#also please appreciate the effort i had to go to to not only hunt down these shots

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

What the Future Holds - Prologue

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: No set pairings.

Word Count: 1.1K

Warnings: Language and mentions of sex. If you stare long enough sex trafficking. This series is for 18+ MINORS DNI. While there are hardly any warnings in this Prologue, each chapter will have its own set of warnings. You are responsible for the media you consume. DARK THEMES AHEAD.

Author’s Note:  As a reminder, this series is being moved over here since I will be deleting my 'after dark' sideblog. If you would like to be tagged in this, please let me know. But I beg to make sure you're at least 18 before you do. Also please make sure to go follow @xxwritemeastoryxxlibrary and turn on notifications. That way you don't miss a fic!

I do not and will not ever give permission for my fics to be copied and posted on other sites. Don’t do it. Don’t be that person that ruins it for me and everyone else.

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. While likes are appreciated, reblogs are gold. Seriously, if you enjoyed this in the slightest, please reblog ♥

There was once a time where the world was vastly different. Supernatural creatures lived within the shadows of the human world. For some of them, they managed to live their lives peacefully alongside the humans. Others, mostly the vampires, managed to prove to the humans that their influences could provide the necessities to help their city thrive. And many of those vampires held a higher status within those cities. 

In other cities, the supernatural creatures were hunted. Hunted to keep their cities safe or occasionally for sport once they had been brought out into the open. Many towns had been successful in their hunts and were made safer for as long as possible. 

For generations those stories of the creatures that visited and were hunted passed down to the next generation. It was a way to warn their children from the potential nightmares that would visit. But it also helped to ensure their homes were safe and free from the creatures that roamed the earth. And for generations it worked in their favor. 

That was until one day, a group of vampires decided they were done hiding within the shadows. The older vampires that had been around for centuries believed these 'children' wouldn't make it very far in their efforts. If their experiences throughout time had proven anything, any uprise would surely be ended before it grew to a larger scale. Many believed they would be killed before the week had reached it's midpoint. But with the right connections and heavy use of compulsion, the world learned about the Vampires that inhabited it. 

Panic had spread throughout the world and the hunt to rid the world of vampires began. Hundreds of humans died before a war was declared. In the process, other species that were wanted to remain hidden had been forced out. Many werewolf packs were slaughtered while the witches were considered allies in the war to stop the vampires. 

Unfortunately, the humans were no match for the vampires and a new world order began. It wasn't long before the vampires had control over everything The governments that humans had been used to changed in a matter of weeks. The humans had officially dropped a notch on the food chain. 

With the vampire sitting at the top, humans were forced to serve the monsters they feared. Humans were compelled and used for what the vampires wanted. Eventually, humans were sold and traded depending on the vampire's needs. 

The humans that once could easily buy their way out could no longer do so. The only time humans were spared from the trades or even used as a food supply was if they were in the good graces of a vampire. 

And if those humans managed to get themselves in the vampire's good graces, their families were granted Sanctuary and thrived in the world. Many managed to do as the year went on. Others could never bring themselves to befriend the vampires let alone owe them for keeping their family safe. 

For the L/N family, they didn't come from wealth. Generation after generations they did what they needed to make ends meet and ensure their survival. Some generations had broken the cycle and made more than others. Some made a life for themselves in other ways and enjoyed their life where it counted. 

With the vampire uprising, the L/N family, as well as other families, had been terrorized by the creatures that came out of the shadows. The more vampires came out of hiding, the worse things had become. And when the world went to the vampire's they were tossed in with the masses. 

That was until Clara L/N managed to get in the good graces of a vampire. Going from a housekeeper to a vampire's personal fuck toy and blood bag had it's perks. And when the opportunity presented itself, Clara wasn't going to miss out on the chance to move up. 

Her family was disapproving at first. They hated the idea that Clara had gotten so close to the monster that kept most of them locked away. But when Clara told them about their freedom a few years later, no one dared speak anything negative. And when Clara had accepted vampirism, the safety of her family had been solidified. 

At least until centuries later when one of Clara's descendants struck up a deal with the wrong vampire. That safety was put at risk. 

Clara's fists hit the table she had been sitting behind as her distant grandson stood before her.  His wife stood beside him with her eyes casted down while his eyes remained on Clara. He should have known better. 

"Out of all the things you could have done in this world, you made a business deal with the De Martels." Her eyes never left his. "Your deal with the Mikaelsons is now at risk and for what? More security than I can provide?"

"The deal with the Mikaelsons doesn't change." He shook his head. "Our deal with the Mikaelsons is for our children. With the De Martels it's all business."

Clara's eyebrow raised as she picked up the contract in front of her and tossed it towards his end of the desk. "Your children are included in this. Or did you trust them enough to just sign without reading?"

Clara watched as his wife's head shot up and looked towards him. The look in her eyes telling Clara everything she needed to know. The woman had no idea about the deal her husband had just made.

"Tell me," Clara said as she stood from her seat and walked around the table to stand beside him. "Did you think of what would happen if this deal failed? Where would your wife end up?" She could hear the way he swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. "What about the twins? Sure your son could be taken under the De Martels' wind and he'd be safe. But what of Y/N? We all know there would only be three places for her to end up. None of them are pleasant."

Times had changed since Clara had gained her vampire status. She climbed her way up and now it wasn't as simple as that. Getting in the good graces of a vampire was no longer as easy as it was. Human males were put into two categories: breeders and laborers. As for the human females, they tended to be placed into three categories: breeders, feeders and personal entertainment.

"You could protect them-"

Clara scoffed. "My protection only goes so far. Keep you from being tossed in with the other humans, yes. Keep you supplied with the wealth you need to survive, always. But to break deals with other vampires, older ones such as the De Martels, not  within my right. I will make this very clear, the L/N family will always be free from the hold the vampires have on humans. However, should you not fulfill your end of this contract, your family will belong to the De Martels. If you fail, which I hope is not the case, I hope your children will be able to climb themselves out of the hole you've dug them in."

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[princesscolumbia]

Code of Ethics - Ch. 14 - Traffic Control

Friday was uber-crazy busy, so my usual writing cadence was thrown off. Otherwise I might have had this out yesterday.

Also, back to a 4k+ chapter instead of the 8k+ monsters the last two were.

Back at her station, Diane's ready to return to business as usual, if they knew what business as usual even was yet.

Preview below the cut:

In the time they’d been on Mortan, Katrina had gone to the effort to identify a handful of the people that had been living on the station with some native ability to prepare food and set them to the task of preparing meals for the staff and crew, dialing back the synthesizer process to generating the ingredients needed for the foods being made instead of preparing the entire meal straight from the synthesizer. Not only did this reduce wear and tear (and reliance) on the food synths, it wound up producing better food overall.

The addition of the shipments from Mortan helped as well, providing things like salt that could be ‘perfectly’ created on the station but salt harvested from a planetary environment provided things like trace elements that boosted not just the flavor but the nutritional value of the food served in the mess hall. It wound up being…well, not anything like the five-star restaurant they’d dined their last dinner on Mortan in, but certainly landing in the “home cookin’” category that turned mealtimes from when people had a chance to sit down and eat to communal events where the station’s small population gathered to enjoy good food and good company.

While Diane had been quite pleased with this development, they learned on their second day back that the ‘command’ breakfasts should probably be taken in her private dining room. They had decided that Diane would open the ‘care packages’ from the women of Mortan, one package at a time, at breakfast.

The went fine for the first day when the contents of said care package had been a Morvish riding vest accompanied by a note that Norma took great pleasure in reading aloud, “’To: The First Found Daughter – My gran made this for me for my first hunting party, and all my daughters and granddaughters are grown and have long since had their first hunt. I know grandmother would want this to go to you, please wear it for your first hunt.’” she smiled down at the note with a slightly wistful smile, “Awww!”

“That is sweet, you should let me take a picture of you wearing it so we can send a thank you in reply,” suggested Russe.

Diane shrugged, “No reason not to, I guess, though it might be a logistical nightmare to try and reply to all of ‘em like that.”

Norma carefully re-folded the note and put it back on top of the vest in it’s shipping box, “Then maybe we have a form-note made, you know, ‘Thanks for the gift of insert-whatever-it-was-here, I greatly appreciate it, signed First Found Daughter’ or something.”

The second day had forced them to alter their burgeoning breakfast tradition when Diane opened a box to reveal a perfume scented envelope resting on top of translucent and vaguely labelled package of some sort of fabric contents. Continuing the pattern established the previous morning, Norma snatched up the envelope and gently tore open the top as Diane found a zipper seal on the package.

“Oooh, flowery handwriting! Don’t see that often in space, let’s see… ‘Dearest First Found,’ wow, already on a first name basis with a woman on your first port of call? You’re going to get a reputation,” Norma teased as she gently fanned out the several pages of the letter, a small square of photopaper landing picture down on the table from the pages. Diane rolled her eyes and started fishing the fabric out of the plasticine container as Norma continued, “‘I hope you like what you see, I look forward to finding out if you’re a progenitor or a proliferator under those…tight…pants?!” her voice tightened to a squeak and her face started turning bright red as her eyes continued to scan the note, now doing so quietly as Diane held up some ‘clothing’ that certainly wasn’t fit for a work environment.

Except for maybe a brothel.

Sitting almost frozen with a deer-in-the-headlights shocked look on her face, her entire head turning bright red from her bangs down to the last visible skin above the neckline of her shirt. She finally stammered, “…this is way too small for me.”

Russe had picked up the fallen photo and was staring at the picture, somewhat slack jawed and very red as well, “That’s…because it’s not for you. She…ah, modelled it for you.” He swallowed thickly and whimpered, “…for such a small lady she’s got…wow…”

Norma leaned over to look at what had Russe so tongue tied and her eyes bugged out, “Whoah! She’s huge!”

Diane was busy stuffing the lingerie back in the package, doing her best to not think about the… ‘assets’ that the much shorter and smaller woman this would have to fit both the bra and panties she had just held up for the entire mess hall to see…including the giggling teens at the next table.

It had been a week since that…particular incident, and now when they encountered a care package of the racier persuasion, they had a laugh of it in the privacy of Diane’s suite.

Today, though, the package had been from the Morvuck equivalent of a class of kindergarteners, apparently the girls who had watched Diane and the Matron bond in the street. They had wound up almost forgetting about their breakfasts as the poured through the adorably (if inexpertly) hand-crafted notes, cards, and pictures.

“Oh…my…gosh, this one’s adorable!” gushed Russe, “She writes that they voted to make you an honorary member of their class since they’re special to the Matron and you’re special to the Matron so you’re obviously sisters!”

Diane couldn’t help the ear-to-ear grin that was threatening to start actually hurting from how hard she was smiling, “Okay, keep that one separate. I want it framed and hung in Ops.”

Norma cackled at this new soft spot in their commander, but this swiftly morphed into a cooing, ‘oooh,’ as she pulled a drawn picture from the pile. “Omygosh, someone must have told them you’re a station commander, look at this!” The picture was on a material that wasn’t quite black construction paper, and amid a field of glittery, silver puff paint star dots was a child’s idea of a space station. It was incredibly crude and looked almost nothing like her station, a blob of the silvery puff paint next to a little blue and green ‘planet’ that sadly looked more like Earth or Mortan than the gas covered ball of rock and water the station was actually in orbit of. Taking up most of the picture, though, and rendered crudely in gold, white, and yellow puff paint was a dragon with a little white-suited blond woman riding on the dragon’s back.

“Okay, this is going in my office!” she said with a slightly scratchy voice as she gently took it from Norma with the tips of her fingers.

“Are you crying?!” laughed Norma.

Diane wiped the tracks of liquid from her face, “No, you’re crying! Shutup!” she said without heat as Russe and Norma laughed good naturedly.

Before they could do any more appreciation of the children’s artwork, Cynthy’s voice paged over the PA, “Commander to Ops, unscheduled inbound ship from out of system. Repeat, Commander to Ops, unscheduled inbound ship from out of system.”

The trio glanced at each other in confusion before standing to leave, Diane grabbing a pastry off her plate, which fortunately represented most of what she hadn’t eaten yet.

Read the rest of Scribblehub

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Rated: Teen and Up

Pairing: General, hint of Dean/OFC

Tags: Witchcraft, Animal Transformations, Angst, Fluff (and Fur)

Word Count: 5500

Hello, and welcome to my very first foray into a big bang! Of course, if I’m going to give one a try, Dean Winchester will be the focus. This particular one was also much less intimidating as it was the 2023 Dean Winchester Big Bang: Mini Edition. So, the word count wasn’t high, and we had a couple of months to work on the project with our artists. My artist is TwinOne. I had such a fun time sending over suggestions and watching their artwork come to life through the process.

I hope you enjoy and please let TwinOne know how sweet and lovely the artwork is. I’m over the moon with the results, and it was so satisfying to see someone’s interpretation of my story! It scratched that itch (wink, wink).

Thank you to the mods @deanwbigbang for hosting and running such a fun challenge! Your time and effort is appreciated!

Summary - Set pre-series, Stanford Era: Dean has been sent on a solo hunt in New Orleans. He meets up with an ingenue witch, Selina, who needs his help to save her mentor from a voodoo priestess. The plan doesn’t go as expected; when does it ever? Dean, though, gets a little breather in the aftermath, and it turns out to be just the thing to scratch that itch.

Prequel to "Oh, I'll Be Anything You Want"

Tendrils of smoke. It swirls, radiating bright white, pulsing with life in an empty void. Growls. Incessant barks. Distant at first. With every passing second, the panic rises as the sound pounds closer. Suddenly, hot and foul breath chases out the smoke.

Dean’s lids popped open from the nightmare. His head tilted from side to side, inspecting the area.

He’d hoped the entire thing had been a self-constructed comedy of errors in his mind. A bad dream from which he’d blessedly awakened.

Unfortunately, the current situation he found himself in was very, very real.

There was no way Dean Winchester would ever tell his dad about this.

If he somehow managed to escape this debacle, he might die of humiliation if someone found out.

New Orleans had been a disappointment in so many ways. No booze. No beads. No boobs.

He whined at the unexpected stab of pain emanating from his shoulder. He’d been lucky to win the fight in one piece. The sparring partner’s fangs had sunk into Dean’s flesh like malleable clay.

But before the ambush, he’d at least accomplished what he’d set out to do. The hex bag had been buried in the priestess’s backyard. Selina had provided specific instructions. Dean’s sense of direction easily found the northernmost corner of the parcel lot. The muslin-wrapped ingredients he’d been charged with rested beneath a half foot of dirt. All his tasks were completed well before midnight under the brightest full moon he’d seen in ages. He hoped Selina had gone ahead with the spellwork even if he hadn’t gotten back to her in time.

He stared out between the steel bars into the pitch-black. The absence of light left him bereft of shadows to discern as friend or foe.

An itch tap-danced over his neck. Skin rippled at the sensation while he fought the temptation to scratch. Discomfort from the wounded limb took priority for a short spell. 

He hadn’t thought things could get worse but turned out jail time was the worst thing that could have happened on top of everything else. Getting caught, literally, in this condition left him vulnerable.

Dean’s nostrils flared and twitched at the overpowering stench of pungent piss and stale shit. He got a whiff of cat dander and sneezed.

The cell block buddy to his right barked to keep it down. It was lights out, after all. Just because he’d been brought in late last night, he was told with a fierce growl, didn’t mean he couldn’t acclimate himself to the way things ran around here right quick. Dean rose only to circle the middle of the floor again. He eventually flopped back down, forced by the pulsing throb of his barely treated and badly bandaged wound. He curled like a ball atop the hard surface. The bone-cold of the place sent a shiver through his body. He closed his eyes again and prayed for sleep.

A fluorescent electric buzz hummed into his ear canal. The flicker of light flashed over closed lids. Tapping into all his senses, something alien swept left to right along the surface of his eyeballs, lazy and slow, as his sight focused.

