anxious. “You knew my mother too.”

“Yes I do, Mingi.”

“Mom was killed by Ahriman’s soldiers.”

You were suddenly breathing thick air, your huffs becoming audible amidst the silence. “Verbena…” with your feeble utterance, Mingi removes his hat, revealing his fawn-colored locks, then he discards his long coat, hanging it over his forearm. He wore a black suit underneath, posh looking with silver motifs all over.

“I was called here by…” he avoids your eyes, looking for his next words within the cracks of the floorboards. “It was a voice in my dreams. I know it sounds crazy but—”

“Mingi, nothing will ever be crazy in our world.” you interrupt him, a soft chuckle leaving your lips as you speak.

“Right.” he clears his throat again. “The voice told me to go here. I know this used to be the town's favorite bakery, the voice was showing me that and told me to find the missing piece.”

Your eyes dilate, realizing he might be sent by Ahriman to steal the last piece of the diamond. “Mingi, who do you bow to?”

“Me? I-I bow to the Keepers.” he stutters, and you took a minute for yourself to grasp the tone of his voice and his mannerisms.

“The truth, Mingi.”

“I am telling the truth, sorceress.”

You find it pleasurable for him to refer to you as sorceress, you figured perhaps he must know you were a Keeper yourself. If you had your magic, it would be easy for you to tell whether he was being honest. But now you have to rely on your mortal instincts.

“Then, what is the missing piece?”

His eyes wandered around again for mere seconds before he sighed, “I don’t know for sure. My dream was quite discreet with the details.” he utters, eyes finding yours.

You watch as his gaze falls all over your features, examining your very stature. He motions as if he was about to say something, but then he hesitates and decides to not do so anyway. You walk closer to him, taking the coat off his forearm.

“Follow me.” you say as you walk to the back of your shop, into your room.

You could hear his heavy footsteps against the wood floor, creaking slightly. When you got inside, you realized you had forgotten to turn off the lights at the main area of the shop, “Sit down and settle yourself. I’ll be right back.” you placed his folded coat on your bed before you went and closed the lights.

It only took you a minute or two, but when you came back, Mingi was standing next to your workbench, where you had laid the diamond.

“Don’t touch that!” you kept your voice quiet, avoiding creating any noises that would draw in soldiers or punishers.

“I’m sorry.” he utters, dropping the wand in his hand that he used to poke the shard.

You walk over to him, picking up the wand. You were an inch apart as you stood from lowering yourself to the ground. You prod the end of the wand on his chest as a threat.

“I apologize, sorceress. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” his soft utterance made you gulp, for how matter how mellow he had intended for it to be, his voice was still deep, like Cordelia’s oceans.

“Sit down. Anywhere’s fine.” your back was already facing him when you spoke.

You heard your lounge chair squeak a tad, then silence followed after. You walk back to your workbench where you’ve laid out books and old scrolls, a few wands from the wizards that were executed by the Fountain of Tears, and a stack of papers —a map standing out amongst all of them. It’s a roamer’s map. You’ve met a wayfinder in one of your expeditions before. He was of tall stature, alike Mingi —but unlike the shadow dressed man, Yunho wore white and a cloak that could conceal anything beneath its material. He gave you this map just because it “felt necessary”. The roamers map shows everything within its area of perimeters —it takes up about the size of a country— and moving sites will change the map’s scope.

“Sorceress, can I ask you something?”

Your head averted from the map, snapping up at him. “Surely. Ask away.”

He nods, once again looking away like he’s forgotten his question. Though, it wouldn’t take him a while until he asked you, “You aren’t a mortal, are you?” you nod to his question, and he nods along. “You look exactly the same as when I was a kid.”

“Mingi, i’m…” you thought for a minute, thinking back to Verbena. Such a kind-hearted and honest witch. She’s raised Mingi all her life. You figured, you should trust him like how you did with his mother. “I’m Celeste.”

His reaction was calmer than what you had anticipated, he’d reveal just why quite soon. “So, that’s why you look like the portrait of Celeste in mom’s room.” he looks right into your eyes. “Why weren’t you with the other Keepers?”

“My magic is long gone, Mingi. Leaving the life of a Keeper means leaving the power granted to you too. I’m as equipped as any witch out there.” he nods at your words. You pick up the diamond shard on your workbench, holding it up for him to see. “This is the missing piece —of the White Diamond.”

He stared wide-eyed at the shard, taking in the way it shone softly in your fingers. “I— it’s real?”

“And the folktale about the mystic society being born out of the White Diamond is real, it’s our story.”

He stood up from his seat, still inspecting the shining diamond. “And it is you, Celeste, who shattered the diamond?” you breathed in, getting yourself seated at the edge of your bed. “When I was a kid, my mom would always tell me that Celeste had such a warm heart, and that she loved the mortals —you were all those things in our town’s folktales.”

You look away for a brief moment, wearing a soft smile as you reminisce about the kind of boy Mingi was. He shouldn’t be that different as a man —you think to yourself before bringing your gaze back to him. “Yes. I was all that —I believed all life on Earth deserved to be blessed with magic. Magic —it allows for one to truly understand the nature of the world.”

The corners of Mingi’s lips would rise. Then, he slid his hand beneath his suit at the area of his chest. He pulled out a red stone that hung from his neck, an amulet —and a familiar one at that. “My mom told me that my dad left this for her when he died but, I still don’t know what its purpose is.” his hands moved the back of his neck, reaching for the lock of the necklace.

He struggled for a while, and so you stood up and walked over behind him. He was startled to a fleet, but once he felt your hands undoing his necklace, he eased himself. You remove it from his neck once the lock is undone. You brought it closer to your vision, its back resting on your palm as your thumb brushed over the stone. It shone brighter as your skin glided on its surface, like the shard, only that this stone is red and slightly orange in the core. From the way it behaved in your hand, you could tell the stone was not in its purest form and was manipulated by sorcery, a spell of some kind.

“And your mother never mentioned anything else about it?” the stone remained in your hand, twinkling and glowing with every swipe.

“She said it’s for our protection. From Belial.”

“I see. It’s blessed with a spirit ward.”

The necklace would revert around Mingi’s neck, along with the warmth of your hand that sent currents throughout his body. He spent his whole life fantasizing about the tale of the Keeper, picturing himself as a Keeper, protecting and creating life, serving the people for the greater good. He was raised by a witch that honored the Keepers with her whole life, having been a close ally to one. Verbena was a witch rescued from Belial’s minions by Keeper Zephyr, and would serve great help with protecting the wizards and witches by keeping them in refuge. Mingi was born after the war with Belial, and it was also when you gave up being a Keeper. Verbena owed you her life, because it was from you that she learned how to brew potions of any nature, use any spells with ease, create talismans, and most of all, you entrusted her with your manor —and what used to be the Keepers’ headquarters. Ever since the war with Belial, the Keepers had agreed to guard the different bodies of the world. The oceans, the sky, the animals and the plants, and the people. Since then, the manor was unoccupied, and there would be no other wizard or witch worthy of your credence but Verbena. Mingi has heard all the great things about you, feeling almost as if he was undeserving to be in your premises, let alone your presence. His eyes never leave you as you move from behind him, back to where you sat.

“When I found the White Diamond, it came with… a prophecy.” you avert your eyes from his, setting your gaze on the tiny slit of your window that displayed half of the moon. “It was about Ahriman, though we'd never known it back then. But it also told me that there would be a hero to come.” you look back at him, right into his silver irises.

Mingi whose young eyes you’ve met, and now he’s returned to seek for you, wearing clothes that made him one with the night —he wore the darkness. And maybe, his heart truly is the yielder of the White Diamond.

“What’s taking him so long?” he questioned, like how he would when you could still lay a hand on top of his head.

You laughed. He would turn out to be a bit bewildered, but he’d smile, huffing out once but never laughing wholly. “Maybe he’s already here.” you chuckled when he shrugged, finding his actions adorable. “Then, Mingi, you must assist me. Your dreams brought you here for a reason.”

“Right, sorceress. I will do as I am told.”

You walked back to your workbench, urging him to come along with the tilt of your head. He towered over your figure, looking down at the variety of articles, looking down at you. Then, you were the one who had to kneel to meet his eyes, but now your head leaned backwards, looking up at him as you shared your plans. You would share your failures as well, and the hurdle of being unable to restore your powers, not knowing how it was even possible.

“Perhaps an incantation or spell would work?” Mingi’s overt suggestion only evoked a sigh from you.

“Believe me, I’ve tried everything. I won’t be able to regain my magic without any of the other Keepers. But we won’t be able to escape and meet any Keepers without that magic either.”

“Let’s visit the well. Maybe I might be able to help.”

“Really?”

“Really, sorceress. I wish for you to allow me to at least try. I promise none of us will get hurt.”

You spent the night with him, preparing for your little endeavor. You remember spending a whole night’s sleep by the well, crying to the Gods. It mustn’t be that difficult, yet you had no idea of how you’d be able to return to your Keeper-self. It only added to the weight of your sorrows, already a heavy load from the destruction of the mystic society and the loss of thousands of wizards and witches. When the people need you the most is when you’re unable to grant the aegis you had promised them.

The sun had just woken up when you and Mingi had set out to head to the Keeper’s well. You were both equipped with just enough in case of a mishap —bringing the shard along with you. You took the liberty of exiting from the back of your shop that led to a deserted alleyway. There were still a few eyes roaming around the area, but not very threatful ones. Reaching a more populous area, you stick close to Mingi, your hand holding on to the sleeve of his coat.

“Take my arm.” he says, and you would do just that, entangling your arm around his.

At a sudden instance, an Ahriman soldier catches your attention from the corner of your eye. If you weren’t so vigilant, you wouldn’t have caught up on the way he looked at the pair of you.

“Ahriman’s soldiers roam this area. You really should’ve left the coat.” you whisper to your company.

And he whispers back, “Oh, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my trademark.”

“Tradema—” your query was cut off by a loud and excruciating bang, and a small fire building up at the little shack you and Mingi stood by.

“Sorceress, this is where we run.” he takes your hand in his, pulling you along with him, but you would only reach a meter before one of the soldiers came lunging at you.