A languid yawn escaped. The clink-clack of a door unlocking bolted him upright. He scampered to the front of the cell closest to the hallway floor. Nose stuck between bars, Dean tilted his head in vain to glimpse who entered.

Whines. Barks. They echoed off the walls. The instinctual urge to join in added his voice to the chorus.

“I found one that fits the bill a few hours ago.” A raspy elderly voice mixed in with all the noise. Dean recognized it. It belonged to the dog catcher that had entangled him in what looked like a big ass butterfly net. He was the reason Dean was here. He’d done the bare minimum caring for the Pitbull bite. Dean transferred most of the front weight to his left paw. The ache of his right shoulder thrummed in sync with the beating of his little heart. Dean had to be the one to fit the bill.

All Dean could view in his line of sight were soiled, grass-stained tan pants from the knees down and dirty brown combat boots. Pride filled his lungs. The tug of war he’d put up in the net brought the dog catcher to the ground. Their scrap amidst dirt and weeds and a flounce in a mud puddle had left his mark on the human.

Human. Christ, it has to be her coming to claim me. Please.

Hope soared in Dean’s chest when his gaze clamped on the blue (which would be violet if he was looking through his human eyes) leather of a familiar pair of high-heeled ankle boots. A crepe skirt rivaling Joseph’s technicolor dreamcoat covered the boot tops and swished in time with the steps.

“I hope it’s him.” A barely audible female voice floated above, drowned out by the pound puppies’ cacophony.

Selina! Thank Christ! A tinny, high-pitched bark erupted from his throat. Down here! Down here!

Both pairs of boots stopped in front of him. “That’s him there,” the catcher added. A wrinkled finger pointed in his direction.

Selina’s figure descended. Hands gathered the skirt up as she settled into a squat.

Her big almond-shaped eyes, a tad oversized for the heart-shaped face, blinked in relief. Dean halted his bark in mid-yip. Instead of her usual deep purple irises - a breathtaking sight in and of themselves on any given day - he was met with equally captivating dark blue saucers, swirled with golden flecks. The sight of her large frame stirred up amazement.

She grinned. “Yep, that’s him!” 

The dog catcher huffed and fumbled with the key into the padlock. “You should take better care of the mutt. No collar or chip. He’s lucky I found him.”

Lucky, my ass!

“He’s not a mutt,” Selina responded in her typical curt fashion. “Purebred beagle.”

“Aint never seen a beagle with green eyes ‘fore,” the dog catcher mumbled. He fished the padlock from out of the loop. “Or one with paws that damn big.” The cage door squeaked with Dean’s nose nudging it open. Dean bounced off his hind legs into Selina’s lap. 

Selina slammed a hand on the concrete to remain upright. “Oh, thank God! Scooby!” She wrapped her free arm around Dean. 

“Scooby, huh?” The old man removed his cap to smooth down the ten wiry hairs on his head.

Dean’s pulse began to slow, nestled tight and secure in Selina’s embrace. The scent he’d connected with her, spicy incense and pink bubblegum, enveloped his now small and furrier frame.

One back paw reared up and swatted repeatedly at one of his floppy ears.

“What happened to him?” Selina’s tender touch caressed the gauze bandage.

“Got ‘imself in some trouble. Looked to be an animal bite.”

Dean’s lids clamped tight. He cocked his head and continued to flick and dig his paw into the spot behind his ears. Maybe if he used his claws.

“Does he… have fleas?” Selina asked in a tone that regrettably already knew the answer.

Fleas? Dean whined, still scratching. Why the fuck not? On top of everything else.

“We’re gonna take care of this, Dean. Promise.” Selina white-knuckled the steering wheel, hands at ten and two. Her lithe, petite frame perched on the edge of the bench. It was the only way she could reach the Impala’s gas pedal.

Dean languished on the passenger side and sunk into the center of the seat. It was still dark out. Street lamps popped overhead in a rhythmic pattern and spilled light through the windshield. Cobblestone-paved streets jostled the chassis. His baby usually drove like a tank with barely a hiccup; all smooth sailing. He wondered how much the bumpy ride had to do with the road condition under the tires or the person driving his car. 

He sighed, closed his eyes, and shivered at the pinprick, itchy tingle of his skin. 

Apparently, the spell Selina had cast didn’t include telepathy. No matter how much he wished for her to reach under the seat, feel for the damn bar to pull the bench forward to close the distance between her and the wheel, she wasn’t tuned into his mental signals.

Dean straightened his front legs and stiffened his elbows at the sudden screech of tires. His paws dug into the leather. He lurched forward with the momentum, watching Selina do the same from the driver’s seat. Once they settled to a stop, she stared over at him with a regretful frown. “Sorry. I haven’t driven in a while.”

Dean slitted his lids and yipped.

“It’s not much farther to the shop.” The pointy toe of her boot met the gas pedal and the car sputtered along again. “Once I got a lock on your location and saw how far away you were, I didn’t have a choice but to take your car. But don’t worry, we’re gonna take care of this, Dean.”

You already said that. Dean’s little barks echoed in the Impala’s interior.

“I know you’re trying to tell me something. But I can’t read your mind.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“Man, you’ve got a powerful set of puppy lungs. Want some good news? I was able to lift the hoodoo trance off Esme. All thanks to you.”

Well, at least something good came out of this mess.

It was very good news. He was in New Orleans because his father sent him on a case to help out an old friend. The old friend happened to be a witch doctor named Esmerelda. Esme for short. 

Dean’s boots had hit Danneel Street and crossed the threshold of “Step on a Crack” Magical Notions Shop, which Esme owned, one day too late to prevent the inevitable escalation. Esme had been cursed and was unsure when the fallout would take full effect. She hadn’t stepped on a crack but the toes of a powerful voodoo priestess in the French Quarter. That’s why he and Selina had partnered up. To save her teacher, who’d been rendered catatonic. Esme was currently being watched and cared for by the coven, whose members were taking shifts at her bedside.  

Glad your mentor is on the mend. That’s even better for me. She can probably zap me back quicker than you. Why aren’t we heading there?

“She’s still pretty weak, though, from what Harold told me over the phone.”

Dean huffed.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I know you wanted to turn into a German Shepherd. But I did say I couldn’t guarantee what kind of dog breed the spell would transform you into. That’s not in my control.” Selina tangled her hands one over the other along the steering wheel column in a clumsy fashion. Dean swayed to the right with Selina’s left turn. “I’m pretty sure, though, the shop’s got some things that will take care of your fleas while we wait out the magic.”

It was true. Selina hadn’t guaranteed much about the spell. And it had been his idea to try it when they rifled through the pages of an ancient grimoire. The voodoo priestess had stitched some warding around her property, only permitting certain humans to cross. An animal transformation made perfect sense. 

Dean groaned and rubbed the side of his head into the backrest to ease the itch. Fleas better not have been part of Selina’s witchcraft.

Dean scrabbled paws along the slippery marble floor, trying in vain to sit upright. Every time he thought he’d achieved a precarious balance, his body toppled. He’d starfished, even done a few Bambi-on-ice skating maneuvers waiting for Selina in the tiny bathroom. Claustrophobia settled in, though it’d only been a few minutes since she promised to return and closed the door behind her.

How old was this puppy skin he inhabited? All of Dean - his mind, sensibilities, and humanity - wrapped up tight in this fur burrito felt like him, except when it didn’t. Curious instinct made its presence known. Once he relented on the sitting still attempt, his nose glued to the floor and led the inspecting. He tried to zone in on something interesting to escape the fear. And the endless itching he’d been ordered not to scratch. When Dean thought about it, it wasn’t that different from any given human day. 

Overhead, water poured out of the claw foot tub’s red copper faucet. Steam plumed over the deep basin. The impending bath temperature also drew concern. Being a beagle was terrible enough. A boiled beagle? Hell no!

Flared nostrils filled with the overwhelming scent of Selina. A sense of calm broke through the nagging flight response. He’d been in the small apartment only once since arriving in Louisiana. Perched over the magic shop, his first step into her home had flooded his sight. It was a treasure trove of textiles and trinkets blazing with gemstone brilliance. Shelves stuffed with books. Glass jars of unidentifiable powders. Vials of transparent or opaque liquids. Everything a young witch needed to learn the craft.

She smelled nice before. He’d caught whiffs of her here and there when he passed her frame on his human feet. But his canine senses were picking up every atomized particle now. He spotted a forgotten hairbrush hiding in the corner and catapulted forward to claim it. His speed and the slick marble took away any ability to stop in a semblance of elegance. He face-palmed into the rubber tines of the brush. Tangled hair in the brush tickled his nose, and rapid inhales took more of her into his lungs. Yeah. This was nice. It felt good. Safe. He debated chewing.  

The door creaked. Dean spun in a flash and let out a pathetic growl of defense, having painted himself into a corner with no way out. Selina stepped inside, paying him no attention. The giantess silenced him with only her presence. 

“Apple cider vinegar.” She held up a bottle in victory, clutching a few small droppers in the other hand. They clattered from her grip into the pedestal sink. Sitting on the tub edge, she uncapped the vinegar and emptied the contents with a rhythmic glug into the water. 

Drops splattered up and out of the tub, landing near Dean. He flinched. Doggie brain told him this was not going to be pleasant. 

“Okay.” Fingers twisted first one faucet knob, then the other, shutting off the flow. Her arm dipped into the water. Dean’s ear perked up at the sloshes. “Not too bad.”

Says you.

“Come on, Dean.” Her wet hand gestured with a come hither.

You know, I might be able to hang on until the spell wears off. I’m good.

Selina sighed. “You’re gonna make me come over there, aren’t you?” She slinked on the floor, knees stretching the fabric of her skirt as she crawled towards him on all fours.

Seriously, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse.

His insistence fell on deaf ears. She snatched him up in a second. The next, he dangled above the water. Her hands cupped him under whatever a dog’s version of armpits were. He kicked and wriggled. Whined and whimpered.

“It’s okay.” She submerged his hind quarters like a tea bag in and out three times until he gave in and went limp in her arms to steep. “Not gonna hurt you, no matter what you think of witches.” She leaned him forward with care. “Good boy.” When she let him go, he stood in warm water that rose up to just meet his back.  

He shivered, puppy heartbeat racing. His nose twitched at the acidity of the vinegar additive. The sound of skin rubbing together crept up behind him. “Next ingredient we need is peppermint.” A soap bar popped into his peripheral vision. It smelled of candy mints left atop a restaurant check, then absentmindedly stuffed in a jacket pocket. “Okay?” she asked.

You gonna stop if I say no? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Okay, so Dean had to admit to himself - even if he’d never cop to Selina - the bath hadn’t been that bad. Selina had a gentle but firm touch. She’d sudsed all of his coat, lifting him first from the front and then the back end. She apologized for getting a little more intimate than Dean had expected with his little puppy prick and ass. The fleas could be anywhere, she reminded him. As the tub drained, she sprayed water from the shower wand and rinsed him clean. 

Once he was taken out of the tub and laid atop one towel, another enveloped and rubbed until his fur was damp and not dripping. She communicated all of her actions beforehand. The dropper bottles contained various oils to help rid Dean of the dreaded fleas. With fabric under his paws, he sat tall and tilted his head to study Selina while she worked. She smiled at him, patiently naming each essential or botanical oil she squeezed into a water bottle: Almond, Cedar, Eucalyptus, Lavender. 

The concoction soothed immediately on contact. The mix of smells dispelled the last remnants of his anxiety. Delicate, soft fingers caressed his coat and threaded through the fur to find the skin. The blissful massage helped chase away the panic. Yet another thing he’d never admit to Selina. If he ever got the chance to admit anything to her with his human voice again. Weirdly, he seemed perfectly willing to accept such a fate. Maybe things could be much, much worse after all. 

After tidying some of the bathroom mess, Selina opened the door and ushered him forth. Dean’s legs scampered toward the makeshift doggie water bowl beside the bank of kitchen cabinets. One would have thought he’d never want to dip his snout in water again. But he gobbled and slurped with his tongue like he hadn’t drank a drop in days. He didn’t know how much time had passed before a plate of cut-up deli ham had been deposited alongside the bowl. He was greedy for that as well. Fangs hooked into the meat. He hitched his head upwards to encourage the food down his throat.

“I know human food isn’t the best for you… like this. But let’s hope we don’t have to experience the results and the spell wears off before then.” Selina commented, leaning against the countertop. “Do you need to go outside and do some business?”

Again, without any say in the matter, Dean’s head sprung upright to lock his gaze on the sweet human caretaker at the words “go outside.” He mulled it over. He’d pissed in the nearest grass as soon as they’d left the pound. An impressively long and satisfying leak. He wanted to shake his head “No” but couldn’t do it. Instead, his eyes tracked a small rug by a chair. His claws clicked along the hardwood - thank god the entire floor wasn’t marble - to what he decided would make a perfect resting spot. He corkscrewed his frame into a compact fur ball atop the cushy velvet and let out a deep, well-earned sigh.

“Good idea. I’m beat, too.” She pointed somewhere behind Dean. “Can get a few hours of sleep before sunrise. I’ll be able to find out how long the spell will last with a clearer head in the morning.” She shrugged. The motion appeared to loosen a yawn from her throat. “But, maybe you’ll wake up all back to normal.”

Dean yawned in return, finishing it with a high-pitched squeak.

Selina giggled. “You are adorable, Dean Winchester. Night.”

Too exhausted to be any more humiliated, Dean’s tail thumped softly in response. He closed his eyes. Clean. Warm. Cozy. Well fed. Watched over.

He drifted off, hard-pressed to recall the last time he’d ever been all those things.   

Dean’s running. His puppy paws gallop atop the soft, giving earth of a field. He’s darting through the wheat. His snout cuts through the crops, scraped by wispy stalks. 

He can hear how heavy he’s panting. The exertion and speed has his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

But he’s not running from something.

Dean’s just running. Because he can.

He breaks through and into a clearing. The sun’s rays warm his furry coat. He spots a quintessential farmhouse in the distance. He can see the large wrap-around porch. A pair of rocking chairs. Off to one side is a laundry line studded with freshly washed clothes, flapping in the breeze. An oak tree, taller than the two-story home, stands guard along the other side. A tire swing dangles from one of its sturdy branches. A few white cotton candy clouds rest above it all in the bluest of skies. 

He feels the farmhouse calling to him. He just knows. It’s home.

All the colors of the rainbow that his human eyes normally detect fill his vision. He zig zags between a row of apple trees, closing the distance. A fallen apple halts him. He sniffs; the sweetness is too good to pass up. He gnashes into the mealy flesh, attacking it from all angles. He tongues the juices into his welcoming throat.

“Deeaaan!”

His head snaps up. That voice beckons him home. He resumes his sprint. That voice. He hasn’t heard it in ages.

He cuts through a tall patch of sunflowers to find the voice's owner waiting for him, seated on the porch steps.

“There you are!” Sam calls out. He tosses a tennis ball a few feet in the air above his head, catching it without having to glance at his palm. This Sam is young. Thirteen or so. He’s spindly, a toothpick with knobby joints, and a smile that takes up half his face.

Just like he remembers.

“Mom said we’ve got time before dinner.” Sam juggles the ball from one hand to the other.

Mom. Mom’s here.

“Ready?” Sam asks, winding his arm back for a killer pitch.

Dean yips.

Dean yipped himself awake. 

It’s morning. 

He’s still a beagle.

Selina watched as Dean did his business in the backyard of the Magic Shop. Unlucky, she had to experience the results of feeding puppy Dean human food. But she didn’t complain, picking up after him. “All done? How about some breakfast? Eggs and bacon sound good?”

That sounds amazing to Dean. But he’s beginning to think Selina is a glutton for punishment.

The bacon sizzled in the cast iron pan. Selina explained why Dean was still walking on four legs instead of two. “So, even though the magic worked and Esme’s on the mend, I should probably have bound your reversal spell in with that enchantment to speed things along. You would have been human by the time the full moon set this morning.” She fished a couple pieces of bacon out of the pan with a fork and laid them atop some paper towels. “I’m pretty sure it’ll wear off by tomorrow. If it doesn’t, Harold said he’ll come by and see what he can do. He doesn’t want to leave Esme yet. I’ll ask one of the other witches if you can’t wait, though.”