Mingi was quick to react, drawing his blade from its sheath. His forearm catches the man by his chest, his blade moving to a speed the mortal eyes could never follow. A heap of blood escapes the soldier’s mouth as Mingi penetrates his abdomen. Another soldier came to strike, but this time you took care of it, ducking and booting his calf making him lay flat on his back on the ground. That’s when you whipped out your wand, casting a spell on him that made his mouth foam. Three other men would come running your way, and Mingi would rush in front of you to shield you from them. He takes one man by the arm, and it fascinated you. The man’s arm was out of reach, but it would seem as though a mass of wind blew the man to Mingi’s reach. And he was moving at a speed of no wizard. He kills off three men with little trouble, and when he turns to you, you have your eyes laid on him whilst also having a man's throat in your hand and you’d strike the man with the same spell you used earlier.

“Let’s take a run, shall we?”

“After you, sorceress.”

Just before the other soldiers came, you two had already disappeared from the site, running off to the mystic woodlands. Reaching the Keeper’s well meant following a maze-like path, or else, you won’t be able to go through the barrier that conceals it. It was an enchantment of protection by Keeper Fauna.

“That’s awesome.” was all that Mingi could utter once explaining to him how to get to the well.

You had the map in your hands. Yunho had marked the pathway you were to take, a thought for a thought, he knew you’d need it eventually, but he only took that extra step because you’re his favorite Keeper.

“You have to stick close, we can’t stray away from this path, not even a single step.”

“And the animals?”

“You won’t have to worry.” your eyes find his own, looking up at him the same way you did back in your room. “They know how to sort rotten souls from good ones.”

Mingi nods, taking a breath of the heated air. He takes off his coat, feeling the warm morning all over his body as sweat builds up all over him. A Keeper’s eyes are reserved —you repeat to yourself, but you’d be watching him through your peripheral as he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the clean side of his coat’s sleeve, then he removed his gloves, wiping his palm and the back of his hand on the sleeve.

“Won’t you remove your cloak? it’s getting real hot.”

You profusely shake your head, “I’ll be fine.”

He gives you a small smile for a brief moment before his eyes leave you. He started wiping the sweat on his neck, throwing his head back to wipe thoroughly. You felt a little silly just standing there, so you went and got yourself seated on an outcrop —a large rock. You could feel his eyes pinned on your figure as you moved yourself. Your back was facing him, allowing for you to have room to finally realize how hot it actually was. So with a sigh, you unfasten your cloak, allowing for it to fall down, leveled with your waist. The fabric hung onto the back of your elbow, your collar bone and bare arms now exposed. From the back, Mingi could only stare. Your top was cropped just above your waist, and the rest was covered with black, translucent silk, but maybe too translucent. You feel Mingi’s presence next to you. He sat in the opposite direction, but was right next to you. His bottom was aligned with where your knees rest, so he could see all of you, now from the front. You tilt your head at him, and he’d do the same, raising his brows. You shake your head, suppressing a giggle. Somehow, he captures your eyes. The silver shine in them was pure allure to you. It was like refined dark magic, lulling you, putting your surroundings to a stop, yet it was so beautiful. You feel a soft breeze against your face, softly drawing your hair back. You shy away from his gaze because of the sudden motion of nature. When you look back at him, your smile drops.

“Mingi…” his irises glowed a different color, and it went back to silver when the breeze had gone away. “You are not a mortal, are you?”

With a slight shrug, he tells you, “I’m not sure honestly. I know I have abilities mortals normally wouldn’t have, but I only know my mother. I have no idea where my powers hail from —quite possibly from my father, but I don't know him either.”

He shoves his folded gloves on to his pocket, and you’d see a few scars all over his hand, some worse than others.

“How about you, Keeper Celeste?” you blink once, you were never used to being called that name. You’ve been Y/n for so many years. You hum back to him to question what he was asking you for, so he’d add, “Where the Keepers from?”

You wore a bitter smile, eyes wandering on the grimy ground. “I know the folktales told people that we fell from the sky, and it’s true —in some way. We were created by the Gods. They were giants that lived in the heavens. The Keepers were molded by… they never told us what, but that was how we were made. We were sent down when we were a decade old, to protect Earth.” you could feel the tears from the back of your eyes, so you’d close them for a brief moment. “We were children. I was a child too before I was a woman. But I never knew what being a child meant. Even if we were small, we were at our most powerful state of being. Our powers were fresh, and so were our minds. Nothing could manipulate us because our faith was with the Gods. That was until we lived a century. We realized that the Gods are sloth personified. They create beings to do everything for them, and they would do it just so they wouldn’t get blamed when the world turns to ash. They live through the faith of people. Once people stopped believing in them, they’d shrink into useless mortals. They’re just as selfish as demons.”

Mingi kept himself quiet, basking in the way your voice harmonized with the sounds of the woodlands. His eyes urged you to keep talking as they softened.

“That’s why I chose to live within the mortals and gave up being a Keeper. There was no way for me to die —other than cutting through my throat or stabbing into my heart— but I could give up the power. So I did that. My immortality is my curse, and I coped with baking, you know the rest of the story.”

“You’re a great baker.”

“I know. You loved my sweets.”

“Believe me, I still do.”

You laughed amongst yourselves, thinking back to the good old times. No war, no extreme offenses, no conflicts. Just a life of bliss and magic. “I didn’t miss being a Keeper, well, not until now.” Mingi had his bottom lip in between his teeth, marveling at your features.

“Sorry, but, I can’t help but ask —how old are you?” you chuckle softly at his query.

“Almost ten thousand years. I stopped counting when I hit six thousand. It’s too many numbers.” a laugh went past your lips seeing his mouth agape at the revelation.

“And I look older than you?” his little quip only had you dispensing another guffaw.

Getting yourself composed, you reply to him, “Well, if I counted correctly, you’re about the age of thirty, am I right?”

“Spot on.”

“You look twenty-one and thirty at the same time.”

“Hearing that from you, I'm thinking maybe I might actually be immortal.”

He looked up to the sky, once again exposing the skin of his neck. The closeness allowed for you to see how spotless his skin was despite being a kind of vigilante, which proved to be a lot of work. He seemed to already be known to Ahriman and his soldiers, claiming his black coat is his trademark. “We can’t say for sure. You must last a century before claiming yourself immortal.”

“I will last a century. I promised my mom I will protect—” he stops himself, huffing briefly before he speaks again. “—the Keepers.”

“You did?” he nods at your little question. “You were such an ambitious child.”

“Still am.”

“Ambitious, or a child?”

“Can it be both?” his shoulders rose to a shrug, making you titter for the nth time.

You were soon headed to the well, wasting no time to stop for anything. This path was truly one for wonders as it concealed the both of you from the rest of the world, all except the creatures of the mystic woodlands. Mingi kept himself close by walking right behind you, though he thought it would be better if he was beside you instead —he just couldn’t risk it. Soon, his hand would find itself on your shoulder as you walked through the trees, tracing each of your steps with his own. It was quite the trek but relief would wash away your exhaustion once you spotted a tiny cluster of wisps. They ward off any uninvited guests, and Mingi —despite looking intimidating— was welcomed by the gentle spirits.

“Wisps?” his low voice chuckled against the little kisses the wisps gave him.

“They’re very dear.” you mumble as more wisps came to you, playing with your hair and placing soft touches on your cheeks.

Mingi’s eyes glistened with the glow of the wisps, and he watched as one hovered on your palm. You bring it close to your face, eventually giving it a sweet kiss.

“I wish I was a wisp.” you hum in question of his utterance.

“Wisps are spirits that were taken for granted. Powerful, but was subjected to the consequences of life, suffering death before their spirits were able to spread love and wisdom in the world. They’re nice, but I'm pretty sure they’d prefer to be like us, you know, living.” he understood pretty easily, a little disappointed, but quite amused that you didn’t get the hint with what he said. “I love them.”

You relaxed the muscles of your hand, raising it up a tad and letting the wisp fly off to its friends. Ahead of you, finally, is the Keeper’s well. Your curiosity was at its peak when you remembered Mingi said he wanted to help, to try at least.

You walk over to the well, your hope dwindling with every step. The wisps had consoled you through all instances of you breaking down over numerous feeble attempts of procuring your magic. This time you hoped, that the presence of Mingi would change the course of this venture you’ve gone on for decades now with no success.

Once your toes were only an inch away from the well’s body, you stopped, looking into the well, it was a ritual for you. Maybe your powers would peek back at you.

“Are you alright?” Mingi’s voice sounded of worry, now with both hands resting on your shoulders.

You breath in the cool air of your surroundings, magic dust floating away from within the well with a soft inviting glow. “Lead the way, Mingi.”

You saw the movement in his throat as he gulped, making his way around the well and standing across from where you had anchored yourself. His blade leaves its sheath again. Your eyes were glued onto the alloy that shimmered with the illumination emitted by the wisps and the well itself. He holds it over the opening of the well, and his amulet —it hangs onto the quillon of the blade. “I wanted to test out something I’ve read out of the books, or maybe, this is just some stupid idea I came up with.” he mumbles the last part, but you were able to read his lips. Still, you trusted him.

He closes his eyes, and he chants. From what you understood, it was an incantation, typically used in the area of fishery. Sounds odd for Mingi to be using such a spell, but you just stood there and allowed for him to work his magic.

His grip on the blade loosened, and by every finger he detached from the grip, the blade got heavier, and heavier, until it fell. You heard the strong gust of wind as it continued to fall.

“I wonder what the Gods are saying about this war.” it had been a while since the blade was dropped into the well.

Your anticipation had diminished completely. “Mingi, let’s just go.”

“I do hope they recognized the Keepers’ sacrifices.”

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. “Mingi, we have to go before we get ambushed—”

“But then again, the Gods are none of our concern—”

“Mingi!” there was a slight crack in your voice, speaking as you fought the urge to break down again. “We must leave this place, now.”

“But I'm not done yet, Celeste.”

“Do not call me by that name, Celeste will never come back.” the tears swelled in your eyes, and you’d swallow your misery to deter from crying. “It’s impossible, Mingi.” your firm voice softens to one that is gloomy and reflects your despair.