Dean knew that Selina trusted Harold almost as much as Esme. The other witches in the group were fickle and not the kindest to Selina, from what Dean saw firsthand. Witches, man. Dean trotted over and sat by one of Selina’s legs. He rubbed his face along her smooth calf. She looked even younger in her sleep shorts and t-shirt. Still massive, though.

“I will, Dean. I’ll eat crow for my mistake. You’ve done more than anyone would’ve for someone they don’t even know.”

A friend of Dad’s doesn’t get left behind. It’s cool, Selina. How about some bacon to smooth things over?

“What does that whine mean?”

He raised up onto his haunches and leaned front paws on the oven door.

“Oh, bacon. Right.”

The rest of the day is easy, lazy. A day he hasn’t felt in a while. Not since Sammy left him.

The days without his brother have brought out more of the hard lines and jagged points in John’s countenance. Deep down, Dean wants to hope it’s not him bringing that out in their father. That it’s the void, the empty spot that used to contain Sam that no longer filters out the hate and hurt; that used to misdirect all that drill sergeant behavior. His little shit of a sibling was all of John’s fervent focus of protection for so long. Dean sees it plain as day. John doesn’t know what to do with all his feelings. So he bottles them up. Drinks them away. Or spats them out at Dean, chipping away at him.

Dean has been coping with his feelings as best as John. Realizing he’s handling the broken compass in his core the same way. Nose down. Find a job. Work the case. Kill the monster. Fill the despair with a win. Fill the despair with booze. Inflict rage on any other to empty out the despair. Stoke passion in any other to empty out the despair.

Anything and everything to kick the can down the line. Because he’s realized - Sam was his hope and lifeline as much as he was dad’s. And, without him, well, he doesn’t really know what’s left.

He’s been tossed a lifeline here and there when he’s built up the nerve to call Sam at Stanford—only a handful of times over the past couple of years. The knots and twists in his stomach unfurled when Sam picked up the phone. Accepted and acknowledged his presence. That he’s still here, he remembers he has a brother. Even when that brother had to risk the wrath of John if he ever found out a connection was made.

But this day, wrapped in fur, small, and defenseless, he’s reminded of what could be left for him. Selina softened around him in his puppy form. Her smiles widened. She shined sweet and gentle. 

They holed up in the apartment for safety. Scampered out to the backyard for potty breaks and played fetched with a tennis ball. It’s the sunniest day he’s felt in years. Warm. Light. Clear. Fresh.

It’s the snuggles at the end of that day that he loved the best. Allowed entry into Selina’s bedroom. Allowed to hop onto the mattress and curl atop the crushed velvet comforter. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, Dean. No one gets to spend the night in my bed.”

He pushed in close, nuzzled into the layers that separated their bodies. Her energy - different, charged, holding what he thinks is potential magic - gives him comfort.

He slept like a baby.

“Oh! Dean!” Selina screamed. 

Dean eyes popped open. 

He’s chilly. 

Bigger.

He’s back.

He’s naked.

“Shit!” Dean barked out in his human voice. He glanced at Selina's side of the bed. An upheld hand shielded her view. A racing heart matched the speed of his legs swinging off the bed, standing up.

But he doesn’t have a fucking clue where his clothes are.

Selina pointed to the bedroom door, still not daring to look at him. “Living room. Side table, by the chair.” She squeaked.

He fled the scene, spotted his folded clothes. Faster than a cowboy caught fooling around with a farmer’s daughter, he donned his underwear, t-shirt, and jeans. He called out, “All clear. Nothing more to see here!” His cheeks blazed with humiliation under his attempt at nonchalance.

Selina crept through the doorway. Cheeks red and flamed. Excited, amused, and happy. Remnants of the smiles bestowed upon him yesterday in his canine form. “You’re back,” she sighed.

Dean outstretched his arms for display purposes. “I’m back.”

“How do you feel? Any different? Weird?”

He stopped to actually think, taking a moment to process. “Um, kind of hungover.”

Selina nodded, exhaled. “Okay. That’s normal, from what I’ve been told.”

Dean chuckled. “Nothing normal about this.”

“For us, it is.” Selina corrected.

Selina doesn’t skimp on the bacon for breakfast.

The celebratory feast tasted sublime, well-earned. He was starving.

Sat around the small bistro table, they talked as they ate. Their conversations before the spell had been curt, filled with sass. Selina had snapped at him with every one of her responses. He’d understood, of course. Even if he hadn’t given her an inch of understanding in his smart-ass attitude. She’d been under immense pressure. The stakes were high, and the outcome relied heavily on her ability not to screw up.

Man, did he understand.

Now, they’d both mellowed with the shared experience. Relief. Success. Dean cataloged every inch of her. Human eyes took in all the vibrant colors hidden from his doggie view. Her purple eyes and porcelain skin held an ethereal quality. A tad punk with violet highlights and a nose ring. She was beautiful.

“What was it like?” Selina dolloped more scrambled eggs on his plate. She leaned in, hanging on his every morsel of information.

“Man,” Dean snorted. “Trapped in a funhouse mirror, with none of the fun.”

“But, you still felt like you?”

“Yep.” He chomped away on a strip of bacon.

“You understood me,” she stated. “I could tell.”

He tilted his head in question.

Selina giggled. “Yeah, you’d give me one of those expressions like you were thinking things over. Wanting to communicate.”

“Hmmm,” Dean nodded. Lips smacked. He wanted to ask in a way that didn’t make it seem like he was overly concerned about the answer. “I know you said there wasn’t any telepathic stuff going on… you couldn’t read any of my thoughts?”

Her head shook, matter of fact. “Not a one. Which would have been super helpful if I could’ve. You typically can’t get that kind of bond or connection at my level. And, more often than not, that’s pretty rare. A familiar type situation.”

He chewed his thoughts down.

“I wouldn’t have pulled off the reversal spell that cured Esme if it hadn’t been for your plan.” Selina sipped her coffee.

Dean cocked his head, emphasizing the ridiculousness of that statement. “You would’ve figured something out.”

“Not as quick as I needed to.” Selina shook her head. “Not without your help. Making it so that the reversal spell had to be performed by the greenest of Esme’s students and without any coven assistance… the priestess wanted it to be next to impossible.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help.”

Selina grinned. “Even with fleas?”

Dean shivered. “Yeah, that I could’ve done without.”

“I’m glad you came back all in one piece. I was really worried there would be some pet residue. Like a tail or floppy ears.”

“I don’t know,” Dean contemplated. “A tail might come in handy.”

The thought had them both laughing.

“So,” Selina began, “any chance that brother you mentioned, Sam, is gonna find out about any of this?”

“No way. Not ever.” Dean shook his head.

“Well, I hope you get to see him soon. The way you talk about him. He seems like a pretty great guy. I don’t think he’d tease you too much about being a beagle.”

“You don’t know, Sam.” Dean almost added he probably didn’t know him anymore, either, but pursed his lips shut. 

“I owe you, big time.” Selina offered.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, you do.”

“Well, I should get dressed and we should go out. Let me take you on a proper tour of New-or-lins.” Selina drawled, “Laissez les bons temps rouler.”

Dean swallowed hard and locked eyes with her. “I don’t know. We could probably just stay in and find some ways to let the good times roll.”

Selina side-eyed him, but Dean sensed the interest brewing underneath the show. “Didn’t you say you’d rather roll around in the mud with a pig than ingratiate yourself with a witch when we first met?”

He shrugged. “I think I can make an exception for you.”

Selina held a hand to her chest. “I’m honored.”

He grinned. “You should be.”

The moment was perfect for Dean to lean over and kiss her.

Of course, that’s when John called.

John needed him. There was no time for a tour of the French Quarter or even a half hour of good times in Selina’s apartment.

Dean stood at the door and waited as Selina packed him a breakfast sandwich for the road. “Don’t you think you’ve fed me enough?”

She waved a hand in the air, walking towards him. “Hard to tell. You never stop eating.”

He grabbed the bag she presented. “Thanks.”

“It’s the very least I could do. Thank you again, Dean.”

Instinctively, he wrapped her up in a hug. “Anytime.”

She whispered in his ear. “Next time you swing by, look me up.”

He breathed in the scent of her - wanting something else to remember her by - and placed a kiss atop her forehead. Anything more and he knew he’d never leave. “Absolutely.”

It wasn’t until he descended the stairs and was out the back door, away from Selina’s view, that he gave into the urge to paw at his ear like a dog.

Yeah, the next time he called Sam - which he felt would be soon - there was no way he was telling him about any of this.

Well, he might mention the beautiful witch he met in New Orleans with the purple eyes. And how she had been just the thing he needed to scratch that itch.

[pinkrangersarah]

same energy

[flightlessangelwings]

Kinktober Day 31- Free Choice: CNC

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count- 2.6k

Warnings- smut (18+ only), consensual non con (cnc), kidnapping roleplay, bondage, choking, rough sex, unprotected sex, breif knifeplay, Bucky picks up reader, manhandling, overstim, established relationship, established safewords, aftercare

Notes- Please be aware of the warnings for this one as it’s much rougher!! Everything that happens here is consented to and explicitly stated so. Ending kinktober with a bang here since I like to go all out for the finales lol!! And it’s been so long since I’ve written for Bucky omg!! List provided by the lovely @the-purity-pen​!

To say up to date on when I post, follow my update blog too and turn on post notifications @flightlessangelwings-updates​​. Reblogs highly appreciated!

~

“You want to do what?!” Bucky exclaimed.

You grinned as you enjoyed how flustered and caught off guard he was, “I want to know what it’s like…” your voice dropped as you traced a random pattern on Bucky’s chest with your finger, “To be hunted by the Winter Soldier…” a fire burned behind your eyes, “I’ve been very, very bad…”

Bucky swallowed hard as his eyes darkened with lust. He couldn’t deny what a thrill it would be to act out the scenario you proposed, but there was also the fear of actually hurting you in the process. That was something Bucky couldn’t… would not stand for. After mulling it over, Bucky smirked as he cupped your chin, “Is that so?”

Your pulse raced as his words sunk in and you realized he accepted your proposal. Excited, you placed a chaste kiss on his lips as his fingers still firmly gripped your chin. 

“But I want to make sure you’re still safe,” his tone turned serious, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You nodded, “Alright, let’s set up our ground rules…”

*

It all happened so fast. One moment you were walking down the street by yourself on your way home. The next thing you knew, your world went black and a pair of strong hands had you in a grip so tight you couldn’t break free. The only reason you didn’t fully panic was a familiar voice in your ear.

“It’s me.”

Those two words from Bucky were all you needed to be assured you were actually safe and this was all part of the plan the two of you had set up. You insisted that he didn’t tell you when he would make his move so that you would feel truly surprised, and you were shocked that he waited a couple weeks so that you let your guard down more. It was devious and exciting.

Even though you actually gave it your best effort, Bucky effortlessly tied your hands behind your back and your ankles together without breaking a sweat. The entire time, a bag was over your head so you had no idea where you actually were, but you could tell he threw you in the back of a car and drove for some time in silence. You wondered what went on in his head during the drive, and you couldn’t help but clench your thighs together in anticipation. 

You couldn’t even guess how long the drive was when the car finally stopped and you heard Bucky get out from the front. But the moment you felt his hands on you again, you gave wriggling free another try. However, it was useless, and Bucky easily slung you over his shoulder and carried you somewhere. With the bag still over your head, all you could do was listen, and you heard a large door slam and lock before his footsteps echoed in the space.

Normally so tender with you, Bucky dropped you down so that you stood upright before he pushed you back against something cold. Even if you wanted to use the split second his hands were off you to bolt, you knew you wouldn’t get far due to your ankles being bound. He was too quick regardless, and he firmly tied a rope around your waist and secured you to the piller you leaned against.

In a swift motion, Bucky yanked the bag off your head and you blinked your eyes open. You couldn’t help but use the skills Bucky had taught you in case you were ever actually taken and you studied your surroundings as best you could. You were in what looked like an abandoned warehouse, and the room was mostly empty save for a few pillars that held the structure up, some chairs scattered across… and a mattress close to where you were bound. The few windows let in a little bit of light, but the space was mostly dark.

“What’s your safeword?” Bucky murmured behind you in a low tone.

“Red,” you whispered back as you turned your head towards his voice.

“If it gets too much… If I hurt you… You say the word and this stops, ok.”

“I know,” your tone was soft yet completely certain. You wanted this, and you knew he did too.

Bucky was silent for a few moments before he stepped around from behind you, and you knew instantly he was lost in the moment. His eyes were dark and his posture was stiff, and it made you gasp softly. He scanned you up and down before he reached out and cupped your chin harshly.

“So,” Bucky’s tone was low and went right to your core, “You’ve been a bad girl I hear.”

A whimper escaped your lips but you said nothing. Bucky tilted your chin to force you to meet his gaze, and you decided to show defiance in your eyes. He noticed of course, and dove two fingers into your mouth. Bucky’s gaze burned into your figure as you stood bound and helpless in his grasp, and you gagged around his fingers as he filled your mouth. 

He growled as his free hand- his metal hand- cupped your breast roughly through your shirt. You moaned around his fingers, but you were powerless to stop him. In a flash, he grabbed your shirt and bra and ripped them off your body, leaving you topless before him. You whined as you struggled in your binds, but all it did was spur him on more as he watched your breasts swing around as you struggled. 

“You have been bad…” his tone dropped even more as he thrust his fingers deeper down your throat and watched as your breasts swung.

“Mmmf,” your cries were muffled by his fingers in your mouth. Suddenly, you got an idea and you bit down hard.

Bucky yelped in surprise and quickly pulled his fingers out of your mouth. He growled as you reeled forward and spit dripped from your lips. His eyes darkened as he watched the saliva hit your breasts as you took in deep breaths of precious air. But you didn’t have the relief for long as Bucky snapped and grabbed you by your throat and forced your head back up and slammed it against the pillar. You gasped as your airway became constricted, and Bucky’s deep scowl and dark eyes started to blur.

“Very. Bad,” he warned as he gave your throat an extra squeeze.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, Bucky released you and you inhaled deeply as a rush of arousal pulsed through you. His hand trailed down your front and he took your breasts with both his hands and kneaded them roughly. You couldn’t help the moan you let out as he pinched your niples hard.

“No… Please…” you wheezed as you tried to free yourself again but to no avail. 

A low grumble reverberated from deep in his chest as he continued to fondle your breasts despite your protests. But you looked too tempting like this, and Bucky had many more plans for you in mind. So, he relinquished his grip on you and unsheathed his knife. With precision, he sliced the rope that pinned you to the pillar and grabbed the back of your neck.

“Come here,” he growled as he forced you across the space to the mattress that sat on the floor.

Although you tried to push back against him, Bucky was stronger than you, especially when he held you with his metal arm. With no effort at all, he guided your body across the room to the mattress and flung you onto it. Tears filled your eyes at being manhandled and all your breath was forced out of you when you hit the mattress on your side.

Bucky quickly knelt down behind you and watched for a moment as your heavy breaths made your chest rise and fall. He dropped the knife and reached for your pants, swiftly yanking them down along with your panties so that your ass and pussy were exposed.

“No wait,” you exclaimed as you tried to roll over onto your back. 

“Shut up,” he groaned through gritted teeth as he pinned you down with one hand and worked on freeing his cock with the other.

You squirmed and wriggled in his grip, but it was no use. Your arms were still tied behind your back and your ankles were tired together, leaving you at Bucky’s mercy. But, he could tell from how wet your pussy was that you were enjoying this… and so was he.

Without a word, Bucky stroked his cock a few times before he inched forward so that he was right behind you. You gasped when you felt the tip of his cock at your folds, and you tried one more time to free yourself. But it was no use.

In one abrupt movement, Bucky thrust his cock fully inside you, and he savored the loud scream you let out. Your entire body trembled as he filled you, and from keeping your legs bound together, it only made you tighter around him. He groaned as he rocked into you over and over again, despite your protests.

“Please… No…” you cried as your entire body burned. Keeping your legs together made Bucky cocks feel even bigger inside you, but it was an ecstasy that you had never felt before and it drove you wild.

Bucky grunted as he pounded into you at a fast and harsh pace, ignoring your sobs. He only wished he could see your face too, but you buried it in the mattress as you laid on your side and took what he forced you to take. Bucky almost worried that he actually hurt you, but he trusted you to use your safeword if you needed. Since you didn’t, he kept going. He was sure you were enjoying this though from the way you clenched around him.

“This pussy,” Bucky groaned, “Is mine now,” he thrust in extra hard and stilled himself deep inside you for several moments, “I’m never letting you go.”

You whimpered at his words as his cock hit spots so deep inside you that he’d never reached before. It almost felt as if Bucky fucked you right into your soul, and being helpless to stop him added that extra thrill as well. As he hovered himself over you, you felt completely consumed by him, and although you pretended to protest, you secretly craved it like a new drug that you were instantly addicted to. 

And Bucky was just as addicted. The feeling of your wet tightness around his cock went right to his core, and Bucky was suddenly glad you suggested this roleplay. Otherwise, he didn’t think he would be able to hold himself back from how good you felt around him. And seeing you bound and helpless added to the heat that built in his body.

“How about I fuck the bad girl out of you?” Bucky didn’t even recognize his own voice, “Make you a good girl when I make you cum for me.”

“N-no…” you hissed.

But Bucky knew your body well, and he knew you were fighting off your climax. You didn’t want to make it too easy for him, but he was up to the challenge. “I think ‘yes,’” he growled as he reached around for your clit, “Make you cum over and over again on my cock.”

You whimpered as he pounded into you again while rubbing your clit at a furious pace, “Pleeeease… No… Stoppp…”

“No.”

Bucky only thrust into you even harder the more you begged to stop, and it made the heat quickly rise within you. You weren’t sure how much longer you could fight off your orgasm, and you clenched your entire body in order to save it off as long as you could.

You knew he felt how hard you fought him, and it only made Bucky pound into you more, determined to send you over the edge. What you didn’t realize was that Bucky fought off his own orgasm; he wanted to make you fall apart completely before he spilled himself inside of you.

It didn’t take longer for Bucky to finally get what he wanted, though. Your entire body trembled and you felt weightless as your climax washed over you without warning. With a loud scream, you came hard on his cock as he continued to thrust into you and rub at your clit.

But even though you came, Bucky still didn’t stop. You whined as you tried to wriggle free, but Bucky only tightened his grip on you, “I told you I wanted you to cum again,” he warned as he rolled you onto your stomach and used the new angle to pound into you harder.

Your scream echoed in the room as your second climax hit you like a freight train. You felt yourself gush against his body, and the sounds of Bucky pounding into you became more wet. As much as Bucky wanted to prolong this, your second orgasm triggered his own and he covered your body with his own as he spilled himself deep inside you with a low groan of your name.

Heavy breaths filled the room as Bucky collapsed down on top of you, his cock still impossibly deep inside you. Exhausted, neither of you moved for several long moments. But, Bucky knew that it was now his responsibility to take care of you and he gathered all his strength to push himself up.

“Hey,” his voice was soft as he slowly pulled out of you and crawled around to your face, “You alright?”

You blinked your eyes open and you didn’t even realize how much you had cried until you shook the tears away, “Yeah,” you breathed as you turned your head and met his soft eyes.

“Hang on, I’ve got you,” Bucky quickly shuffled back and untied your ankles first, then your wrists. He turned you on your side as he gently massaged your wrists, and he frowned to himself when he realized he tied the knots a little too tight. 

“Bucky,” your voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“Come here,” Bucky murmured your name as he gathered you in his arms and held you tight. Together, the two of you laid on the mattress as he hand his hand across your back soothingly, “You did so good, baby,” he placed a soft kiss on the side of your head, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” you replied immediately as you savored the warmth and comfort of Bucky’s embrace, “That was fucking amazing,” you were out of breath, but he still heard the excitement in your voice, “I’ll be sore for a while for sure,” you added with a laugh, “But that was worth it.”

Bucky let out a short laugh.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” you asked, noticing that Bucky needed you just as much as you needed him, just in a different way.

Bucky pulled you back enough to look you in the eyes and cupped the side of your face, “I did,” he admitted softly. He gave you an extra squeeze for reassurance and he gasped softly when you did the same back. 

“I trust you, Bucky. I hope you know that,” you leaned forward and kissed his lips softly, “I wouldn’t have asked for this if I didn’t.”

“I know,” he placed his hand on your head and pulled you back against his chest so he could hold you close, “You’re always safe with me, no matter what.”

“I know,” you echoed Bucky’s words as you rested against him and listened to the calming sound of his heartbeat, “I hope you brought me spare clothes though,” you lightened the mood.

This time, Bucky let out a hearty laugh, “Of course, baby,” he kissed the top of your head, “I told you I’ve got you.”

“Never doubted you, Bucky Barnes.”

[theminecraftbee]

Impulse looks over. Grian and Pearl have taken to playing with Pancake, and Mumbo appears to be contemplating life while staring at the void and also the things in the void in the distance. Scar isn’t too nearby any of them; perfect. Impulse doesn’t know how far sound carries, given that they’re all only imagining there’s sound in the first place, so Impulse is pretty sure everyone can hear conversations they think they’re supposed to be able to overhear, or something.

This conversation… this is one he just wants to have between the two of them, y’know? So it’s good he can catch Scar alone now. He ambles (for whatever definition of ambles is their physics-defying movement in this place) up to the man and taps him on the shoulder.

“Why, hello there Impulse!” says Scar brightly.

“Hey Scar,” Impulse says.

“What brings you here?”

“Yeah, I had a question for you,” Impulse says. “I was wondering if you could explain again - why exactly is it smarter for us to wait here, instead of trying to hunt down a universe on our own?”

“The Swaggon -”

“Plainly, please? You know neither of us have actually cared about the Swaggon or its reputation for probably months now.”

Scar falls quiet again. “Alright. Give me a moment to collect my thoughts, okay?”

“I can wait,” Impulse says. “Although, it is sorta urgent.”

“How?”

“We’ll get there. Like I said, I can wait,” Impulse says, and he does, while Scar clearly takes time to carefully think through his words. Scar doesn’t do that often, so Impulse is pretty sure the man’s actually taking this seriously. Slipping the salesman idiot off for a bit. It’s honestly disconcerting, but hey, Impulse can’t judge disconcerting decisions on how to interact with others, right?

Finally, and with some weight, Scar begins speaking. “Okay. So, my calculations were wrong,” he starts. He’s clearly holding back comments about the Swaggon and refunds. Impulse appreciates the effort. “I thought we’d hit the nearest neighbor universe through the void months ago. So it’s safe to say I miscalculated, or even just misunderstood how deep the void between worlds was, if you could get past the killing part. I swear, I used all the latest research! I may sometimes exaggerate the truth, but for something like this…”

“For what it’s worth, I do trust you not to be careless with our lives,” Impulse says. “Or, uh, sorta trust you? I mean, I figured you’d do something wrong, and the zippers did have air gaps, but…”

Scar winces. “I…”

Impulse shrugs. “Perils of the job, really. Honestly did not realize those were a problem. Figured it was intentional until, well... But, okay, you were wrong, no nearby universe in our path. We can move now. Why not just go looking?”

“Because the odds we find one are tiny,” Scar says. “It’s a void! We’d just as likely navigate in circles! And even if I - well, I sort of feel like I may be able to actually navigate some, I don’t think I can figure out how to navigate out. Not anymore. Not when clearly I already got a lot of things wrong.“

Impulse inclines his head. “Isn’t that better than nothing?”

“Well, we’d leave the search radius the others would be looking in, then!” Scar exclaims. “My calculations may have been wrong, but I’d talked to Cub about them! And he’s far better at math than me. He could figure out the radius we’d end up in, based on all his own fancy calculations, but only if we stay in it! Why, I imagine even Xisuma, or Tango, or - the point is that if we just stay put, we’re far more likely to be rescued than if we go searching for things we won’t find.”

“Right, but they won’t,” Impulse says.

“Excuse you! Cub -”

“Wasn’t really doing so well at the end, we both saw him. He, at best, was going to rocket himself off alone. He’s dead, Scar. Xisuma? Xisuma’s been out of it for months, and we all know it. He didn’t know what was happening, let alone have time to make an escape plan. He’s dead too. I’d suggest Tango or Zedaph, but Tango was missing before we did this trip, and Zedaph refused to acknowledge anything was wrong. Dead. Next on my list -”

“Impulse -”

“- I’d check with maybe Doc? Doc and Ren said they were trying something, which could be good, but they seemed pretty possessed, so honestly sounds like they’re dead too -”

“Impulse -”

“- which leaves, who, Xb? Man builds survival bunkers, but that’s not something that can survive a moon crash, let’s be real. So he’s dead t -”

“IMPULSE, STOP,” Scar says, and his voice cracks, and Impulse stops. “Impulse, I’ve - I’ve already had my breakdown. Impulse, I - we’re here and that’s my fault already, I don’t need you to calmly explain why all of our friends are dead.”

Impulse blinks. “Oh. Sorry, I guess. I was more making the point that there’s probably no point anymore waiting for -”

“Just stop,” Scar says. “They aren’t dead.”

“Scar, we have to be proactive,” Impulse says. “Unless you noticed, Pearl ate an eldritch horror earlier. If we don’t go finding a way out soon, we’re going to go over an event horizon, and then we may not be able to leave.”

And Scar… Scar laughs, and it’s a little high and wild. Irrationally, Impulse’s first thought is: oh, he got that from Grian. But then he processes Scar’s words:

“Impulse, we’re long over any event horizon there may have been. You’re the one who pointed that out. If there was a point of no return it was two months ago. Too late, buddy! It’s too late!”

Impulse blinks again. For a moment, something in him cracks. It’s probably the dam he’d built out of cheerful obliviousness and a friendly apathy. Yeah, it’s that wall, because everything starts getting fuzzy, because everything sort of goes out of focus, because he stops being able to happily ignore that they’re all already monsters, because he can’t stop noticing that he doesn’t have to breathe so what’s the point of trying to control his breath when he’s panicking, because they have weird vision and he’d been acting blasé about it but it’s not nothing it’s, because he’s hungry too, because the wall has cracked and, and -

“Scar, Scar, I’m terrified, though,” Impulse says, shakily. “Because - there has to be something we can do, Scar. We can’t just have to wait and never be able to -”

He feels Scar’s hand on his shoulder.

“Impulse, buddy, tell you what. If you find a way to find us a universe, we’ll go. Event horizon, rescue, or not. But until then…”

Scar is shaking too, Impulse realizes.

“Until then… god, I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted this. I never wanted this.”

They stay there next to each other until Impulse has carefully rebuilt the dam again, and, Impulse thinks, until Scar’s own breathing stops getting fuzzy thinking about the things Impulse has said. Then, they both turn back to the others.

Impulse stares, and then laughs quietly as he realizes all three of them are pretending they hadn’t been eavesdropping. Still, they all look so shaky that Impulse can’t help but feel a bit bad he didn’t find a way for them to not overhear. He takes a deep breath.

“I think now’s a great time for truth or dare,” he says, and Grian groans, and it’s a terrible distraction, but terrible distractions are how Impulse has been staying sane this whole time, so no one calls him out for it.

Scar begins proposing rules, and Impulse starts thinking of truths, and dares, and universes.

[writinglizards]

Title: Spool and Thread

Prompt: Giving gifts, mending clothing

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Minor Injury

Read on Ao3

Jaskier never means to start mending Geralt's clothing, it just...kind of happens.

Geralt rips his last good shirt on a hunt. The shoulder is torn and so is his actual shoulder.

In the heat of the moment, the wound gets the most attention. But after--

"You can't wear that," Jaskier gasps, tugging it out of Geralt's hands before he can pull it back on, bloody tear and all, "give that here."

He fixes it with the same neat stitches he'd used in Geralt's skin.

They don't talk about it, after, but Jaskier buys Geralt more of his awful, boring shirts at the next town large enough to have a tailor.

After that it just...becomes routine.

Geralt will never give Jaskier his ruined shirts but he starts...leaving them out. Especially after Jaskier digs one out of his bag that Geralt tries to hide, tries to make out as fine.

It's not fine. Jaskier will not be seen with a witcher who looks like he can barely feed and clothe himself.

Even if it is a little true.

Jaskier's still working on it, okay.

So Geralt doesn't give Jaskier his clothes to mend and Jaskier doesn't mend them for Geralt so much as he mends them so that he's not an embarrassment to be seen with. It's all...very intricate.

Mostly, he does it for the way Geralt's eyes go soft at the corners when he sees the patched shirt, though.

No one has to know that but him.

Jaskier mends Geralt's clothing and buys him replacements and they just...don't discuss it. Geralt doesn't do anything as nice for him but he also keeps him fed and alive out on the path which...it counts, okay? It counts.

It counts, especially when Jaskier's being hauled back into camp, Geralt's arm tight around his waist as he supports the bulk of his weight.

"Don't close your eyes, Jask," Geralt rasps as he lowers him to the ground, back pressed to Roach's saddle where it rests on the ground to help keep him more upright, "just don't close your eyes, I'll be, fuck, just a minute."

He's...bleeding pretty decently from a slice just above his breastbone. Any deeper and they'd be having a very different conversation. Right now it's shallow it just...hurts.

"Geralt," he starts when Geralt shuffles off to dump his potion back upside down, "Geralt, please--"

He's back in less than a minute, alcohol and a needle and thread in hand. Jaskier gulps.

He's patched Geralt up plenty of times but he's...he's only sat for a needle once, back at the very beginning when he'd just started following Geralt and he'd torn the soft tissue between thumb and forefinger. It had been...unpleasant.

This is going to be worse.

"Here," he says, handing Jaskier the alcohol, and he takes a deep pull before handing it back. It's not enough, he knows. Still, when Geralt removes his ruined doublet and chemise and asks him if he's ready, he nods.

He faints by the third stitch. It's...better that way.

-----

He comes to feeling stiff and achy, and when he goes to lift his left arm, the stitches pull and he freezes.

Oh that's going to be a bitch.

"Geralt?" he asks roughly, pressing himself up to a sitting position with his good arm, "Geralt?"

Geralt's at his side in a moment, easing him backward.

"Rest, Jaskier, you're fine. We're okay, just rest."

-----

It hurts like a bitch, but he gets over it, mostly. He mourns for his ruined doublet and chemise, but it's mostly for the sake of being dramatic--he can buy a new doublet when he's back in Oxenfurt this winter, twice as nice. And the wound is awful but it will make the most lovely scar to serenade lovers with the tale.

Geralt does not find that last point near as funny as he should, considering.

It's nearly healed, the stitches have come out (Geralt did it, carefully, and Jaskier had almost fainted again but it had been...fine...) and he's digging through his pack, rubbing uselessly at the itching, healing scar tissue when he comes across a familiar doublet that makes him pause.

It's...it's the doublet he'd been wearing when he'd gotten the injury, the one with the gash.

The one he's pretty sure he threw out.

He's alone in the inn room they've rented, Geralt downstairs interviewing some local about the contract he's working tomorrow. He sucks in a deep breath and pulls the doublet out of his pack.

The gash is large and the stitching is awkward and cramped, but there's been an effort to fix it. It's even the right color thread which is just...

The chemise is below the doublet, equally poorly mended. Despite himself, Jaskier feels tears well up in his eyes.

Behind him, the door creaks, heavy boots entering the room.

"Jask?"