With every step Mingi took closer to you, you’d only come close to breaking into a weep completely. A tear would trickle down to your jaw when he takes hold of your hands and makes you turn to the side to face him. You lower your head as the tears pour themselves out of you, you were breathing with a stutter. Mingi’s hand that was further from the well moves from your hand to your shoulder. Soon, you were laying the side of your head on his chest, the hand on your shoulder shifting to the back of your head whilst the other was entwined with yours. You felt Mingi’s heart thumping loudly in his chest, then he takes a deep breath and releases your hands at the side where the well was next to you both. His free hand hovers over the well’s opening. He was chanting again, but it was one you could not recognize even if you were hearing it right in your ear. You move away from Mingi’s body, watching his eyes change color like before. From silver to gold. The golden shine of his eyes reminded you of a pair that was very dear to you.

“Zephyr…” you utter to yourself, but only you would be able to hear.

Mingi was fully focused on his work, and you would hear that strong gust of wind again, now growing louder instead of the other way. Mingi stops his incantation, and looks into your eyes.

“Say it with me, Díno tin písti mou stous anémous tis aioniótitas.”

Zephyr’s language. “Díno tin písti mou stous anémous tis aioniótitas.” and your faith was with Mingi.

“Catch the blade Y/n.”

You hear the wind yelling, and it was getting louder. With a foot on the rim of the well and a hand over the well’s mouth, you were able to grab the blade by its grip as it came flying out. Mingi’s amulet blazed an angry red, and so did the well. He led you back to him by grabbing ahold of your free hand. You still held the blade the same way you had caught it from the well.

“Now hold the stone. Chant it again and close your eyes.”

Mingi frees your other hand so you could touch the amulet. You enclosed it in a tight grasp as you closed your eyes, and with the wholeness of your soul, you chanted, “Díno tin písti mou stous anémous tis aioniótitas.”

You lose your breath for a moment as the stone sparked in your hand. A strong flash of light struck your vision. It was like the whole world went back to being a small ball of light within the emptiness of space. The Gods have created such a beautiful world, but it was all for show. They act with no care, the care they had was for their vanity only. Then you were back to the moment you were molded from fine clay and the flesh of man, back to the very moment your power was bestowed to you.

“You serve the good, and only the good, and you will work to neutralize the evils from the very depths of hell, and you are never to betray your fellow Keepers, you shall love, but never turn against each other.”

You look around, seeing the younger selves of the other Keepers. And then there was Zephyr whose eyes glimmered with the gold the Gods would flaunt to each other and their servants. He was far, yet his voice spoke to you, loud and clear. He tells you, “Guide my son Celeste. He is the true Keeper of the winds and time itself. Believe in him, Celeste.”

Everything disappears, turning into dust. Zephyr’s words echoed in your mind and the image of his eyes never left your head.

“Celeste…” it was clear to you now. “I’m here… can you hear me?” Zephyr fell in love with Verbena, and their love bore a child. Mingi truly is immortal.

“Y/n!” you woke up, gasping from the shock of being awoken from such a profound dream.

You’d be even more shocked to find yourself on the ground with Mingi, him holding you closely in his arms. Mingi sets his hand on your jaw to hold it, gently guiding your head towards him so he could see you. You were in your true form. Before him was an image, surreal and captivating, enchanting him with the way your skin warmed up his cold hands. The night was cold, but you were as warm as day. And you felt like you were reborn. You meet his eyes, and he sees the entirety of the universe in your gaze —the planets and constellations he only read about in books.

“You’re beyond the beauty the tales make you out to be.” you hear the utterance in his mind. He seemed to have forgotten that you could read minds. “I’m so lucky.” you chuckled at his buoyant thoughts that just kept running. You wanted to confirm Zephyr’s message, and so you’d dig deep into his psyche. His whole upbringing flowed throughout every facet of your memory. And it revealed more than what you had intended to know.

You still held the stone in your hand, and you and Mingi’s surprise, the stone was no longer red. It had turned colorless, much like the shard you had with you.

“Mingi, this amulet, it’s a piece of the diamond.” Mingi loosens his embrace, allowing for you to sit up.

“Yeah, I see.” you examine Mingi’s face. His brows were furrowed, indicating that he was utterly clueless.

“It’s Zephyr’s shard, Mingi.” he looks back at you, with not much change in his expression. You hold back a smile. You speak to him with your mind to tell him, “Keeper Zephyr is your father.” his eyes grew wide and his hand clenched the skin of your bare arm.

“Really?”

“Really! he told me himself, when I was in a trance earlier.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to get ahead of myself.” you communicated solely with the voice of your minds, then you would hear his velvet voice again, “I read about the Keepers all the time as a child, and even now. It stunned me how similar my powers are to Zephyr, but I thought maybe it was just a coincidence, and that there were others like me.”

Your hand finds its way on his cheek, your soft fingers gliding against his skin as your hand goes up to fix his hair. “There’s only one Keeper of the winds and time, Mingi.”

He wore the same expression of astonishment as before. “Me?”

“Yes, you’re a Keeper.”

“So I am immortal after all.” you hear his thoughts again, making you giggle.

“Yes Mingi, you’re immortal.”

He just stared at you, right into your eyes. For a short while, his thoughts were empty, just basking in your warmth and ethereal presence. You were a being of high power that everyone else believed were only true in folktales. But Mingi’s faith was with you from the beginning, and now your faith lies with him.

“Is it bad that I want to kiss you?” you flick your tongue over your top lip, a smile forming on your plush lips as you watch his eyes linger on them.

This was the moment you admit to having been enamored by him, right from the night you spent with him even if you had done nothing but administer your plan and prepare yourselves. His flawlessly structured face, his tall stature, his voice, his willingness to protect you —you had gone long without a lover, and maybe now’s the time.

“Kiss me.”

He was careful, and a lot gentler for the size of him. He was bewitched with the feeling of your lips against his. He kept repeating in his mind, “I hope this isn't a dream.” as he continued to kiss you, making you chuckle against his lips for a short while —a very short while as he chased the sensation of having his lips, and his tongue against yours.

“Mingi.” you spoke to him with your mind, not being able to escape the feeling he’s ensnared you in. “We have to get going.” he keeps going for a few more lengthy seconds. He pulled away, leaving the two of you hot-faced and panting. You were both still lost and enthralled in each other’s eyes, then you’d talk to him, this time, with your voice audible. “Seriously now, we must go.” your mellow voice made his eyelids drop once, and he’d plant another soft kiss on your lips before pulling the both of you off the ground.

“Can you stab me? just so I could be sure this isn't a dream or some sort of hallucination.” you titter at his words, the palm of your gentle hand playfully hitting his chest.

“It’s real!”

Suddenly, his hands were all up in your hair. “Look, your hair, it changed color.”

You watch with awe as he moves strands of your hair around. “It’s my true form, Mingi.”

“It’s a crazy form —driving me crazy, that is.”

After a shared guffaw, you were back on track. Now with your magic restored, it would be easier for you and Mingi to move onto the arduous steps of your journey. You had a long way ahead of you, and a new Keeper by your side. He wasn’t one that was molded by the Gods and put through rigorous training by being thrown into a dragon’s cage, but he was one with a pure heart, and it set him apart from the rest of the Keepers. He understood human nature to its core with the blood of a mortal coursing through him. And he wasn’t one to give up, because you found out that it took him thirteen years to configure his magic and be able to use it without losing control. And unlike Ahriman, he wasn’t a vengeful soul. He only wished that there’s a future for the mystic society, for the world. And he would keep saving it, just so the people of the future won’t suffer the same fate as him and many others, mortal and immortal alike.

“And he saved a Keeper’s soul…”

not proofread, not planning on doing so either so :D

#ateez #ateez au #ateez mingi #song mingi #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fic

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bloogers-boogers · 3 months ago

Text

The battle field was messy, you could see splattered blood everywhere you turn, broken shards and buildings demolished, the bodies of angels, hellborns and sinners laying around, countless of them.

More explosions could be heard from afar and even more angels flew down to hell some to help the injured others to cause the injuries.

It was absolute chaos. And Charlie Morningstar couldn’t help but feel like she was to blame, from hell’s perspective she was the cause of this but like a mirror of their own Emily the seraphim’s reflection mirrored Charlie and so did heaven see Emily at fault of this.

Both most powerful angels were plucked to the ground, captive, as an evil force layed upon them, wrapping them tightly on to their bodies; back, wrists and legs. Michael tried reaching for his sword but it was useless; he never gave up for his people, he couldn’t give up now, he wanted, needed to protect them. Lucifer growled as he tried pulling roughly at the chains on him; worried for Charlie, trying to reach out to protect her as much as he can. He had to. He can’t give up. He can’t lose her. He must protect her.

Neither could move however, they looked like worms wiggling around with a missing head. Like a snake having its head chopped off but its tail still moving. It was devastating to hear their people scream in both panic and rage. They couldn’t accept their fate this easily, Lucifer couldn’t. There was so much to lose than to win if they did.

But in a blink of eye, as a miracle had happened Lucifer heard a faint scream, a familiar voice. He looked up and saw Adam standing not too far from both archangels. Actually, to be specific, on the other side of the edge of the huge cliff that broke apart from pentagram city and kept the archangels apart from the chaos. Keeping them far from reach of anyone. It was cruel, because the view was fantastic, they could see everything, oh god they could see fucking everything.

“Adam!? Holy fuck! Adam!” Lucifer for once, was genuinely happy to see the first man. He was alive, that was good.

But being alive doesn’t take away that Adam was limping his way even further to the edge of the cliff to get a better look at them. It didn’t take away that a wing was missing and the other was only half of it. He held his side as blood poured from what seemed like another injury of many more.

“You’re alive!” Adam shouted as he stopped his walking once he hit a high dangerous level of risk, “I know how to get you guys out! All you need to do is save heaven and hell if I do it!”

Both archangels looked at him in a ‘what?’ Manner.

“Typical Adam thing to do to try negotiating with us while everyone is agonizing pain, suffering, and most likely about to be all wiped out from existence. Now let’s hear what you have to offer!” Michael hissed sarcastic as he felt horns popping out from his head, being in hell for this long has been turning him slowly.

“I’m more surprised he hasn’t just left us to die to be honest,” Lucifer admitted, his eyes still on Adam trying to analyze him.

“He won’t, because we have to save his ass too in the process.”

“We can still leave him to the side.”