He wants to say...something. He wants to but his throat has closed and he's afraid opening his mouth will only let out a sob and he's not...he's not sad it's just--

Geralt settles on his knees beside him, pulling Jaskier around slowly, but he stops when he sees the clothes.

"Oh." He looks...he looks uncomfortable, "sorry, I...I know it's a shit job and I had to wait to get the right thread and I..."

"Geralt," he finally chokes out, pitching forward to wrap his arms around his middle, bury his face against his chest. Tentatively, Geralt returns the embrace, palm smoothing up and down Jaskier's back as he fights back sobbing like a child.

"I'm--" he's about to apologize and Jaskier doesn't want him to get the wrong impression.

"Love, you didn't have to. Thank you."

"It's a shit job," Geralt repeats, sounding lost. Jaskier chokes on a laugh.

"You fixed it for me, though, darling. That's what matters."

"I just...you always..." he seems to be out of words though, and he just hmms softly.

"I know, darling. I appreciate it, I do." He's smiling just a little watery still when he pulls back, but he's...fuck he's so touched.

"Hm," Geralt repeats, then, "so it's okay?"

"It's more than okay," he says, smiling.

-----

The next morning Jaskier wears the repaired doublet and chemise. It truly is an awful job and he'll have to see what he can do about it later, but it's worth it for the way Geralt's eyes catch and hold, the tentative, tiny smile that tips up the corners of his mouth.

It will always be worth it.

[havin-a-wee]

Doctor's Orders

pairing: gynecologist!harry x reader/doctor!harry x reader

word count: 2.3k+

warnings: smut, fingering

this is so long overdue i apologize but this is a request! i kinda love this piece so i hope you guys do too!

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY

You sucked in a harsh breath as you heard your name being called from the front desk, the smiley old lady gesturing for you to follow her. You timidly walked behind her, your feet shuffling on the obnoxiously patterned carpet that lined the hallways.

You aren’t one to fear doctor’s appointments, in fact, you have never been apprehensive about going to one until right now. This appointment was something you’ve been avoiding for a while since you had moved to London, but there came a point where you couldn’t put it off for any longer. Back in the states, you were comfortable with your gynecologist, and you had no issue talking to her about problems you were having regarding your genitalia. But now that you were in a new city, you didn’t have the comfort that came with visiting a long-term doctor and faced new ones for the first time since you were a child. The rest of the doctor’s visits were pretty standard, but your private parts were something you struggled with understanding, Sure, you have seen porn and had sex, but it was never a fulfilling experience. In fact, you have never reached an orgasm. About a year ago you gave up on looking for men to help you and made it a mission to bring yourself to a climax. But alas, none of your efforts seemed to work. At this point, you were convinced that something was wrong with you, hence the gynecologist visit. Male gynecologist, that is.

Over the past month, you have spent a lot of time researching gynecologists in your area. The first one that came up was the one you are at now, but considering his gender you continued your hunt. But it kept leading you back to this one doctor, Dr. Styles, and that was why you are currently sitting in an exam room in his office.

You reassured yourself by looking up his name on your smartphone, scrolling through the 5-star reviews. The number of people who seemed to absolutely love this guy helped settle your nerves, so you read through them as you waited for a knock on the door.

That knock finally arrived a few minutes later, and you picked your head up and looked at the wooden door. “Come in!”

A head popped inside from behind the door as it was pushed open, and the doctor’s eyes found yours while he made his way into the small room. He’s tall, with a mop of chocolate brown curls on his head and bright green eyes accompanied by a friendly smile. He sat down, eyes never leaving yours until he placed his computer down and the screen lit up.

“‘Ello Darlin, m’Dr. Styles, but y’can call me Harry if you’d like.” He stuck out a hand, and your palm swiftly met his, the two of you looking at one another as you shook hands. His hands were enormous, and the rings placed on his fingers were cold to the touch. “Considering you’re a new patient, I took a peek at y’records and such, and I saw that y’ve always had a female gyno.”

You nodded your head slowly, opening your mouth to respond but getting cut off by Dr. Styles. “So I just wanted t’let y’know tha’ theres nothing t’be ashamed off, and I know what I’m doin’ so I promise you’re in expert hands.”

“Yeah, I was nervous, but I couldn’t ignore the amazing reviews people have given you, so I made an appointment.” You appreciated his reassurance a lot, and it really helped in the easing of your jitters. He turned back to his computer after nodding in response to you, clicking on a few keys before diverting his attention back to you.

“So what seems t’be the problem today Y/N?” An initial wave of shock hit you when he said your name, but it quickly dissolved when you remembered that he literally has access to all your medical information, so of course, he knows your name.

“This is a bit of an odd thing to come in for on my first appointment with you, but I think my vagina doesn’t work.” You let out a breathy chuckle at your own words. Dr. Styles seemed unphased by your forwardness, and you assumed he had heard a lot more abrasive things than that. “I’m a 22-year-old woman, but I’ve never had an orgasm. For the past year I’ve been focusing on doing it without a partner, but no matter how much time I spent or how many fancy toys I buy, I just end up feeling unsatisfied and disappointed.” He nodded along as you explained your issue, placing his chin in his hand while his elbow was placed on the desk.

“Have y’had any STD tests recently?”

“Yes, I had one last week, I’m clean and I’ve never had one in the past.”

“Is there any possibility tha’ you’re pregnant?”

“No, I haven’t slept with anyone in over a year.” You knew what questions he would ask, so to avoid wasting time you were giving him all the information he would need.

“When y’are sleeping with someone, do y’feel any sort of pleasure?”

“Yeah, but it’s just never enough, I guess.” His lips curled into an expression of concentration, and he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. The room was silent for all of around 30 seconds, but soon enough Dr. Styles spoke up.

“Based on yeh’ history and what y’telling me, it seems that y’just haven’t found the right bloke.” Your eyebrows lifted in surprise at his simple answer. It couldn’t be that simple, could it? “M’guessing y’can’t get y’self off cause’ y’tense and not fully relaxed. And the guys y’ve been with ave’all been doin’ a rubbish job.” He chuckled along with you, and you couldn’t help but agree with him. There was no one you could think of that had actually made you feel good the entire time and had actually focused on your pleasure and theirs. Most of the hookups you took part in were with frat boys who would stick their dick into anything with a hole. “But just in case, lemme’ check y’out just to make sure.”

He stood up from his chair and you swung your legs up on the cot, laying down on it. While you had waited for the doctor, you changed into the gown you were provided with, so there was only a thin piece of fabric between you and the curly-headed man that had taken a seat at the end of the seat.

It was now that you were faced with a dilemma that your anxious brain hadn’t even thought of prior to the appointment.

Dr. Styles was attractive. Like, really, really attractive.

Dr. Styles was attractive. Like, really, really attractive. And probably because of the nature of your discussion (and the fact that your body is severely desperate for sexual release), your core had been heating up since he first stepped into the room. So now, he would lift the skirt of the gown and see a pool of velvety wetness coating the inside of your thighs.

The back of the seat was propped up, allowing you to see him. This was a good thing for him because he could talk to you while he does his job, but it means you will have to look at him after he sees the mess you’ve made.

“May I?” His fingers gripped onto the edges of the gown, and you swallowed hoarsely before nodding your approval. While you know that he probably has witnessed much more embarrassing situations than the one you were in right now, it didn’t make the predicament any better. As you suspected, he kept a straight face when he lifted the flimsy material from your legs. Without taking a second glance, he turned to a bottle on his desk and pumped a dollop of lube onto his glove-clad fingertips. He used his other gloved hand to spread the lubricant, only turning back to you when his two fingers were both well coated in the substance. “Y’alright?” Once again, you nodded at his question. “Tell me with words darlin’, wanna make sure y’comfortable.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What kind of exam are you doing exactly?” That question popped into your mind right before it rolled off your tongue because you noticed he had never specified exactly what he was looking for.

“M’just gonna use m’finger,” he held his lube-covered fingers, “and feel around, just t’make sure everythins’ fine.”

“Ok, sounds good.”

“M’gonna start now, s’gonna be cold at first.”

You hissed when his fingers met your sopping hole, and you had to resist the urge to kick your legs while he slowly pushed his fingers inside of you. The feeling was strange, but definitely not unwelcome. The contrast from his icy fingers to your warm center was sending a tingling sensation down your spine. You could feel his fingers push around inside of you, caressing your walls. And you know you shouldn’t. But his fingers were hitting all the right nerves, and you couldn’t help but find the experience immensely pleasurable.

Despite your best efforts, a small moan of satisfaction escaped your lips. Immediately, you went stiff, and you could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. You just moaned while your doctor had his fingers inside you. For a moment you thought he would ignore the sexual noise that you had just made. But he suddenly looked up at you, his eyes previously locked on his fingers.

“Well, if y’moanin’ just from that, y’more sexually deprived than I thought.” He chuckled, and you cracked a small smile, but that was before his words actually hit you.

Was he, hitting on you?

Maybe not flirting, but that definitely wasn’t something that doctors say to their patients very often. His smirk was also giving you the idea that he had certain intentions.

“Everything seem good down’ere, so I think tha’ problem is with the guys y’gettin with, not you. What type of people do y’usually sleep with.”

“When I was sexually active, it was usually frat boys, so I guess I should’ve known I wasn’t the problem.” You let out a small laugh, Dr. Styles seems to have found it much more amusing, as his chuckle came from deep within his chest. A small movement came with the laugh, which also reminded you that his fingers were still very much inside of you.

“It seems y’need someone who knows his way around,” he cleared his throat, and you smiled as you realized what he was hinting at. “and y’my last paitent of the day, so m’more than happy t’help y’out.” He looked down at his feet shyly, and you found it adorable how he was nervous about what he was proposing. But you were on the verge of tears from how hard it was to hold back your physical response to his touches. Your body relaxed when the words came out of his mouth, and you let out the whine that had been building up in your throat.

“Yes-Harry, god yes.” It was the first time you were using his first name, but the smirk on his face showed his approval.

He quickly removed his fingers from your heat, and you whined again, this time in frustration. Losing contact left you feeling cold, but that feeling only lasted a fleeting moment, as soon as he was pushing his fingers into you again, this time bare.

“Y’already so wet love, what got y’this worked up hmm?”

“Y-you, Harry, I want you.” You tripped over your words, but they came out clear enough for him to understand because he began moving his fingers at the encouragement. His fingers began to pump in and out of you, and you knew he must have been right about not being with the right guys before, because the simple movements left you as putty in his hands. You barely got any pleasure from fingering in your other sexual encounters, but you were already a moaning mess underneath the man. He lifted his other hand, which had also had the glove on it removed, and placed the pad of his finger on your puffy clit. You mewled loudly and his smirk widened.

“Any o’those boys ever make y’feel this good darlin’?” You shook your head furiously, and he smiled, rubbing circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. You were already seeing stars, and you could feel an unfamiliar knot forming in your stomach. “Y’so pretty, did y’know tha’?”

You couldn’t muster up enough strength to respond to his second question, but the loud moan that you let out was enough of an answer for him. His movements sped up, fingers pumping in and out of you and his other thumb pressing circles on your button.

“Harry-”

“Think y’close darlin’? Ready t’come fo’ the first time?”

“Yes, yes..” Your voice trailed off when a guttural moan rumbled through your throat. Although you haven’t had one before, you were sure that he was about to bring you to an orgasm. There was a tight feeling in your stomach and you knew it was just about to burst.

“Fuck-”

The knot burst and your orgasm rolled through your body, reaching every nerve inside of you. The feeling was euphoric, and your senses were heightened as your body experienced this new feeling.

“Thas’ it, good girl,” he cooed, slowing his movements and removing his fingers from your now overly sensitive clit. He worked you through your orgasm until fully removing his fingers from you, and you let out a sigh as he did so. “Definitely not somethin’ wrong with ya’, I can tell y’that.”

He smiled up at you and you returned the gesture, your smile only faltering when he turned away to write something down. You took the opportunity to get up and change, quickly dressing while his back was turned.

He turned in his chair to face you once again, handing you a small piece of paper. You took it from between his fingers to see a phone number scribbled on it in black ink.

“Is Doctor Styles giving me his number?” You said it in a cheeky way, smirking back at him.

“Yes, and he’s telling you to text him when you get home. Doctor’s orders.”

[wearywinchester]

Patience

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean takes care of you after a rough hunt.

Requested by Anonymous: May I please request dean taking care of the reader after she had a surgery after a rough hunt?? I would love to see how he helps her while she's recovering. I can already imagine being overly protective and being adorable and cute and all worried

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: injuries, blood, angst, mild swearing, mentions of alcohol, fluff, kissing

The hunt went rough, not as bad as others had been in your years of hunting, but enough to land you in the hospital with a concussion and the need for stitches not even Dean could handle himself. He was a nervous wreck the two days you’d spent there, he’d never admit it but he was. When you’d first woken up, you were too tired to do more than open your eyes the slightest bit to find your beau with his head resting against his arm, hand heavy in yours as his eyes focused on the tv in the corner of the room. You recalled his leg bouncing the way it does when he’s worked up about something, offering your hand the occasional squeeze.

Once he’d seen you were awake, it had really started to show no matter how he tried to play it off. Dean Winchester was a worrier for everyone but himself. He was too afraid to lay down next to you just in case he might have jostled you around too much, he didn’t want to make anything worse. Despite that, he’d still been brooding a bit, sulking in his seat as he held your hand and thought he’d been the biggest idiot to let that spirit snag you like that. He didn’t even want you on the hunt in the first place, but you were you and you’d insisted on going. He was never one to hold you back on what you wanted to do but he certainly wished he did just that once.

Now, you were spending the next few days at Jodie’s cabin tucked away in the woods. She’d joined in on the case since she was in town, and there was no arguing your way out of staying with her to let you recover for a few days, not that you minded either. Her cabin was always one you were thrilled to stay in whenever there was time to stay, so talking you into doing so was simple as ever.

Dean was tangled up in worry, not ten minutes going by before he asked if you needed anything. The sight of you in pain made his jaw tense and his cheeks to burn a soft shade of pink because it tore him up to see you struggle. It tore him up that it was something he felt could have been prevented had he done something different. But he kept it to himself, having pushed it to the corners of his mind to torment himself with later once you’re comfortable and at ease.

You, on the other hand, were as frustrated as ever. No matter how much you loved and appreciated Dean’s efforts and his concerns, your independence was wearing away at you. It took everything in you not to burst into tears over the simple fact that you couldn’t drive for the time being, let alone take a shower unaided over the risk of you falling and doing more harm than good. The inconveniences were piling up, a new one being discovered seemingly every other minute.

It was building up; the frustration and desire to do things on your own just as they had been before this all happened was picking at you. So much so, the littlest things were rapidly beginning to irritate you, leaving you to be aggravated and on the brink of tears when something so little as dropping something or not being able to reach something had pushed your limits.

It was nothing Dean had done, not even a little. He was being as generous and helpful as he always was despite the way you could be grumpy. The thought alone was enough to calm you some, but not every time.

This time you’d finally done it.

You found yourself in the kitchen, grabbing a couple beers from the fridge after you’d insisted to Dean that you could handle it on your own. Bobby and Donna had been over, followed by Benny and Charlie and Garth. It was a little get together out back by the lake. It was fun, it was relaxing, it was a nice little break from hunting.

Until now.

You spun on your heel just a little faster than your body could keep up with, your balance wavering and leaving you to stumble into the edge of the countertop before you had the chance to catch yourself. You let out a strangled yelp as the unforgiving corner had jabbed into your side, your gasp sharp as you turned away in fear of it happening again. The bottles in your hand clattered to the floor and broke, beer seeping out in a wet puddle of broken glass. The quick steps distinctive to Dean’s boots had sounded as your hands guarded your side, and it wasn’t until Dean had rushed in that you noticed. It wasn’t until his eyes landed on your side, wide and concerned that you’d noticed.

When you looked down your shirt was beginning to stain a fresh and startling shade of scarlet, hands smudging the very same color across your skin in a matter of moments.