“You know I’m right fucking here!” Adam said with frustration, “it’s not that type of deal.”

Both archangels blinked, doubtful.

“How do we even know you actually know how to get us ‘out’ for all we know you may think that but it won’t?” Michael interrogated further.

“Fuck! I just know, okay!?? Just trust me on this. I know what I’m doing. In all the thousands of years of just existing, I finally know what I’m doing and meant to do,” Adam exclaimed before slowly lowering his voice the more serious he got into his speech.

They looked at him expectantly.

“And thats to save humanity. Lucifer may had doomed it but I can save it! This is where my deal starts. The moment I do this, you both are gonna shove your differences aside, work together to get this evil out of the way and finally shake hands to one of Charlie’s little activities. Because I suppose redemption isn’t so bad and second chances are always welcome. Got it?”

Both archangels winced at the idea of working together but at the same time, looked at Adam as if he had grown another head.

Lucifer winced his eyes, the words echoing in his head warning him of something that’s about to come, that he’s not ready to face just yet. That he never considered to ever happen. He just couldn’t tell what that was until the words sank in.

“Fine.” Michael and Lucifer said at the same time.

Adam smiled. Like actually smile for the first time since his fall he fucking smile and that was before Lucifer could realized it’s gonna be his last.

Before Lucifer realized what was going on, what Adam was about to do.

“Wait…” he looks up in panic as he saw Adam dash his way back down to the chaos, “ADAM, WAIT!!” his blurry figure could be seen disappearing into the dust particles of the explosions, far away from view.

Lucifer cried out in a panic as he kept pulling forward with even more force trying to get loose from the chains.

“What’s happening?” Michael asked alarmed as Lucifer demeanor changed more frantic and desperate.

“Adam is gonna sacrifice himself!”

Before he could do more a green explosion was heard, one too powerful and loud in comparison of the rest. One extremely different and unsettling. One that made all the grounds of hell shake tremendously.

Maybe he was being a little bit dramatic, maybe he was being genuinely honest about Adam being a small misfortune to deal with in his life since the angel fell to hell, but fuck, Lucifer didn’t want him to die nonetheless to take it himself!

From the sudden explosion and the release of his wrists, Lucifer right there knew…

Adam was gone. Like actually gone this time. Like he’ll never see those golden devilish eyes on him thinking he’s slick after planting a prank on him mid-day time.