“Sweetheart, what happe—”

“I got it, Dean,” you rush, grabbing the towel sitting nearby, frustration simmering in your stomach as you try not to think about the tears pressing behind your eyes.

“Y/n, you’re bleeding. Let me help you.”

“I said I got it!” You say, louder as you push his hands away. His gaze lifts to yours, a bit taken back as he stands a little straighter from his spot in front of you. It wasn’t your anger or your tone that he cared about, what bothered him was the tears glossing over your eyes and the quiver in your lip. It was the way your brows furrowed as those very tears spilled over heated cheeks. The way your words faltered under the pressure of those tears. “I got it. I’m—I’m fine.”

Your voice was fragile and entirely telling of how very not fine you were. You’d let your anger get the better of you and that only made everything worse, your fists clenching as your cheeks burned.

“Sweetheart,” he says, soft as ever as he steals your attention. You look at him after a moment, averting your gaze just as quickly to hide your tears. “Why don’t you let me take a look at that, okay?”

Your jaw tenses as you nod, the towel still clutched ever so tightly within your palm as you dropped your hand to your side, heart pounding in your chest. He was gentle as he peeled back your shirt and the bandage underneath it, the stitches in your side still having been intact though they were angry and they were red, the wound still more than sensitive as it bled lightly from impact. You were embarrassed as you stood there, guilt eating at you for snapping at the man in front of you when your anger should have stayed directed at yourself.

He was gentle as he snagged the towel from your hands, stepping over the mess on the floor to wet the towel at the sink. He grabbed the first aid kit from one of the cupboards too, setting it down and opening it a while.

The heat in your cheeks had continued to burn as you looked away from his gaze, lip quivering as your eyes clouded and blurred once more at the mere thought of everything that just happened in the span of two minutes.

It wasn’t long before you felt the coolness of the towel against your stomach, relief washing over the irritated skin as he wiped away the blood that had formed over it.

“You okay?” He asks, calm and kind as he pauses.

It wasn’t until you nodded that he continued, setting the dirtied towel off to the side as he grabbed a fresh bandage. You let your gaze fall to him in that moment, watching as his tongue poked out in concentration as he smoothed the bandage securely over your stitches. He didn’t look angry at your outburst, he didn’t look annoyed, not even a little bit. You felt you deserved some of that but it never came. He was patient and kind. He may have been a little rough around the edges sometimes, and he may have been a grump others. But he was also tender and caring, and it only made guilt tug at your heart.

He stood upright when he finished, flashing you a smile as he grabbed your hand and tugged you off to the spare bedroom the two of you shared while you stayed there. You watched quietly as he rifled through his duffle bag without much care about everything that spilled out of it in the current moment. He was in search of the one thing that was sure to bring a smile to your face.

“Aha!” He cheered when he caught sight of it, snagging the shirt from the bottom of his bag.

It was an old t shirt of his, tattered and torn in spots, one that always smelled of his cologne even if it’d faded some. It was your favorite shirt of his and that was something he very well knew even if you thought he wasn’t aware of it. Little did you know he brought it in his bag on every hunt no matter what should you need a pick-me-up, should you need an extra push of comfort. He’ll always bring it.

The very corners of your mouth quirked up and the softest grin, his own having widened. “There’s that smile.”

You flash him a look as you fight to stifle the way that very smile was growing, but you couldn’t find it in you to last all of two seconds trying. You snag the shirt from his outstretched hand and move to peel off your own, and no matter how much Dean had wanted to help you, just to keep that wince from appearing on your face, he lets you do it on your own because he knows how much it meant to you to have to be able to do something on your own while you recovered.

Your shoulders slump once you put it on, smile fading once more when you look at him and his brows furrow slightly in a silent question of what’s the matter.

After a moment or two or you mind racing a mile a minute of just how you should apologize, just how you should make it up to him, you finally make up your mind on the only way you know how to do that. And after a moment or two you lean on your toes and press a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet as your hands squeeze his.

“‘M sorry,” you whisper against his lips, the guilt of snapping at him still heavy in your heart.

He chuckles softly, forehead pressed to his as his nose bumps against yours. He steals a few more quick kisses, his smile still very much there.

“Sweetheart, do you know how many times I’ve been a pain in the ass when I was hurt?” He said, pulling back to look at you. He kisses away your frown the moment he sees it, his hand coming up to swipe away the stray tear on your face. “You don’t have to be sorry for bein’ frustrated, and even if you were a pain I’d still take care of you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek but he sees your smile anyway. “You’re terrible at accepting apologies, you know.”

“Or maybe you’re just terrible at givin’ them,” he jests, laughing out when you swat his shoulder. “‘M kidding!”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are,” you sigh, smiling up at him as you shake your head.

“But seriously, sweetheart, cleaning up a couple of beers ain’t gonna kill me. I promise. Besides, I didn’t like that brand anyway.”

Your eyes roll and a laugh falls past your lips, lips he dipped down to kiss more than a couple times more in that moment. You knew that wasn’t going to be the last of your apologies that day because you still felt bad and he knew that. But for now you’d settle for the smile he’d always put on your face because no matter what, he’d be there in a heartbeat with all the patience in the world.

Through thick and thin, attitude and all, he would be there.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey

[thatoneitaliangirl]

Oh my gosh could you write a childe x reader thing 🥺🥺 I wanna just have some sweet angst with a happy outcome somehow 😔

I may have gone a bit overboard- At this point, I feel I'm literally incapable of writing anything under 1,000 words. So sorry this took so long, I had to take a break from writing to work out some things with school. A bunch of nonsense and stuff lol. You didn't specify gender, so I wrote the reader as female, only cause that's what I'm used to working with. I apologize if that's not what you wanted. I can always whip up something for ya with your preferred pronouns! But I'm not sure if I'll make it this long . . . I honestly don't know how I even did this, like this is a feat I feel. Anyways, I hope Childe isn't too OOC in this. I'm not the best when it comes to writing angst, so I hope you like it! And just as a little explanation beforehand, I read up that Childe joined the Fatui when he was about 14, became a Harbinger at 18, and is considered a young adult. So in this fic, it's assumed that he and you are at least 20 years old just so the timeline adds up and stuff. Also, despite how long this is, Childe isn't in it as much as you probably wanted- I have a tendency to write more about the reader than the characters. It's something I'm trying to break, but I was just so proud of this. I hope you like it! Anyways, happy reading!!! ^^

Childe x Reader Angst

Plot- Reader and Childe have been together for years when Reader finds out that Childe killed her sister when she was young.

Word count- 8,864 (I'm so sorry)

Warnings- Mentions of death, sadness, bad writing, possible suicide at the end(But just mentioned as a fear), swearing, and cringe 'funny' moments cause why not.

The wind blows through your hair as you sit atop a ledge overlooking Liyue Harbor. Today is your younger sister's birthday, and for the past six years, it's been nothing but a reminder of your failure. You were supposed to take care of her. After your parents passed away, you were all she had left, and she, you. But you were just a kid yourself, hardly capable of raising a child.

You bite your lip and look over at all the families walking about, having fun. It brings a smile to your face knowing at least some people can be happy on this day. She wouldn't have wanted doom and gloom to be her only remembrance. The sun in the sky is warm, beaming down on your skin. You've fought many battles for the Adventurers Guild during your time living in town, and are proud to say you've survived. Even escaped a few sparring matches with Childe relatively unscathed.

You win every time, but it's no surprise given he lets you win. That's one of the many things you love about him. He tries to put you first in most situations as much as he can with his job. And it's the little things like letting you win a fake fight that makes you feel like you're floating.

Your relationship is practically plastered on every notice board in town with how affectionate you are to each other. Not a soul in Liyue can look at you and not know you are the Harbinger's lover. But you're okay with that.

Taking in a calm breath, you hop down and glide your way to the docks below.

"Good morning, _____! Nice weather, isn't it?" You smile at the young girl as she approaches you. You've known her for a while now, and have come to consider yourself friends. She seems a bit nervous though.

"It certainly is. Are you okay, Chen?" Her smile drops and she grips onto her arms.

"Can I ask a favor of you? It's rude of me, but I'm desperate!"

"It's fine, what's the matter?" The young girl sighs.

"My brother borrowed a loan from Northland Bank last month and the payments were due two days ago. He told me he was going to pay it back . . . He hasn't been home since. I just thought that . . ."

"You want me to ask Tar?" Her eyes snap up to yours.

"Will you? Please? I'm just so worried about him! I told him not to take that loan, but he never listens to me." You put your hand on her shoulder to calm her down.

"It's okay. It's no problem at all! I was just headed there anyway. I'll see about your brother for you." Young Chen sighs in relief and reaches in her pocket.

"Here, I want you to take this as payment." You shake your head and push her hand away.

"No, I could never!"

"I insist! My mother gave this to me when I was a kid," She opens your hand and places a small coin in before closing your hand around it.

"She told me travelers would give these coins to people who did favors for them and that they grant wishes! Though I'm sure that's just a children's story; I was never able to get it to work." You give the coin a look, hesitant, before slipping it into your pocket.

"Alright, I'll accept. Thank you!" You wave goodbye to Chen and head towards the bank. Childe spends most of his days there, what he does, you have no idea. It's a mystery. The most you get out of him is 'business' which, yeah, obviously you do business. But it's understandable. The Fatui are a questionable lot, and not many people in Liyue trust them.

The Qixing keep a close eye on them as well, though you're sure even they hardly know what goes down under the 'bank' fa��ade. Sometimes Childe comes home with cuts and bruises, claiming they're from training with his comrades, and while you don't buy that one bit, you play along. No need to add to his stress. If he thought you needed to know, he would tell you. No doubt about it.

Walking up the many flights of stairs, you nod to Vlad who lets you in.

Lucky for you, the first face your eyes land on is the exact one you came looking for.

"Tar!" He immediately looks over in your direction, smiles, and dismisses the Fatui agent he was talking to.

"Well, if it isn't the most beautiful woman in all Teyvat. Come to steal my heart?" He pulls you into a hug and kisses your cheek.

"No need, I already have it," You pull away, giving him a smile.

"I actually came here to see you."

"I'd hope so! Who else would you want to see?" Rolling your eyes, you grab him by his hand and lead him to his office.

"I have a favor to ask of you," The joking atmosphere surrounding you turns heavy as you hold his hands in yours.

"As you know, today is . . . Very important to me. I was wondering if you could get off early tonight? If not, it's okay though. I don't want to trouble you or anything." Childe chuckles and pats your head.

"I know what today is. I already requested an early leave this morning, but they haven't gotten back to me yet. If we're that backed up, I'm not sure I'll be able to," Your face falls a bit, but you smile. He made the effort to try and get off early without you even asking.

He places his hand onto your face and rubs his thumb over your cheek.

"But I promise to make it up to you. If I don't get back too late, we can go up to Mt. Tianheng and watch the lights at night. I know you like to do that when you're upset." The kind smile on his face is only magnified by the gentle look in his eyes. He's always been soft with you, even before you got together.

It was always an odd sight for people to see the two of you interact before you were a couple. He always regards people with the same jokester attitude, especially those he has to keep an eye on. But when he's with you, he may joke around, but is always much more concerned for your wellbeing.

"Thank you, Tar. I really appreciate it." He smirks and laughs.

"You appreciate it, huh? How much?" You roll your eyes again and give him a kiss on the lips. Childe smiles into it and tries to make it deeper, but you pull away with his lips chasing after you.

"Easy there, tiger. Save it for later, huh?"

"So, there's a later?" You lightly smack his chest and pull away from him as he laughs.

"Get back to work, Tar." You turn to leave but stop in the doorway.

"Oh, before I forget, I ran into Chen earlier," The look in Childe's eyes shifts slightly, but you barely notice.

"She mentioned that her brother stopped by here about two days ago, and was wondering if you knew where he went after? He hasn't been home since and she's very worried."

He ponders for a moment before his eyes light up in realization.

"Now that you mention it, he did say he was headed towards Lingju Pass. Don't know what for though." He shrugs.

"Okay, thank you! I'll be sure to pass it on." You exchange words of love before you leave.

After speaking with Chen, you decided to head towards the countryside. Your conversation with her went about as well as you expected. She seemed distressed and unsure of the information you gave her, but any criticisms were held as she thanked you and left. You hope that she'll be okay and that her brother comes back. Archons know, you understand what it's like to lose a sibling.

You take in a deep breath.

The air in Liyue is unlike any other. Once you leave the city and all the warm bodies, it's nothing but gentle breezes and the smell of earth. And the occasional Hilichurl, but you can easily take out a few to preserve the peace.

Walking along a random path in the sand, you reflect.

When you and your sister were young, you would often take walks like these while your parents were arguing. Despite only being a few years older than her, you actively chose to take on a more nurturing role. But after your parents died, you realized just how hard it was to provide for the two of you.

You knew how to use a bow to hunt, but not well, and even though you had your mother's catalyst, you didn't have a vision. Sometimes just showing it off and pretending you had a vision was enough to scare off petty thieves and weak Hilichurls, but it was only a matter of time before that wouldn't be enough.

Unfortunately, that time came all too soon.

The two of you had found an abandoned campsite and you decided to rest for the night. Your sister and you were headed to Mondstadt in search of a distant relative who you believed could help you. But during the night, your sister got thirsty and you were all out of water in your canteen. So you heading out to find a lake close by to fetch some, only to return to see a dark figure escaping into the night and your sister, laying in the tent, unmoving.

You were only a few hours walk to the city.

Sometimes you wonder if you had kept going that night, maybe whoever it was would have never even crossed your path. Your cries for help were heard by knights close by and they gathered your sister. Everyone in the city was welcoming and understanding, and the church gave her a wonderful service.

But nothing could mend the hole in your heart. Thankfully, the family member was able to take you in and trained you to become a knight. But that's not what you wanted. You wanted to find the person who killed your sister. And after completing your training, you left for Liyue and gained your Cryo vision along the way.

You summon your catalyst and flip through the pages. It's strange how magic works and how everything interacts with your vision. Before you, this weapon served your pyro vision-wielding mother. After you gained your vision, all the spells changed to fit the cold rather than the heat. You sigh and close the book. Sifting through it is just going to make you more sentimental. The sky above begins to turn shades of orange and pink as the sun goes down, so you decide to head home.

"I know you did something!" A loud voice yells, not too far from you.

"Chen?" You whisper to yourself and make your way around to see her at the edge of town, yelling at a Fatui agent.

"Calm down, miss Chen. We don't know what you are referring to." She balls her hands into fists, her face twisted in anger.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about! Lingju Pass? He hasn't set foot there since our father died. How dare you make up such lies!" You decide to make your way over to try and calm her down. She's obviously upset, and you know that Fatui agents aren't well versed in the ways of 'feelings.' In fact, most of the ones you've met have all been quite stoic and unconcerned.

"Are you calling the Fatui liars, miss Chen?" You stop, Childe stepping out in front of the other agent.

What is Childe doing out here?

"You Fatui lie about everything! Everyone in Liyue despises your presence here, and this just proves to me how low you people actually are. What did you do to my brother?!" She reaches up to hit Childe, and you run up to her and grab her by her arms. You know she can't hurt him, but if she tries she could get into some serious trouble.

"Chen, listen to me, you have to calm down." She looks up at you with tears streaming down her face but shakes off your grip.

"No! I refuse! He knows something about my brother, I know he does!" She looks at you with pleading eyes.

"Please, _____, tell him. Tell him to tell me where my brother is!" Chen sobs. Tears start to form in your eyes.

"Chen, I'm sorry, but Tartaglia doesn't know," You look up at Childe and are taken aback by the look in his eyes. His eyes are dead, angry, violent as he stares at Chen. He waves his hand, and two Fatui agents come from behind and drag Chen away.

"Let go of me!" She struggles as they hold her arms and pull her through the dirt path. Chen glairs at Childe, digging her feet into the ground to slow them down.

"You're a monster, Harbinger! A monster!" You continue to stare after her as she's dragged away. What just happened? You've known Chen and her brother since you moved here. What could have happened to make this poor girl act like this? You jump when Childe places his hand on your shoulder.