Oh Adam! You stupid airhead bitch!

~~~~

After thinking the impossible would be, well, basically impossible. It became possible. Lucifer and Michael had a lot to work on when it came to their issues, but they sure made a good team. Defeating evil with another entity as strong as you made things much more easier to handle, and with the addition of Charlie, Emily and the many other seraphim and hellborns it was absolutely a breeze in comparison of the suffocating heat of it all, they finally defeated evil.

And it was all thanks to Adam. The first man. The so called ‘dickmaster’. The first fucking dumbass of humanity. Not having managed to release them in time could’ve doomed both heaven and hell (double doom for hell).

Lucifer sighed mournful after being released of a soul crushing group hug with Charlie, her friends and that dickhead of Michael and Gabriel. Walking away, the devil reached towards a huge hole on the ground that lead to the real depths of hell. He looked down seeing nothing but darkness and screams echoing the inside.

Charlie stepped closer, trying to reach out but keeping herself at a comfortable distance from her father.

“Adam.. he-“

“I know, sweetie,” Lucifer kept looking away from the rest just looking at the darkness of the hole as if he could feel the last remaining of Adam’s aura in there. But there was nothing more there to find if he looked, “we thought we were the heroes but in the end, it was the villain who saved us all.”

“Does Adam even count as a villain? He was more of a bitter asshole than something to feel threatened about,” Angel dust added as everyone else approached the scene. Husk giving him a hard nudge on the side of his elbow; to keep quiet.

Lucifer tightly clutch his chest, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sadness hit him in ways it had never before, tears fell like waterfalls as he falls on his knees, hands touching the ground trying to feel Adam.

“Dad..?”

“I think… I just lost something I love.”

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #lucifer morningstar #guitarduck #hazbin hotel #this was supposed to be a silly little thing to write and somehow it turned to this sooo idk here 🤲

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sugurushairtye · 5 months ago

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Meta on the symbolism of the bamboo hat in tgcf

"Man in the abyss recieves a bamboo hat in rain"

While the simple act of receiving a bamboo hat illustriously reinstated xie lian's belief towards the prevalence of kindness leaping over the barbed fences of impending doom and essentially pulled him out of the harrowing chokehold of the abyss both metaphorically and literally, however when xie lian mirrored the same action towards jun wu, he seemed to have missed the boat with his inherent rejection of the heart being buoyant in the echelons of paradise even when the body is drilled into the deafening isolation of the abyss.

And it's interesting how the entire exchange of events of the final battle takes place on the desecrated heaven-crossing bridge that was originally designed to relocate the helpless and desperate to the safe hands of 'paradise'/heaven, yet the ones battling on its stairs (xie lian and mu qing) were restricted with cursed shackles infused with a reminder of their banishment, them being rejected by the gallant gates of heaven, nailing them to the 'abyss'. (Like isn't it ironic how jw constructed the bridge for his people to migrate to heaven yet, right now jw barred xl and mq from entering heaven bc he banished them and also voluntarily attempted to drown them into the /abyss/ bc the void beneath the bridge was saturated with resentful spirits inhabiting the scorching lava) Which is predominantly why xie lian's cursed shackles shattering on the same bridge is a symbolism of his ever-so anticipated liberation.

"Indomitable to the point he couldn't control his own powers, each step would shake the mountains. One step to go a thousand miles, one step to ascend to the heavens!"

On the ghastly intersection of lang-er bay, white-no-face pulled the sword out of xie lian, however that didn't relieve him of his resentment laced with pain or pull him out of the abyss; the bamboo hat did and it figuratively functioned as a catalyst to restore his (otherwise dissipating) faith in the amicability of humanness. On the heaven-crossing bridge however, xie lian never attempted to pull the sword out of jun wu, doing so wouldn't have reversed his pain that had morphed into dejection and vengeance culminating in his system for centuries, or introduced him to the compassion of humanness anew, instead xl gave him the bamboo hat.

"To ascend is human; to fall is also human". Xie lian covering jun wu with the bamboo hat that once restored his faith in humanity was ultimately washed away by the tides of futility, for jun wu's transcendence into destruction dehumanised him beyond repair as he ultimately fell. Jun wu never needed cursed shackles to restrain himself, his unceasingly vague sense of identity had trapped him into an echochamber of self-loathing and violence mirroring the barbaric slaughtering of ghosts trapped in the kiln of mount tong'lu, or the blunt shards of glasses bearing the monstrous image of his own reflection.

Xie lian didn't need an article such as a bamboo hat to hold onto as a reminder to not go astray anymore, he held onto that hat for centuries and with time he had to leave it behind with someone because now he had hua cheng by his side who'd always be the indestructible pillar of support for him to hold onto.

#heaven official's blessing #xie lian #hua cheng #hualian #tgcf #jun wu #i will eat book 4 #this has been rotting on my notes app #mandatory i love hualian tag

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moonsugar-and-spice · 8 months ago

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a thousand shards of heaven

It's been 84 years since I've updated Storms so please accept this Ozara doodle

#storms of ice and fire #atla fanfiction #ozara #atla #post-canon #ozai x katara #enemies to lovers #partial au #atla fanfic #is it cringe to make art of my own fic?#haha nope cringe is dead and i am free #moonsugar draws #when she should be writing #BUT i recently completed the Task of going back through Storms chapter by chapter to tighten the screws and get myself back up to speed #and have since written some of the next chapter #fingers crossed i can maintain the momentum this time

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kit-williams · 10 months ago

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The Yandere Space Marine Masterlist

Descriptions Modern!au

Dark Angels Azazel Erros x Mortal/Pet Secret Sin Azazel rework: Sick Thoughts

Emperor's Children Palion Hiss x Muse Beauty in the Eye

Iron Warriors Harram the Wallbreaker x Orichalcum/Ori Heartless Madness

White Scars Nogai Sengik x Хонгор I wanna be your slave

Space Wolves Captain Arkyn Joriki x Elskling War Wife

Volak x husband Algir x gn partner Baldun x wife Olgus x husband Svat x wife Rune Priest Odus x wife Hvold x wife Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

Imperial Fists Astel Redlane x Mouse The Spider Suite

Night Lords Ghosk Sevyrarek x Rabbit Run Rabbit Run

Anrir Nor x Caretaker Pastel Bats Sleeping Fields

Blood Angels Sirus Amah x Moonlight Your Blood is like Heaven to me The right shade of red

Iron Hands Vauth Marlos Marlos Vauth x Byte Automat Ozone Logic Bomb (Bispecsual)

World Eaters Zul Gospod x Spaseniye Peace of Mind

Ultramarines Tulio Sydo x Psychi/Psychoula Courage and Honor A Nymph by the river Just under the skin Gift from thevoidscreams Thundering call Clothes stealing pregnancy edition Jealous Tulio Loyalty Swap: Superbeast

Death Guard Solos Phorgur the Reaper x Lovie Toxic Love

Thousand Sons Nakht Rhan x Birdie Bye Bye Birdie

Black Legion/Luna Wolves Zhur Painbane x Dolli Quest Glaubenskraft (DD:DNE Rape) Early morning sex

Garviel Loken x ??? ???

Word Bearers Jihias Kinreaver x Lamb Sacrament of Sin

Salamanders Nubin Orenn x Bev To'ken Aishite Aishite Aishite (DD:DNE Incestous Language) Aishite Aishite Aishite (alternative)

??? Tears of a Dragonheart

Raven Guard Sor Delyn/Kazi Delax/Moremo Klaek x Dove Just Let us Adore You Love You Like a Love Song What if Dove was nervous

Alpha Legion Keeper Alpharius? x Vixen Skyfall You know my Name

Black Templars Brother Roland Lichtner x Bäckerin Venom of Venus Rein Raus Bun in the Oven Du riechst so gut Roland Penance Reaction to Backerin being pregnant

Carcaradons Tyberos the Red Wake x Ophelia The Red Tithe

Crimson Fist Pedro Kantor x ???

Astral Claws/Red Corsairs Huron Blackheart x ???

Mechanicus 91-Yrac x H3X/sweetspark The Savant

Adeptus Custodes Initial thoughts Golden Palace of the Dead

Constantin Valdor x Shard of the Emperor (Female) Sickeningly Sweet

Adonis x Smoothie To Fry an Egg

#Yandere #Yandere Space Marines #masterlist #Yandere Space Marine masterlist #Space Marines #warhammer 40k

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gghostwriter · 6 months ago

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Entangled Strings of Fate

Chapter 3. My torch stays burning

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there.

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

"Growing apart doesn't change the fact that we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I'm glad for that" - Allie Condie

Cleo considered each invite from Spencer an oath—a vow meant to be delivered through each time. Never mind that she had past cases to study or how she initially promised her sister that she’ll attend the family dinner—skipping that was a plus, honestly, she’d rather spend her time in his precious company. She thought about the multiverse all of a sudden and wondered if in those different shards of her, is she still enjoying his presence or is this they only universe where they crossed paths and stayed together? She hoped not. She’d like to believe they were meant to find each other’s company no matter the circumstance.

Sneaking a peek at him, she knew she had digressed from her present. A present where she found herself with a warm glass of tea on hand and on his rooftop apartment, admiring the night sky. Earlier, he explained he was on an extended leave from the FBI, not that he needed to take a leave really but in his own words, he didn’t feel right about being on the field while his mentor, Gideon, was pulled from the field after Boston, and had called her up to fill his nights with conversations and company.

“Did you know that comets smell like rotten eggs?” He mentioned one night while admiring the night sky. “To be exact, they smell like rotten eggs, urine, burning matches, and almonds. Traces of hydrogen sulphide, ammonia, sulphur dioxide, and hydrogen cyanide were all found in the makeup of the comet 67P—better known as Churyumove-Gerasimenko.”

Cleo laughed. “Usually comets and meteors are often romanticized but finding out that they smell like rotten eggs definitely ruins the poetry behind it.”

“Actually the idea behind wishing upon a shooting star started thousands of years ago. During the 2nd century, astronomer Ptolemy believed that stars were gods or, at least, signs from the gods,” he rambled on. “Another version comes from the Mi’kmaw nation living in Nova Scotia. They believe that two stars took two sister to heaven. One of the stars represented an Eagle while the other a Hawk. Soon the sisters found themselves bored and strived to return to their people. Hoping to return to Earth, they requested the first human named Kluskap for their return. Kluskap agreed but with the condition that both sisters won’t ever look back. Later on, when they were both sent back to Earth, the younger sister broke the promise and was turned into a shooting star.”

“That kind of reminds me of the Greek tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice,” she commented on, going off tangent.

He nodded, having understood the connection her mind was going for. “Most people considered Orpheus’s actions a noble, romantic deed in the name of love but Plato viewed it as cowardice for not dying to meet Eurydice right away.”

“But isn’t it because Plato had a negative stance on art? In a woman’s perspective, the whole notion of the man doing everything to get back the woman he ardently adored is the ultimate act of love,” she defended with a slight scrunch of nose from the cold biting air.

A ring interrupted their comfortable silence.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, looking at the caller ID and letting it go to voicemail.

His interest was piqued. “Who is it?”

“Remember that guy who I met in the bookstore—Robbie—and went out with for a maximum of three dates? That’s him,” she took a sip of her tea before continuing on. “The dates were fine, just fine, and I even met some of his friends on accident—”

“But?”

“—but, it felt wrong. Like he was showing me off as this genius that he bagged rather than as a woman he’s interested in.”

She sighed and looked at the city night lights. She knew she was a genius, graduating from Caltech with a degree in Political Science at the age of 16 and entering law school right after can attest to that. But that accomplishment was sometimes a detriment in making genuine social connections.

“I’d love to find someone who can appreciate me for who I am and not with what I can offer. God knows I have enough of that from my parents.”

He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “And you deserve that. If there’s anyone who deserves that, it’s you.”

“You also deserve someone like that, Spence.” She softly smiled. “Someone who sees how much of a great guy you really are.”

“Morgan says I can’t get a date since I come off as awkward and tend to spew random facts when nervous,” Spencer said.

Knowing Derek, she knew he stated that in a jest but she couldn’t help but hear the slight hurt in Spencer’s voice. “Well, I for one think you’re amazing. The right girl would think the same way too, Spence. She’ll find your ramblings interesting and cute, just like I do.”

She glanced down at her watch. Time always seemed to move too fast when their orbits circled around each other. “I should go.”

“Garcia, Morgan, and I are meeting up for coffee and pastries at the usual corner coffee shop tomorrow. Would you like to come?” He asked as he was guiding her to a cab. “Garcia’s been hounding me to bring you around and I quote ‘I miss my ma chou.’”

“Count me in,” she laughs as she gets into the cab. “See you tomorrow, Dr. Spencer Reid!”

———

Based on scientific studies, consuming sugar increases serotonin levels—the happiness chemical. The brain then keeps craving this “happy” chemical again and again. Maybe that was why Cleo knew she made the right decision in accepting his invitation for breakfast. There was nothing like a cup of good coffee and a freshly baked pastry on a Saturday morning. Add a mix of Penelope’s bubbly self and Derek’s fun persona, the weekend was already starting on a bright note.

“Oh my goodness, I think you got much more beautiful since the last time I saw you, ma chou,” Penelope greeted as she went in for a hug.

“And you’ve gotten more radiant since then, Pen,” she gushed back.

“How are the two of you this lively early in the morning,” Derek quips. “Hey pretty girl, how’s law school treating you?”

She sat down beside Penelope and subtly looked around for any sign of Spencer. “Good, can’t really complain specially with the bar exam coming up.”

“If you’re looking for pretty boy, he’s over there buying your coffee and pastry,” Derek took notice of her searching eyes. There was no hiding from a profiler, after all. “ So tell me, did he make a move yet?”

Her jaw slightly dropped while Penelope squealed in her set, no doubt also wanting to know. “Derek, you know its not like that,” she rushed out to clarify. “We’re friends, best of friends!”

Derek and Penelope shared a look. A look that she has been very familiar with ever since their first meeting . It was a look of disbelief and teasing. She knew the whole BAU team had a vested interest in the progress of their platonic relationship. It wouldn’t even surprise her if there was a wager going on who would crack first.

“Oh doll, you know it’s more than that right? I mean look at you both together, a match made in heaven, Penelope stated as she took a sip of her drink. “What could be more perfect that an prosecutor and an FBI agent together? The power couple if you ask me.”

“I’m not a prosecutor yet,” she huffed out.

“You didn’t deny it though?” Penelope teased back. “So you agree, you both are a match made in heaven?”

“More like a match made in genius,” Morgan added. “C’mon Murphy, Reid may be as dense as those law books you read but I’m not, you can’t fool my profiler eyes. You’re in love with him, ever since I’ve met you.”

“I swear its really not like that. Now, can we change the subject please before he comes?” She pleadingly asked as Spencer was approaching with her coffee and pastry in hand.

“Here you go,” he handed the goodies to her. “I got you a freshly baked slice of banana bread, a hot cappuccino, and a Palmier for when you get hungry later.”

She smiled, cheeks turning vibrant red, and thanked him. With his care and her reaction, no doubt Derek and Penelope were staring at them in disbelief.

“Unbelievable,” Derek muttered as Spencer took his seat beside him.

“What was that?” He asked, having not heard his mumble.

Derek appraised Spencer with an eyebrow arched up. “Nothing pretty boy, nothing at all.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!oc #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfiction #Spencer Reid fanfiction #gw fics #esof fanfic

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toasterdrake · 11 months ago

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aaaaa ok i really hope im not bothering you bc i'm requesting two times in a row, but can i have another yelena oneshot with some hurt/comfort? maybe r gets a life-threatening injury and yel mother-hens r back to health? if that's too specific you can do whatever you want for the 'hurt' part of hurt/comfort

my friend, the day has finally arrived. this beast has sat in my drafts for many many months -- years, even, i think? -- and i have finally accepted i'm never going to finish it. i went suuuper off-script so i've condensed it into just this block before things go haywire. other than that, this is entirely unedited as i last left it, notes and gaps and all. i hope the rest of it (of which there is too much) never again sees the light of day.

if i can even say this any more, enjoy. with this, my time in the mcu fandom truly comes to an end.

Angel

Yelena Belova x Avenger!reader

word count: 4K

Engine malfunction, systems failure, hull compromised, oxygen leakage, proximity alert, eject failure -- every alarm blared impossibly loud in the tiny cockpit, barely audible over the rushing vacuum of wind.

A stream of creative curses spilled from your mouth as your fingers flew across the sparking dashboard, trying desperately to make something, anything work as your jet's descent steepened, plummeting through low-lying clouds.

Coming up with no other option than to try to limp to a nearby island, you yanked the control stick as hard as you could, bracing your legs as you strained with all your might to pull the plane out of its nosedive.

You fought gravity itself: your arms feeling as if they were about to be ripped from their sockets. You were trying to lift tonnes of metal with one human's strength alone.

You let out a patriotic scream, blood pumping gloriously. Your cry to the heavens was drowned in the violent wind, the strain of the wings in the wrenching of your shoulders.

Alas, the jet wobbled and shook, breathing black smoke.

The cockpit was beginning to feel like a furnace due to the engine fire below. You were burning up in your heavy aviator's gear despite the cracked canopy's icy flood of air. Your breath came in short pants, crackling in your mask, and the broken radio screamed in your ears.

Land -- no, you'd failed, water -- rushed up to meet you. From the cockpit's window, the lake was a giant gaping blue maw opening wider to swallow you whole. And it would; given the chance, the slightest wavering of will.

Not one to simply accept fate, you struggled out of your buckles and into an emergency parachute, fingers shaking as they worked frantically in your small window of time.

The parachute cord caught on a displaced hunk of metal just as you ripped off your helmet. Masses of white fabric filled your vision.

Senses clouded, the great boom of impact told you you'd hit water. It rebounded like astral ascension through your bones.

With the whiplash, you jerked forward, slamming into the centre console hard enough to elicit an intense ache in your chest. Your head connected with the dashboard.

You pulled yourself upright, star-crossed for a moment, darkness clawing at the edges of your vision.

A sharp pain blossomed at your hairline; a thousand needles drove into your skull and twisted. You groaned as the dizziness sent you reeling a second later.

Something hot and wet and dark dripped down your forehead. You wiped it from your stinging eyes. You didn't have time for this. Through dancing stars, the jet was sinking rapidly into unfathomable depths; dragging you down with it never to be seen again.

Shaking off the disorientation, you scooped up your helmet from the floor and began attacking the glass canopy. Your movements were hindered by the limp parachute crowding what little space you had, but still the crack grew.

Water spilled in faster, faster, sloshing around your shoulders. Finally, the entire pane collapsed into shards. You inhaled the deepest breath of air you could muster milliseconds before--

A great puff of depressurising air thrust you bodily out of the cockpit, as water flooded the jet entirely, wholly conjoining it to the lake.

You tried to yank your rucksack free of where it was wedged, but it was stubborn and you didn't have seconds to spare. You abandoned it in favour of surging upwards.

You kicked your legs wildly, reaching above your head for filtered sunlight in a desperate bid for fresh air. The pressure in your lungs mounted and mounted.

Your heavy clothes and tired limbs weighed you down. You couldn't struggle out of the woolen aviator jacket; couldn't spare the few moments to let it drag you deeper in freefall.

Still, it was as if you had never left the jet.

The light above didn't seem to be any closer, your progress like revving with the handbrake on. Your desperate kicks and thrusts weakened, bubbles streaming from your nose, dancing to the sky like ash as time trickled out.

It was dark. So dark. Cold. Lonely. You were thrashing. Water was filling your lungs. You were drowning. You were about to be lost to nature's most powerful force, and no one would know.

A muffled splash above echoed through the dark expanse of water.

An angel from the surface had come to save you.

Her form was silhouetted by dancing sunlight wings. Golden ringlets of hair splayed around her head in a halo. She swam down to you, powerful limbs propelling her down in an illusion of ease; a true display of power.

The strength of her arms was reassuring.

Coughing and spluttering, you jolted upright. Water gushed from your mouth, spilling down your already soaked chest as you sat up. You found curious chartreuse eyes. Somehow, instinctively, you knew they belonged to the angel who saved you.

"Where are your wings?"

"What?" Her accent was dark velvet: authentic slavic, you recognised vaguely. It sent shivers down your spine as much as the chill of the water.

"Cause," A wet cough, "Cause you're an angel -- oh shit that's blood."

"You have internal bleeding, probably," She said, smoothing back darkened blonde hair, peeling it from her shirt by the disturbance. She was just as soaked as you, as was the patch of grass you occupied.

Frothy, bright red spots of blood littered your hand. A sharp pain in your abdomen made itself present. Dizziness washed over you, but you pushed through to pull up your slick shirt and reveal a deep red discolouration on your chest.

For some inexplicable reason, you poked it, and winced when a wave of pain crashed through the area. You blushed upon noticing her scrutinising gaze, clearing your throat. Your ribs ached in complaint.

You gratefully took the hand she offered, letting her display that strength again as she hauled you from the ground. She led you from the shore up to a cabin, which dominated what appeared to be an island.

"What's your name?" You asked.

A quiet moment of debate. "Yelena. You?"

You owed each other that much. "[Y/N]."

She hummed in recognition.

"Lie down. It'll help your blood flow more naturally," She said, tone not unkind.

You obeyed, then swallowed awkwardly around the dryness in your throat, piping up, "Could I have a drink of water?"

"Not until you've been treated," Yelena said, words accompanied by a privately playful smirk, to which you pouted.

You drummed your fingers against your leg, looking around at what of the room you could see, as Yelena became otherwise occupied attending to her dog.

A goatskin rug had been draped over the back of a rocking chair in the corner, almost like hotel decoration. A blazer hung from a peg next to the door. A perfectly pruned arrangement of flowers sprouted from a ceramic vase shaped like a stylised duck, something that looked glittery lacing shards together. A misshapen candle's flame flickered cheerily on the windowsill.

Contrast of lived in and new. Yelena trying to make a home and not knowing how.

Yelena reentered, throwing a set of fresh, baggy clothes at you.

"So, you live here?" You said conversationally, looking out a window at the pine forest outside as you changed painstakingly slowly around his injury.

You could just make out a distant shore beyond the mist-obscured treeline, the grey lake lapping at a dark gravel beach.

Yelena stiffened. You watched out of the corner of your eye as she chewed her lip, face turned away from you. "No," She said, wary. "I'm only here to look after the island for my parents."

You nodded, even though she couldn't see you, and returned to gazing outside. Maybe her parents are in hospital or something? Whatever the depth of her reason, it sounded personal. And complex. You shouldn't pry.

And you shouldn't take advantage of an innocent woman's hospitality, your conscience scolded. No choice, you rebutted.

Just then, someone knocked at the front door. Yelena shot you a look that carried a strange cocktail of warning, concern, and apprehension, before disappearing to attend to the visitor.

You weren't left alone for long. Yelena re-entered the room, biting her lip before glancing away and standing awkwardly in a corner. She was followed by a man slightly taller than her, whom you assumed was the doctor by his discoloured beige clinical coat and briefcase.

The doctor himself could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty. He introduced himself as Dr. Graham in his warbly, squeaky voice. His face was mottled by acne scars, his chin weak and bare as if it had never borne a single hair. His babyish eyes popped out of their sockets, making him look like an eternally frightened rabbit. His hairline had already climbed up his forehead, leaving only wispy fawn tuft behind his ears.

Puberty must've hit him like a plastic toy car, you mused.

Dr. Graham did his necessary medical things quickly enough, diagnosing you miraculously concussion-free. You provided an easy lie about falling down the stairs when moving boxes, which the doctor accepted with a degree of coldness and Yelena listened to with something like caution in her eyes.

"You need four weeks of bedrest," Dr. Graham sternly gave his departing orders, crossing his arms over his chest in tepid persistence.

"But--"

"No buts."

"But--" Yelena tried.

"No. Buts. Good day to you." He stressed, glaring at each of you -- the effect somewhat disheartened by his buggish eyes -- before striding out the door.

"We'll see if your hairline lasts four weeks," You grumbled darkly. Yelena snickered at that, which drew your attention to her.