"I'm sorry you had to see that." He wipes the tears from your cheeks and smiles his normal, dashing smile. Nothing like the look he was giving Chen just a moment ago.

"Sometimes those awful rumors spreading about the Fatui make people act irrationally." You look him in the eyes as he holds your face. His eyes are soft and caring now, just how he always looks at you.

"Do you know what happened to her brother?" You ask softly. His eyes darken a bit, but his smile never faults.

"_____, my love, are you questioning me now too? Come on, you know none of that stuff is true, right? I work at a bank, not much else to it." He answers, his voice joking, but there's this undertone you can't quite place and have never heard before. You force a smile and hug him close.

"Your right, I'm sorry for asking. I'm just so concerned for Chen and her brother. Do you know where they're taking her?" He hugs you back, tight, and kisses your forehead.

"I think you should just leave it be for now. Go home and get some rest. I should be getting off work soon, and we can do what I promised. How's that sound?"

"Good." You lean up and give him a kiss. His voice drops low as he whispers in your ear.

"I love you, _____. Don't ever forget that."

And he leaves before you can reply. A chill goes down your spine as you watch him leave, and it's not from your vision. You've never seen Childe like that before, even when he interacts with the Traveler. It made you freeze in place, made your blood run cold, and had your heart beating faster with fear all at the same time. That was Harbinger Childe, not your Tartaglia. You rub your hands along your upper arms to calm yourself. You never want to experience that again.

Taking a deep breath, you reach into your pocket to grab your handkerchief, but pull out the coin Chen had given you instead. All it does is remind you that once again you failed to protect someone you cared about. Poor Chen is scared and afraid, and you're positive that Childe's reaction did not help her any.

But as you hold up the coin, you notice a faint glow emanating from around the outer edge which turns the intricate patterns into Liyuian Characters.

'Let the truth be revealed.'

What does this mean? You remember Chen telling you the story of the coin, but it was just that. You've never heard of any coins gifted by travelers before, and it definitely wasn't a common folk tale.

You shove it back into your pocket and rush home.

The sun is almost fully down, and the stars begin to light your way as you walk hastily down the path. Once your house is in sight, you pick up the pace and run inside.

The glow from the coin is brighter now, illuminating your darkening house. How does one even make a wish on a coin?

"I want to see the truth, but I don't know how," The glow of the coin shifts and changes colors in your hands, giving off an almost mystical wave of magic you've never felt before. Whoever made this coin had to have been powerful. You take a deep breath and look at the coin with determination.

"Show me the truth!" The glow envelopes you and when you open your eyes, you're shocked at what lays before you. The dark figure that haunts your dreams at night looms over your dead sister, red-stained blade in hand and a mask over his face.

You step closer, the classic mask of the fatui on the hooded mans' face making his eyes glow white in the darkness. His stature is much smaller than yours, and his outline seems to be that of a boy. At the time it would have been easy for you to confuse him with a man, being he would have been taller than you. But now that you're an adult, you can clearly see his youth. He smirks and laughs down at your little sister's body while whipping the knife on his sleeve.

"You should never have crossed the Fatui." Your heart drops as the young boy removes his mask revealing ocean blue eyes. The eyes of your lover that you adore on the face of the person that you've despised for years. A woman appears next to him, the same woman you've seen him speak to on many occasions but have never spoken to yourself.

"Good work, Tartaglia. You've proven yourself useful to the Tsaritsa after all. But your job here is not done," Childe looks up at the taller woman, his face determined.

"The other daughter has left to fetch water. Unfortunately, there are too many knights around on patrol to take her. Dispose of the body, and return at once." Childe bows to the woman and she smiles wickedly.

"Yes, Signora. Anything for the Tsaritsa." She leaves, and Childe begins to wrap up the young girl's body in a blanket. He stops suddenly, lifting his head up as young _____ approaches from over the hill. Childe smirks, fixing his mask and hood back on properly.

"Until next time, _____." He says and begins to run.

You gasp as the light invades your sight again and you're returned to the present. Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your breathing begins to pick up. The realization is overwhelming, and the shock is preventing you from crying.

Tartaglia was the one this whole time? It can't be, it just can't! You love him, and he loves you, he says so all the time. Has he lied to you this whole time? Has he just been keeping you close to screw with you before breaking your heart and killing you? That coin has to be lying. There's no way your Tar would ever do something like that, especially to you! He tells you everything. There are no secrets between the two of you.

Right?

The clock on the wall says that it's seven-o-clock, usually when Childe gets off of work. You don't want to be here; you can't be here. How can you face him after seeing that, even if it was a lie? You quickly run up to your shared bedroom and grab your adventuring bag, filling it with few essentials.

Where will you even go? There's nowhere in Liyue where Childe can't find you. Even across Teyvat, the Fatui have eyes and ears. You just need some time to reflect, get your barrings, and confront him. If you'll confront him. This has to be some kind of joke, or lie placed by some unknown power to question your love for him. There's no way he could have-

"What are you doing, _____?" You gasp, started by Childe suddenly behind you, blocking the exit to your room.

"Tar, you scared me!" You say shakily, holding your bag close to your chest. He smiles his usual caring smile at you, but all you can see is the smirk he held while staring down at your little sister.

"Sorry, my love. I got off of work early like I said I would. Is that why you have your bag?" His ocean blue eyes dart down to your bag and back up to you again. You subconsciously grip the bag tighter, Childe noticing.

"N-No. I accepted a commission last minute." The lie slips out like acid on your tongue.

You've never lied to him before, and it feels wrong. But you have to get out of here. Every alarm bell in your body is screaming at you to run as fast as you can away from the man you love.

His brow furrows a bit with concern and he takes a step closer to you, but you take one back.

"This isn't about what happened today, is it?" He sighs and shakes his head.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, it's just I don't like it when people falsely accuse me of things. I kinda slipped into Harbinger mode for a sec there." He laughs, again trying to come closer to you, you step back.

"Are they false though?" The question falls from your lips before you realize it, and Childe's eyes widen in surprise.

"_____, you can't be serious? You know I would never lie to you-"

"How do I know that, Childe?" You've never called him Childe, and it shows from the shock on his face when you do.

"What are you going on about? I could never-"

"Get away from me!" You yell at the Harbinger, tears finally falling from your eyes. There's no way you could be near him like this, knowing that he could have . . .

"Why? I love you, I won't hurt you." You try to steady your breathing as he slowly inches closer, treating you as of your a wild animal he wants to tame.

"You don't love me." You shake your head, gripping your backpack with white knuckles.

"What?" The question comes out as a whisper from the man's mouth in disbelief, hoping he didn't hear you properly.

"You don't love me!" You say one again, louder, confirming what he has hoped wasn't true.

"_____," Childe tries to come closer, but you shove past him and run to the front door. Before you can grab the handle, Childe grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around.

"Please, _____," His eyes are glassy with unshed tears as he gazes into your own.

"Tell me what I did to make you think this way?" You sob, hands pushing on his chest to break free but failing. You can barely breathe as the sobs rack through your body.

"You-" Trying to get the words out only makes you cry harder as the realization hits you. All the rumors are true. The Fatui are evil, conniving, and uncaring. They kill, pillage, experiment, torture, and don't care about who they have to step on to get their way. And your boyfriend, the love of your life, the man you wanted to marry and start a family of your own with, is one of them.

"You killed my little sister!" Your hands ball into fists and punch his chest as hard as you can, but in your state, you have barely any power.

"My baby sister is dead because of you! How could you?" You managed to get out through your tears, finally breaking down in the arms of the man you've despised for years.

Childe stares at you, unbelieving. He pulls you into a tight hug, crying on your shoulder, continuously apologizing. Never in your life have you seen Childe cry. Even when talking about how much he misses his family or his country, the farthest he gets is a sentimental smile and longing. Never have you thought you'd see him cry either. It's almost enough to make you forget that he's practically admitted to the murder.

He killed your only sister. How do you know he's sincere with his tears as he holds you close and begs you not to go? You've seen him lie before, never to you, but if he kept this secret for so long, what else has he been hiding? But none of that matters right now. The man you've been searching for years for, who you wanted to kill with your own bare hands, is the same person holding you so tenderly now.

How could you forget the countless nights you've woken up from nightmares of that boy coming to kill you and finish what he stared, only for Tartaglia to wake you up and hold you close, promising that he'd protect you? Every year when you mourn your sister and confide in him about how you were going to find that monster no matter what it took, did he fear you'd ever find out and kill him?

Is that why he kept you close for so long, to make sure you'd be too weak for him with love to ever even try? How can you love someone who killed your sister? It's easy to just assume you'd hate him, but for some odd reason, a little voice in the back of your mind is telling you to trust him and love him like you always had.

Another voice is telling you to end his life with no mercy and finally bring your sister to the peace she deserves.

Gathering up your strength, you manage to push him off of you.

"_____, no," He's in a state you've never seen before, face wet with tears, nose running, eyes puffy. But, he doesn't try to pull you back in.

You swiftly grab your bag and leave the house and Childe behind.

-------------

"_____," Your cousin John calls your name, pinching the bridge of his nose. He watches as you continuously use your vision to destroy training dummies.

"You continue this and the knights aren't going to have anything left to train with." You stop temporarily to glare at him.

"I'm training."

"So it seems." He watches as you continue your 'training.'

"You know, this doesn't seem healthy. I'm no doctor or anything, but, maybe you should, like, not?" You sigh irritated and cross your arms.

"Not what, John?" He gestures to the broken wood pieces scattered around the courtyard. You roll your eyes.

"I'm doing no worse than the average rookie knight!" John nods, leaning up against the wall.

"Yeah, yeah, except no. Why? Thank you for asking, cause your not a rookie and you're upset, at what? I don't know because you refuse to tell me. All I know is that my cousin is back after being gone for three years and the-," John looks around before stepping closer and lowering his voice.

"The Fatui in town have been eying us up everywhere we go. What the hell happened while you were in Liyue?" You bite your lip and message your wrists. The tips of your fingers have begun to turn purple from the cold, but you hardly seem affected. John pats you on the back and leads you inside the knight's headquarters.

"Look, I know we were never very close, and when you lived with us, we barely spoke, but I'm here now. We're not kids anymore, _____." The two of you sit down in the library. The three years you lived with your uncle and cousin were your worst. They treated you nice, but you were grieving and took it out on them and many training dummies. It seems you've done the same again.

"I'm sorry, it's just . . ." What happened with Childe months ago is still fresh on your mind. You haven't seen him since you left that night, and you aren't sure if you want to. You're conflicted. You thought coming back to Mondstadt would help you clear your mind and help you decide what to do, but you can't, and it's frustrating.

Despite how hard you've tried . . . You still love Tartaglia with all of your heart. But you can't forget what he did. You could never forgive him either. You've held hatred for this man for six years now, and every waking moment has been used to devise a plan to find him and kill him. But you can't kill him; not when you still hold these feelings.

If this was his goal, then he succeeded. You know he knows you're in Mondstadt. As John said, the Fatui have had their eyes on you since you showed up. You wouldn't be surprised if they all have you listed as a threat. After all, being one of their high-ranking officer's vengeful lover with intent and reason to kill would put anyone on a list.

But, with that said, he hasn't tried to contact you. No letters, no passing of words, hell, no carrier pigeons. He's extra enough to do that. And this has caused you to feel even more upset. Cause you still love the man, and there's some hope still there that he meant what he said and he does love you and the fact he hasn't done anything is killing you.

"_____, you good?" You snap out of your daze and nod.

"Yeah, I was just thinking."

"You seem to be doing a lot of that lately. Please, what's going on with you?" You decide it's best to tell your cousin the truth.

You explain to him the situation. How you fell in love, what life was like for you the three years you were gone, the coin, and finding out the killer's identity. John looks at you in shock.

"Wow, that's a lot. And this is why you came back?"

"Yeah, I know. I should have come back sooner to at least visit, but," John cuts you off and waves his hands.

"No, you're fine. I mean, it would have been nice to see you, but that's irrelevant right now. You found out your boyfriend, a Fatui Harbinger, was the one that killed your sister, and you're here? Doing what? Destroying Favonius property?" You agree hesitantly.

"I mean, when you put it like that, it sounds odd."

"No, _____, odd is an understatement. Why are you here? You should be getting answers, slapping people, storming Snezhnaya! Actually, don't do that last one, that could get us in a lot of trouble."

"True," You agree.

"Honestly, I don't know what to do. Do I confront him? I mean, if he did kill her, which I'm about 90% sure at this point that he did, do I get revenge? I've wanted to for years, but I know that I could never kill him." John takes your hand in his and speaks with sincerity.

"You love him, I get that, but you can't let that get in the way of things."

"No, I mean, I literally couldn't kill him. He's a beast in battle, and could probably end me without even blinking. I've seen him take on multiple ruin guards in seconds, like, he's on a whole nother level." You sigh and put your head in your hands.

"But even despite that, I do still love him. At this point, I feel the best thing to do is to just move on. Go my own way and let him go his."

"And what about your sister, huh? Just gonna forget about her?" You look at him questioningly.

"Look, you need to at least get closure. Obviously, he doesn't want you dead, because you would have been so by now. I can't even tell you how many times the Fatui could have nabbed you, gagged you, and sacked you since you've been back."

"Gee, thanks John, that really makes me feel better about the situation." He rolls his eyes.

"Talk to the man, _____. There will always be a home here waiting for you to come back to." Maybe your cousin is right? If Childe did want you dead, you know damn well he has the power to have made it happen. But how would you even react when you see him? The only way to find out is to get it over with.

With newfound enthusiasm, you jump up from your position and slam your hands on the table.

"Alright, I'm gonna go! I'm gonna talk with Tartaglia and I'm gonna punch him at least once!"

"That's the spirit!" A series of loud shooshes sound around the library and you slowly sit back down.

"Sorry!"

You and your cousin John devise a plan over the next few days. You're still unsure about this whole thing, but with encouragement from John, you gain the confidence you need to push through.

In the end, you decide the best thing to do is to sneak out of Mondstadt without any Fatui seeing you. It's still dangerous to speak with him, and the two of you decide the safest thing is to get him unprepared and off guard. If he's not expecting you, he has no time to plan. Not that he needs a plan to kill you, he could just do it. But still-

As the sun seeps down past the hills and flatlands of Mondstadt, John and you make your way out of headquarters and down to the main part of town.

"You know what sounds so amazing right now? A tall mug of cider from Angel's Share!" John exclaims and grabs your arm. The two of you practically run towards the tavern, gaining looks from the other citizens.

"Cool it, John," You whisper yell to him as you head inside.

"You wanna actually look suspicious?" He laughs, sitting down at a table in the back.

"Sorry if I'm not good at being convincing. Dad always said acting would be my downfall."

"When would you ever have to act to be a knight?" He shrugs his shoulders.

"Right now?" Okay, he has a point. Merely minutes after you sit down, two Fatui agents walk in after, taking a table far enough away, but close enough to keep you in their sights.

"Don't worry, _____," Your cousin says, noticing your worried expression.

We'll get you out of here."

John waves his hand and gains the attention of Master Diluc as he's walking around the tavern.

"We'd like two Valberry Whiskey's please!" Your cousin asks loudly and winks. Diluc rolls his eyes and heads towards the back of the tavern, getting the 'drinks.'

It was a miracle and a half that John was able to convince Master Diluc to help you. But John said he owed him a favor. For what, you have no idea. Not even a second later, a young bard runs over to your table and slams his hands down.

"What did you just order?"

"Uh," You look to your cousin for guidance. The drink was simply a code, not an actual order.

"Valberry Whiskey?" The young bard looks at you in amazement. He's clearly drunk, but the sheer excitement in his eyes seems to sober him up enough to eagerly rush to the bar counter.

"A new drink! And Diluc didn't tell me?!" His shouts of joy gain the attention of the entire bar.

"A new drink?!"

"One not on the menu?"