"So."

"So," Yelena prompted when you trailed off, looking at you quizzically.

"So, is it okay for me to stay with you that long? I can't exactly go anywhere else; the jet had all my money and cards in it." The bandages wrapped around your chest flexed uncomfortably with stretching muscle.

Well, Tony's cards.

"Sure, why not. I don't plan on going anywhere for a while," There it was again; that cautious reservedness showing itself to maintain the simmering distance between you. "I will need to pick up some groceries from town though. Will you be alright here with Fanny?" Yelena said, moving to the doorway again.

"We're on one of the Thousand Islands, right? How does an entire town fit? I mean I can understand a doctor, but--"

Yelena rolled her eyes. "The town is on the mainland. I'll be taking my boat, Paučók." She said, a hint of motherly pride slipping through at that. "Also, the doctor used his own boat. We're alone on this island."

"Oh," Heat rose to your cheeks.

She rolled her eyes again and strode away. An unmistakable bulge in her pocket caught your eye. Your mood darkened. Maybe her parents aren't in hospital after all.

With that fun revelation, you decided to do some harmless snooping once Yelena was out of sight. The front door clicked shut, the lock twisting with anxious finality.

Pulling yourself off the chair, you leaned against the wall, riding out an immobilising wave of pain for a few long moments, your eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted. A little internal bleeding wouldn't stop you!

Fanny fretted at your heels, seemingly unperturbed by your being a stranger. You petted her reassuringly, and she scampered off down the hallway, leaving you to trail behind her at a snail's pace.

Y comes back, confesses past nervously, R guilty, reveals snooping, Y angry, trust lost, R works to apologise and reopens wound

A week later, Dr. Graham called requesting you go to the clinic for a check-up. You took the call since Yelena was in the boat shelter doing maintenance on Paučók. Because you had started a streak of regaining trust, you decided you would obey the doctor. Just this once.

You didn't like pissing people off, contrary to popular belief -- it was messy to fix and sent you completely out of your depth -- even if it was endlessly amusing to annoy the doctor. Besides, Yelena would give you an earful if you hurt yourself again.

Heading out to find the aforementioned Russian and inform her, you took a plated stack of the pancakes you'd made, just in case she hadn't eaten yet. She'd been up and gone by the time you got moving, just dumping a used coffee cup in the sink as you appeared in the kitchen.

Walking through the bracing early morning mist, you got the sensation it wasn't going to shift for the rest of the day. The icy vapour stung your cheeks and whipped you into full vigilance: a hard slap from Mother Nature. You pulled your aviator's jacket tighter over your shoulders.

Stepping into the boat shelter, you went unnoticed by Yelena. This was strange, considering that in the time you'd known each other she'd always seemed to have a sixth sense for detecting your presence before you'd even walked through the door.

The cause of her distraction was soon revealed, as the whirring of machinery permeated the workshop.

Oh shit. Okay. She's ripped. Damn. Okay. Cool. Okay. Okay. Take a deep breath. One, two, three, release. Okay. Now use your words.

"I-I brought you, um, cakespan -- no, uhm -- pancakes!"

...What?!

You cringed.

(Gae muscle panic)

The doctor's clinic was, for whatever reason, not located on the mainland. Instead, it inhabited one of the larger islands alongside a few other residences -- enough to form a hamlet -- that sat just a few hundred metres into the lake, near the main feeding river's mouth. The clinic itself was a converted gothic mansion, all arching stone masonry and high, gilded ceilings that made rooms echo eerily.

The place wasn't busy; you were seen after just a few minutes, the only other patient being a pregnant woman accompanied by her wife. Yelena trailed after you into the examination room, stuck on the boundary of limiting your association and keeping you in her sights at all times.

You exchanged an apprehensive look upon noticing an unfamiliar boat moored to the island's jetty.

Yelena pulled in quietly, killing the engine and letting Paučók drift into place on the current. You both stepped out onto the platform, gaze locked on the stagnant house through sentinel trees. Its dark windows gazed back steadily with quiet amusement.

Yelena bent to secure Paučók's ropes. She reached into her pocket and handed you a loaded semi-automatic handgun, as well as drawing a revolver for herself.

You handled the handgun with familiarity. "God, how many guns do you have on you?"

"Enough to be prepared."

Together, you crept up the beaten dirt track to the house, guns poised to react. The building waited for you patiently.

A bird swooped low over your heads, flapping hurriedly to ascend. You and Yelena startled at the abrupt action. The desperation in its wake left a strange, almost oppressive tension heavy in the crowding mist.

In the next moment, it was dispelled like a river bursting as Fanny came sprinting after the bird through the trees, barking freely. She skidded to a halt at Yelena's feet, who quickly bent to attend to her dog. She slipped Fanny a treat and ruffled her thick coat, speaking to her as if she could answer.

"What happened, Fan? What are you doing out of the house, huh?" Yelena cooed. Fanny panted happily in response.

"Fanny!" A new voice called jovially through the opaque mist.

A second later, a hazy humanoid solidified into an approaching silhouette striding toward them. With every muted step, their features sharpened to reveal fiery red hair draped over slim shoulders, a vest secure over a dark bodysuit, green eyes eclipsed by the dreary surroundings.

"Fanny," Natasha said again, scolding this time with a playful lilt, coming to a stop in front of the three.

"Natasha," Yelena answered, wide-eyed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Yeah, Nat," You piped up. "What are you doing here?"

Natasha looked at him, surprise evident in her expression. "[Y/N]? What are you doing here?"

"Okay, we're getting nowhere with this. Let's go inside." Yelena said, leading the way up to the house. Fanny ran ahead eagerly, twirling in impatient circles as everyone traipsed behind her.

Once inside, the frigid mist shut out behind a heavy wooden door, you immediately moved to the fire. You rolled up the sleeves of his jacket to expose your forearms, but didn't shrug it off, still feeling the chill in your bones. You stirred up the glowing embers; feeding them another log and coaxing a true, strong flame out of it.

Meanwhile, Yelena hung up her overshirt on a peg and stepped into the adjoining kitchen, shuffling through cupboards. The kettle's whistle crescendoed cheerily a few moments later.

Natasha kicked off her boots at the door, falling into an armchair with a grateful sigh. She produced a dog toy from a pocket when Fanny jumped onto her lap, teasing the Shepherd with it but neither wanting to move too far.

Accepting the mug of coffee from Yelena when she padded back into the living room, you took the other armchair, leaving her to claim the plush loveseat. Fanny jumped off Natasha's lap as she received her beverage, instead lying down on a rug in front of the resplendently roaring fire.

You inhaled the steam, the soft fragrance providing gentle caresses of nostalgia. You blew on the hot liquid until it was cool enough to sip safely, smiling at the taste.

Yelena and Natasha sipped quietly from their own mugs -- labelled 'blood of my enemies' and 'keep it up and you will be a strange smell in the attic' respectively -- while staring introspectively into the fire. Well, Natasha was. Yelena was admiring Fanny. As she rightfully should.

"So, Natasha," The blonde finally said, facing the other woman with a somewhat annoyed expression, "What has brought you here?"

Drizzling rain began to fall outside. Fresh symphonies of pine wafted in through a cracked open window, condensation forming in the corners of its rustic frame.

Natasha tore her gaze from the fire to meet her sister's over the rim of her mug. "Mason called me to say you'd requested extra time. He wanted me to make sure you hadn't gotten yourself into trouble."

Yelena nodded absently. Her hazel eyes were glazed over; distant in thought. You looked between the sisters, utterly lost.

"Mason? Is he your landlord? Are you leaving soon?"

The log crackled and popped, jolting hard enough to cause everyone in the room to startle. Yelena stared into her mug guiltily.

"No. He's… this a safehouse. I'm waiting for some media controversy to blow over." She confessed to the hot chocolate.

"Controversy surrounding the death of an important army benefactor?" You asked.

She looked up at you, clearly surprised and a little wary, but nodded. You sank a little deeper into the armchair, trying to make yourself smaller. Yelena looked to Natasha for an explanation. The avenger smirked.

"[Y/N] here had to leave the states pretty urgently after being framed for that benefactor's murder," She supplied, clearly enjoying every moment of what was to come.

Yelena gaped for a few moments, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, before she finally managed coherency. "Shit, I'm so sorry! I promise I wasn't the one to point any blame at you."

You waved her off, red-faced. "It's fine. We know who it was. Unfortunately, no official will even consider it, and demand I be put behind bars."

"Tony's working on the legal stuff," Natasha reassured you, before returning her attention to her drink.

"Tony? As in Tony Stark of Stark Industries? Iron Man? You know him?" Yelena gushed, eyes shining.

"WellI'mkindofanavenger," You mumbled sheepishly. Natasha snorted in amusement.

"[Y/N] is one of the cool kids I run around with," She said in answer to Yelena's confused frown.

The Russian was struck speechless. Fanny sighed and shifted, briefly drawing her attention from blank staring, which gave you a breather to compose yourself.

"Yes. I'm an Avenger," you said; steady and strong. You were proud of your occupation. You'd saved lives -- the entire planet! -- countless times, and you'd do it again in a heartbeat. Yelena had every right to understand that.

"So," Natasha said, finishing her drink in one gulp and standing, "I'll be calling Mason to tell him everything's fine, and the other safehouse in Yukon is free since you're both staying here. That right?"

Natasha ended up staying with you.

In a quiet conversation by the patio firepit after Nat had gone to bed, you and Yelena both agreed that the avenger needed this more than she cared to admit.

The next morning, Yelena invited her sister to stay with you for the whole run of your supposed bedrest, to which she reluctantly agreed.

(Honestly, your insistence swayed her more than her own volition. She couldn't resist three sets of puppy eyes.)

It was hard for Natasha to let go of work.

The boys and Wanda were a mess without her, and she received numerous disgruntled or chaotic calls throughout the day. She talked herself into flying back to the states multiple times, but you wouldn't let her.

Yelena tried telling the team to back off -- to just let her relax -- but they failed to learn how to function without Natasha.

Eventually, Pepper intervened and the calls stopped.

Before this, you had put Nat's phone on silent and hidden it while she was showering. Yelena returned with clothing flown over from the compound (she'd been lending hers to her sister until now since Nat didn't bring any) to find you taped to a wall and Natasha in a frenzy.

That day, her paranoia swiftly devolved into a panic attack, which turned into a full breakdown.

It was heartbreaking to watch your friend fall apart. Yelena helped her through it, and after a therapeutic cry Nat was more willing to ignore the others. The team knew the emergency code. She was finally ready to accept a break.

Released from the tape by a sheepish Natasha, you gave her a loving hug to melt into, then texted Pepper.

Nat was much happier after that. Her soul sang free like the spring songbirds for the first time. Even during the three years in Ohio, the shadow of the Red Room had bound her wings, and the recent ordeal of taking down Dreykov, of Antonia -- coming face-to-face with her greatest nightmare -- had been emotionally intense. To say the least.

Finally getting a true break allowed the reality of those horrors to be released. A huge weight took flight from her shoulders.

Of course, healing takes time, and is not a linear journey. You and Yelena were there for Natasha every day.

Yelena's mood improved with her sister's, and soon the two were acting as if they'd never been trained assassins separated for twenty years. They were just a normal family. Happy, content.

Mealtimes were filled with cheerful banter and laughter, the result of weaving around bodies crammed into the kitchen and steam clouding cracked open windows.

Mornings were spent lazing in bed, followed by sunbathing on the porch with a coffee. Nights were either filled with alcohol and stumbling to bed; or books, cozy blankets and a roaring fireplace. The rest of their day was occupied with chores, exploring the island, and swimming in the lake. Natasha mostly played with Fanny around the island. She was almost more infatuated with the dog than Yelena, if that was even possible.

At some point, you ended up gravitating into Yelena's bed.

#mcu x reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #white widow #natasha romanoff #avengers x reader #gender neutral reader #fem reader #masc reader #themagnificentmx #my writing

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emira-addams · 8 months ago

Text

Hazbin Hotel - Carmilla x Rosie - Ethereal

TW: 18+

Winner, winner, some sinners dinner… or Rosie witnesses Carmillas fall from Heaven…

The horizon of Hell glowed an unspoiled red, a balmy breeze blew and this peaceful evening reminded Rosie of those warm summer nights when she was still alive in Louisiana.

Rosie sighed with satisfaction. With her parasol over her shoulder, she strolled alone with slow steps along the outskirts of Cannibal Town. Among the many abandoned factory buildings of the former industrial site, the cannibal was the only roaming soul. She was enjoying the pleasantly warm evening, the peaceful silence and her time alone during her well-earned stroll after a hard day's work in her Emporium.

Suddenly, the cannibal suppressed a shiver. The balmy breeze had turned into an icy cold wind as the flowers in the sparsely planted beds bent their heads. Rosie shivered, her body trembling with cold. She grimaced slightly in surprise, since the heat of Hell was usually unbearable, an uncomfortable torment for all sinners.

"What in the name of Lucifer?" Startled, Rosie stopped, her eyes widening in disbelief. "That's impossible..." she whispered, her senses were playing a very poor prank on her. She crouched down in front of the flowerbed at the side of the path and watched with wonder at the growing ice flowers and the sparkling frost that suddenly covered the red roses and red poppies under a delicate layer of ice.

"How is that possible?" Rosie stretched out her fingers. At the gentle touch of her warm fingertips, the fragile petals immediately shattered into thousand shards of ice. "Frost is absolutely impossible in Hell..." muttered Rosie, her voice still full of disbelief. She quickly withdrew her hand, the cold burning her skin and her heart racing in her chest. "But they're gorgeous," she hummed to herself as the ice flowers continued to grow and spread.

The hellish heat became noticeably colder and Rosie wrapped her arms protectively around her body to shield it from the increasing cold.

Startled, Rosie gasped as a snowflake suddenly landed on the tip of her nose. She looked up at the surrounding sky in astonishment, the horizon fading from red to blue as more and more white snowflakes fell from purple clouds. Snowflake after snowflake danced through the air in frantic spins and landed in Hell. Slowly, a thin layer of powdered icing covered the abandoned factory buildings.

"A snow flurry?" Rosie held out her hands. She stared in amazement at the snowflakes that landed on her palms and began to melt after a few seconds, leaving only small puddles of water behind. "This is real snow..."

Snow in Hell...

"Snow in Hell!" the cannibal repeated the words in disbelief. A laugh filled with excitement escaped her lips. The last time she had seen snow was decades ago, during her lifetime on earth. "This... This is magic!" She stretched out her arms and spun on the spot, the snow crunching under the soles of her boots as she leaned her head back and felt the snowflakes falling on her skin. It was a cold contrast to the hellish heat. "As if Hell itself had forgotten its own nature..." Rosie breathed, her breath hanging in thin wafts of mist in the air. Hell had acid rain, thunderstorms with gorenados and painbows, but no snow.

The air was crackling with cold. The purple clouds grew darker and darker.

Without warning, the horizon suddenly lit up with a blinding light. With a crash, lightning split the horizon of Hell, for a few seconds the dense cloud cover seemed to burst into thousands of pieces, the drum roll of dark thunder accompanied the strange weather phenomenon.

Rosie blinked, rooted to the spot, and stared up at the heavenly spectacle. At the blink of an eye, the cannibal was as if she could make out the blurred outlines of a figure among all the gloomy clouds. The wind picked up and the snow flurry increased.

Heaven shimmered. The light from the stars flickered. Lightning split the skies again and again.

Suddenly, a figure clearly emerged from the silhouettes of the dense clouds in the high distance. Enveloped in a dazzling glow of light, like a shooting star or a star that had detached itself from the firmament, a figure fell towards Hell.

As the figure descended faster and faster in its fall towards the ground, Rosie recognized the unmistakably ethereal outline of glorious wings.

An angel was falling towards Hell.

Rosie's breath caught in a startled gasp as the angel made a last desperate attempt to cushion the impact with a flutter of her wings before she protectively folded her wings around her own body and crashed through the roof of a factory building in a blast of snow and dust and divine light.

The fall was followed by an eerie silence. The horizon of Hell shone again in an unspoiled red, with only snowflakes still drizzling from purple clouds.

Rosie could hear her heart beating in her ears, her heart was racing in her chest and her thoughts were racing in confusion.

An angel had fallen, from Heaven.

Here, into Hell.

Right now, almost before Rosie's feet.

Rosie took off running. The snow crunched under her boots as she sprinted for the factory building where the angel had crashed.

The factory building was deserted. A collapsed chain-link fence stretched around the weathered building. Stacks of junk barricaded the entrance, while the huge iron doors had also been locked with heavy iron chains and a rusty lock to keep out unwanted intruders. The ugly gray paint had already faded in the constant hellish sun and was peeling off the metal walls in shreds. Brown moss and black poison ivy clung to the outer walls. Parts of the crooked roof had collapsed, holes gaped in the side walls and some buffoon had stolen the hollow letters that had visibly proclaimed the name of the company on the front of the factory building.

Rosie peered cautiously into the factory building. Specks of dust danced together in pairs in the fading light that filtered in through the perforated walls. A huge hole gaped in the rotten ceiling, through which the snowflakes drizzled dreamily and the hellish horizon shone. Bent nails and screws protruded from the concrete walls and there was broken glass everywhere. Black mold crawled out of the corners between the shadows. It reeked dreadfully with damp.

Rosie wrinkled her nose in disgust as suddenly an incredible smell, so heavenly sweet, crept into her nose and inevitably made the cannibal's mouth water. She had never smelled such an enchanting smell before in Hell, but then she saw the gleam of golden blood in the darkness of the building.

Quickly, Rosie slipped through the nearest hole in the wall. She crept quietly through the shadows of the disused machines, following the strong smell of the ichor to a crater in the concrete floor beneath the hole in the ceiling.

Shocked, Rosie pressed her hand over her mouth as a startled cry threatened to escape her lips. In the middle of the crater on her knees and in the snowfall sat the fallen angel.

"By Lucifer..." whispered Rosie in awe as she stared wide-eyed at the fallen angel in disbelief. She was beautiful, her beauty almost beyond description. Long white hair fell in waves over her shoulders. Her white dress was torn and soaked all over with ichor. Rosie was convinced that she must surely be a gift from Heaven with her beauty, her golden blood smelling truly seductive.

All around her, golden ichor and white feathers stuck to the cold concrete, she had her back turned towards Rosie and the cannibal stared at her wings in shock. They looked terrible. They bent into various unnatural angles, they had definitely been broken in the fall. Between bald patches, the bare skin underneath, disheveled feathers stuck out in all directions.

"Oh, you poor thing...," Rosie murmured with pity as she watched the root of evil further tarnish the angel's divine beauty.

Eye upon eye, hundreds of them slowly emerged from the dark walls. They stared down at the angel in their midst with glowing gazes. Frantic voices hissed and whispered in an ancient language in the darkness, while the white feathers of her wings slowly turned black.

"Let go of me!" The angel screamed in pain as she struggled in vain against the corruption. "I don't belong here!"

Trembling fingers clutched desperately at a broad sword forged from angelic steel. She quickly raised her sword above her head, her arms trembling and her muscles spasming. She placed the blade on the stump of her wings. With a desperate cry, she tried with the blade to sever her corrupted wings from her back, but the blade stopped bluntly at the bone. Golden blood ran down her back, coating her hands and causing the sword to slip from her quivering palms.

The blade clattered to the concrete floor as the corruption took root. It wrapped itself around the angel's fingers, staining her fingertips black. It covered her palms in blackness and snaked along her forearms, the pain burning like red-hot iron. Tear after tear, glittering like diamonds, ran down her cheeks and dripped into her lap. The angel screamed louder as the corruption etched itself deep into her flesh, submerging the web of her veins in deep blackness. Even her snow-white hair was now streaked with black strands.

Wave after wave of cold washed over her body as, piece by piece, pure evil threatened to consume the divine being. Her whole body heaved. She writhed in pain before forcibly submitting to the corruption. The angel braced herself against the cold concrete as black and gold mingled.

Rosie's hands clenched into fists, the sight of the fallen angel was no longer bearable for the cannibal. Her heart raced in her chest and her mind panicked, telling her to run as she dared to leave her cover. With quick steps, Rosie rushed into the crater. Before the angel could react, Rosie grabbed the sword.

"Get lost, you cursed creature, or I will kill you!" the angel shouted as the cannibal stood armed before her. Fear reflected in her eyes, the fear of Rosie. She tried in vain to back away from her. "Go away, please..." she begged in a brittle voice. She stifled a sob, while tears ran freely over her cheeks.

"Hey..." Rosie whispered softly. She lowered the sword. "I promise I won't hurt you."

"A promise from a sinner like you is utterly worthless!" the angel snarled. Protectively, she wrapped her broken wings around the rest of her body. Her words trembled on her tongue. "If you want to kill me, then do it already!"

"I don't want to kill you..." Rosie dropped the sword and held out her helping hand to the angel instead. "What's your name?" she asked gently. "I'm Rosie," she introduced herself. She flashed the angel a sharp smile.

The angel hesitated. Although she refused Rosie's offered hand, she at least answered Rosie's question about her name. "I-I'm C-Carmilla..."

Rosie clasped her hands together. "All right, Carmilla, please tell me how I can help you," she demanded softly.

"You can't help me!" Vigorously, Carmilla shook her head. "I'm a fallen angel. No one can help me now, I've ended up in Hell and I'll never be able to get back home..."

Suddenly the murmurs and whispers of voices from the darkness grew louder again. The glowing gazes of more and more emerging eyes glared enraged at Rosie as the corruption spread over Carmilla's body again. The blackness crawled and climbed under her skin and her entire body writhed under the violent pain.

"You can't think like that or the root of evil will consume you wholly!" scolded Rosie sternly. Her warm hands quickly caught Carmilla by her shoulders before the angel could topple over. "I can help you," she promised her again and again as she looked into her eyes. "Please let me help you, Milly," she begged.

"M-My wings..." panted Carmilla, looking at Rosie with a glazed gaze of desperate determination. "M-My wings... They are the source of my corruption, with every passing second it spreads further and further throughout my body. The pain is unbearable," she whispered weakly. Her voice was less than a whisper and the last light was already flickering in her eyes. She was breathing heavily. "You have to... to cut off my wings... Please, Rosie, cut them off..."

"Milly, are you sure?" Rosie asked anxiously. "If I do that, you'll lose your wings for all eternity."

"I am aware of that," Carmilla answered. "But they've been rendered useless by my fall... I don't think they'd heal fully, and besides, they'd only attract the attention of other sinners."

"All right, I'll do it." Resolutely, Rosie picked up the sword from the ground and stepped behind the angel. As a sign of additional support, she placed her free hand on Carmilla's shoulder and squeezed gently to reassure her. "I need you to tell me if you want me to stop if the pain is getting unbearable. Ready?"

"Yes...," Carmilla breathed shakily as Rosie placed the blade. She closed her eyes and held her breath.

"I'll be as quick and clean as possible," the cannibal promised in a calm voice.

Carmilla's screams of pain echoed through the deserted factory building as Rosie worked with grim efficiency, slicing through the tough flesh. Feathers fluttered before her feet and Ichor coated her hand. Reluctantly, the cannibal resisted the urge to lick the golden blood from her fingers. She wanted to end Carmilla's suffering as quickly as possible.

"It's over," Rosie spoke softly as Carmilla's wings finally lay severed from her body on the ground. Her free hand still rested on Carmilla's shoulder for reassurance, the other lowering the blade. "You're free from them now..."

Carmilla lifted her head. She breathed heavily as tears mingled with golden blood on her cheeks. "T-Thank you, Ro-" Before the fallen angel could finish her sentence, Carmilla passed out in Rosie's arms, weakened from her high blood loss and her pain.

"Don't worry, Milly, you're safe with me," Rosie whispered, delicately brushing one of the black and white discolored strands from her face and behind her ear, while snow kept falling. "I swear I'll protect you from all of Hell," she promised, placing a gentle kiss on Carmilla's forehead.

#hazbin hotel #my writing #ao3 #fanfic #carmilla carmine #hazbin carmilla #hazbin hotel carmilla #carmilla x rosie #rosie x carmilla #blooming gun #rosie #hazbin rosie #hazbin hotel rosie #fallen angel #ethereal

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