"Master Diluc!"

Your cousin and you share a look as the crowd goes wild, rushing towards the front bar and to the back looking for Diluc to inquire about this new drink. The few Fatui agents that had followed you in stand up from their seat to get a better view of you and John. John grabs your arm and pulls you into the crowd, the Fatui agents desperately searching for your whereabouts.

"This way, _____." He pulls you farther and farther away from the Fatui till you feel another hand grab you and pull you out of the back entrance to the tavern.

"Hey, watch your hands, buddy!"

"Would you rather still be in there then, _____?" You smile nervously up at Diluc, who's handing you a bag and cloak.

"Things didn't exactly go as planned, huh?" The redhead smirks and crosses his arms.

"I knew that bard would be in here tonight. Drunk off his ass, he wouldn't be able to resist the call of a new drink item." You laugh, pulling the hood over your head.

"Thank you, Diluc." He gives you a rare smile and nods. You begin to walk off but stop, looking back at the tavern owner.

"Hey Diluc, what was the favor for?" Diluc sighs and pinches between his eyes.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

__________________

The journey back to Liyue is a tiring one. It seems a lot closer than it actually is on the map, but heading to the main harbor is always a task. Thankfully, you're able to make your rations last the whole trip, and as you enter the harbor in the wee hours of the night, you smile at the familiar buildings. You may have only been gone for a few months, but this was your home for the last three years.

Your home with Tartaglia . . . You pull your hood farther down your head and try to remain in the shadows. Despite the time of night, the area is still bustling with people. Merchants making deals, ships delivering goods, the whole nine yards.

You flatten yourself against a wall as a few Fatui agents walk past. The place is absolutely crawling with Fatui, even more so than usual. Could it have something to do with you? You doubt it. Harbinger or not, Tartaglia could get in serious trouble for using Fatui resources in such a way.

You carefully slide through cracks and crevises, branches and bushes, trying to stay out of any Fatui sights. Eventually, you find yourself on the outskirts of the city, not far from your shared home. It surprisingly takes a lot from you to not run straight for it. You miss your house. You miss your bed. You miss Tartaglia.

But now is not the time to get sentimental!

You still need to confront him about what he did. And depending on his answer, one of you may not make it through the night. You keep yourself stealthy as you enter the house from the back. He's not home, which is good. But the place is in disarray. Furniture turned upside down, plates smashed against walls, everything caked in dust. It's hard to believe he's been living here if he even has been.

If that's the case, you may have to go looking for him. You look around the house at the disaster. He may have been trying to look for something; maybe a clue to what you had planned or something to use against you.

With that in mind, you run up the stairs to the master bedroom and open the closet. You fear the worst but are surprised to find your sister's belongings still in place.

Surely he would have found them in here.

The bedroom isn't as bad as the bottom floor, though still a mess. The bed is unmade, with a small pile of your clothes on your side of the bed, and his clothes on the floor. All of your things, besides the clothes, are still neatly in their places. Pictures of you and him together that were once on the walls are now on his nightstand, face up and smudged with fingerprints.

"What the hell happened here?" The sound of the front door opening startles you. Could that be Childe? There's no way he's living like this!

Footsteps move across the floor, into the kitchen, into the living room, and slowly up the stairs. Whoever it is, your about to face them.

The door opens slowly, almost torturously so. Soon, the sunken and sullen face of your lover is in your view, and even faster, your on the floor with a knife made of hydro to your throat. Your hood continues to obscure your identity as Childe pins you down.

"Bold of you to break into the home of a Fatui Harbinger! What did you expect?" With the pressure from the knife digging deeper and deeper into your skin, you freeze the hand wrapped around his holding the knife, and kick your leg out. Childe falls over, dropping his weapon which shatters on impact. Before you can get your bearings, he's lunging at you again. He grabs you from behind and holds you in a chokehold.

"Your fast, but you'll never be fast enough!" You gasp for air, holding onto his arm as it's wrapped around your neck. He's trying to kill you, you know he is. All the times you've sparred with him, you knew he was holding back, but he's definitely not this time. Even so, his hold on you is weak. Weak for him, at least.

You rear your elbow into his stomach as hard as you can knocking him back and you summon your catalyst. As he said, he's faster than you, but before he can get back, you place a wall of ice between him and yourself. It's not enough to hold him back for long, but enough to catch your breath. He laughs as he can hear you choking, attempting to regain your oxygen.

"You think this little wall will stop me?" He attacks the wall with his fist, making a section crumble. Your breathing is fast, but you can't seem to gain enough breath to speak. As he crumbles your wall piece by piece, you pull back your hood and lean on the bedroom wall behind you. Finally, he lands the finishing blow and the ice dissipates in a gust of cryo magic. The crazed look of bloodlust vanishes from his face the instant he sees you, hand on your throat, and your breath heavy.

"___-," He can hardly finish his whisper as he lets out a shaky breath. With the tense atmosphere suddenly calm, you're able to regain your breath and look up at the man. His skin a pale and his eyes are dull. He has large dark circles under his eyes and he looks a bit thinner than normal.

"_____," He manages to get out, still shocked you're actually here.

"Are you okay?" You shake your head.

"You haven't seen me in months and that's the first thing you say to me?" He rubs the back of his neck and looks down, ashamed.

"I didn't know it was you. I'm sorry if I hurt you." You can hardly believe what you're seeing. He seems broken, utterly defeated. If he hadn't fought you just now, you'd assume he'd fall over with the breeze.

Looking at him now, it's hard to believe he's the same man that killed your sister.

"We need to talk." He nods, refusing to meet your eyes.

"You need to tell me the truth, Tar," He takes in a shuddering breath at your words.

"All these years, I've been beside you. I've stood up for you, I've loved you. I told you all my darkest secrets and nightmares. Not once did I ever lie to you."

Tears come to his eyes just as they do yours. He bites his lip to prevent the tears from falling. You step closer to him, dropping your cloak, and put your hands up to his face. He flinches away from you but relaxes when your palms cup his cheeks and he finally looks you in the eyes.

"Over the past few months, I've thought long and hard about what I wanted to say to you. And no matter what scenario I came up with, I could never tell if I was doing the right thing. But, even though I carry some semblance of anger, I know that what I feel for you is real. And with that, I still hold hope that you feel the same and it wasn't all just a lie."

He grabs your hands, the tears now falling one by one down his pale cheeks.

"I swear to all the Archons that I love you! I never lied about that!" You hesitate for a moment, blinking away your own tears.

"And though I don't want to, I believe you," You rub your thumbs across his face, clearing some of the tears.

"But I need you to tell me everything." Tartaglia closes his eyes. He never dreamed in a million years he'd have to tell you this story. He'd hoped that you'd live in blissful ignorance for the rest of your life with him. But the gods had another plan for him and you, and he prays that at least one of them will let him keep you. Even if that's a selfish request.

"I joined the Fatui when I was young. I was constantly trying to prove myself to Signora and the Tsaritsa that I was willing to do anything they asked me. I still am," He looks at you with regretful and sorrowful eyes as he recalls the past.

"Your parents had fled Snezhnaya when you were born, because of a debt they racked up with the Fatui. When they were found in Fontaine, it was revealed that they were working for a group of rebels intent on infiltrating Snezhnaya. It was my job to take you and your sister to use as leverage on your parents. But, your sister fought back," You release his face and look away, finding it harder to keep eye contact with him.

"I wasn't as skilled as I am now, and I panicked. But La Signora said I did a good job. I didn't know that your parents had already been killed by the rebels, and neither did the Fatui. Not until after we had left you. At that point, there was no reason to continue after you. But you were never forgotten about. And when you came to Liyue, I was instructed to keep an eye on you," Childe lifts his arms up and places his hands on your shoulders.

"But I never expected to fall in love with you." You look into his ocean blue eyes and are overcome by the warmth they hold for you.

"The day I met you, I could feel it, and I tried so hard to forget about it, but you were just so . . . Amazing, and beautiful, and kind. I never expected that from you. You never once judged me or ridiculed me, even though you knew who I was. I thanked the Archons every day that you came into my life, and I prayed that you'd never find out what I'd done."

A sob breaks through as he wipes the tears running down his face. All the years you harbored hatred for this man, you never once thought about what he could have been going through. It's true that this doesn't excuse his actions, but to know that he truly regrets what he did brings you some kind of closure. In the end, revenge would have never made you feel better. Your sister wouldn't have wanted that.

You love Tartaglia with all your heart, and in this world, it's better to forgive than to let it eat away at you any longer.

"Tartaglia," His name comes out as a whisper with your breath, but he hears you loud and clear. The fear of rejection in his eyes tells you everything you need to know as you carefully speak to him.

"I forgive you." He cries, pulling you to his chest and you hug him back. Unfortunately for him, you weren't finished.

"But, I need some time to think about this. I love you; I never stopped loving you, and I always will," You pull back and smile at him before gently kissing his chapped lips.

"I'm going back to Mondstadt, but I'll be back. You just need to give me some time." He smiles as best he can and nods enthusiastically.

"I'd give you all the time in the world if I could." He moves to kiss you again, but you put a finger up to his lips to stop him.

"Save it for later, Tar." He laughs, looking back up at you with bright eyes.

"So, there's a later?"

(A little something extra. It doesn't quite fit to be an ending, but more like an epilogue just tying things together I guess lol.)

___________________

You sigh as you sling your bag over your shoulder. It's been a good few months back in Mondstadt after your reconciliation with Childe, and you've decided it's time to go home. You've kept in regular contact with him since you've been here, writing letters to each other like new lovers. You found the whole thing quite cute, despite the circumstances. He's been regarding you with caution, taking things one step at a time, and never pushing you past any limits you set. You're grateful for that.

"You sure you wanna go back? You can always stay a bit longer, just to give yourself a bit more time to think it over." John says, arms crossed and head down. You two have grown closer over your time spent here. It's a shame to think you were so caught up in your misery to be blind to the best friend you could have had. And it's tough to say goodbye, now that you've grown attached.

"I'm sure. You don't have to miss me too much, ya know? I'll be back to visit, and I'll write every week!" John huffs.

"You better, or I'm coming over there and kicking that Fatui's ass for keeping you away! I don't care how many ruin guards he can take on!" You laugh and pull him into a hug.

"I'm gonna miss you." He hugs you back, holding you tight.

"Yeah, I know." You roll your eyes and wave goodbye to the family you didn't realize you had.

Once back in Liyue, you get settled into your home with Childe. Thankfully, he cleaned up the mess he made while you were gone. He had said he was so distraught at the thought of you leaving him, he trashed the place in anger. Not anger from you, but anger at himself. He was afraid you'd think he was a monster, that he was heartless, and that you'd never want to see him again.

He was relieved when he heard you were in Mondstadt. There, he could keep an eye on you. One of the things he was afraid of was you doing something to yourself due to the pain of it all . . . If you did that, he wouldn't know how to cope. And when he received word that you had disappeared from Mond, well, he thought that fear had come true. But in the end, things worked out. You could never forget what he did, nor do you want to. It's something you have to live with, just like he does, and it's up to you to put it aside.

You know there are many things he's done that he's not proud of. Many things of which he promises to tell you when he's ready. And you'll be there to listen as he spills his heart out to you.

You take in a breath of air as you enter the harbor, smelling the salty water of the ocean and the wonderful herbs being brought in from traveling merchants. You'll never get over these smells.

"_____!" You look over your shoulder, surprised as Chen runs over to you. You haven't seen her since the incident outside of town.

"Chen! Are you okay?" She smiles and hugs you.

"I'm doing great! My brother and I have been selling a lot more of our goods since he's been back, and business has been booming!"

"Your brother?" You tilt your head.

"Yes!" She nods enthusiastically.

"He did go to Lingju Pass as Childe had said. It turns out, he had a buyer out there but didn't want to tell me in case the deal went south. I overreacted. . ." She puts her head down in shame.

"All the rumors about the Fatui got to my head, and I assumed the worst. But Childe went out and found my brother for me. Can you please tell him I said thank you? Also that I'm sorry. I really owe him one."

You pat her on the head, relieved.

"Of course, Chen." She reaches into her pocket and pulls something out.

"For payment-"

"No!" You shove her hand away.

"Gotta go! I'm late to see Tar!" You sprint off, leaving a confused Chen in your wake.

[submissivekillers]

Yo yo yoooi! Can I please have a lost boys x vamp reader who’s like the very first vampire to be born and she comes and meets the boys cause she’s traveling across the world to visit all her “children” - so basically ancient ass vamp reader who looks 20 something meets the lost boys cause she’s meeting the rest of her kind

like what i do? support me on kofi

ngl i basically pictured reader as a pre-milfication lady d while writing this jhgfdsa. brainrot!! also mild max slander

length: 2.2k

If there is one rule you’ve managed to learn over the long years of your existence, it is this: humans will take any opportunity to make fools of themselves. 

Santa Carla is no exception.

Even in the early morning before the hordes of hormone-addled humans descended on the beach, the air had been heavy with smoke and blood and sex, so strong it almost overpowered the scent of the sea even when you'd peeled off your sandals to wade in. In its own way, it's exhilarating; the anticipation had your old blood stirring, your excitement mounting as the sun dipped low and the crowds swelled. From the window of your little motel room, you'd had a wonderful view of the flood of humans that spilled onto the boardwalk, the vast majority of them young and already inebriated to some degree. Ripe for the picking.  

It's not humans that you're hunting for tonight, though. At least, not yet.  

At a leisurely pace, you wander the boardwalk, taking your time to enjoy the local color. You indulge in a vivid blue cloud of cotton candy, try a couple rides, win yourself a stuffed whale after breaking a few bottles and promptly gift it to the first kid you see. A belligerent twenty-something who stinks of beer tugs at the hem of your white dress as it swishes around your thighs and you break his wrist without a second thought, disappearing into the crowd long before his scream of pain is lost in the echo of blaring music and shrieks of sugar-fueled glee. 

You're in line behind a gaggle of chattering teens at an ice cream stand when your nerves prickle, feeling the weight of eyes on the back of your neck. Without turning, you inhale, nose wrinkling as the acrid smell of old blood fills your nose. They absolutely reek of the stuff - it's so strong that you're a little surprised even the humans aren't picking up on it. But then again, maybe they just can't pick it out under the layers of weed and exhaust smoke.

The teens disperse, laden with several precarious cones of ice cream, and the bored woman behind the counter waves you up. You open your mouth, but there's an arm around your waist before you can say a word, a cool body pressed against your side. A ringed hand slaps a crumpled five-dollar bill on the counter, mismatched bracelets jingling with the motion. 

"We got the lady's order tonight, Peggy," comes a voice from your other side. You glance over the top of your glasses (cheap, heart-shaped things rimmed in vivid pink, scavenged from last night's meal) and meet the gaze of a cherubic blond, his pale blue eyes calculating as he worries his thumbnail between his teeth.  

The arm around your waist squeezes tighter. You turn your head, tilting your chin slightly so you can lock eyes with another pair of baby blues. They sparkle at you mischievously as your fellow vampire, bends to whisper in your ear, teased blond mane tickling your nose. "What can I get for you, baby girl?" 

You make a show of considering your options, pouting faintly as you prop a hand under your chin. You slip your other hand around his waist, idly toying with the mesh of his ridiculous fishnet top and grinning when he shivers at the scrape of your painted nails. "Chocolate shake, I think," you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. "Are you getting anything?"

Rocker boy shakes his head, tips you an exaggerated wink as he shoves the fiver towards the increasingly petrified-looking cashier. "Nah, all yours tonight."

"Sweet of you," you chirp, popping up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He beams at you sunnily, shooting an excited glance at the cherub over the top of your head.

Peggy pushes your shake over the counter, lid only half-on in her haste to get the three of you away from her little stand. You manage to flash her a smile (aiming for sympathetic, but perhaps landing closer to smug) before you're pulled away, happily taking a sip of your drink as the cherub comes to walk at your side, trapping you between their bodies. You address the rocker first, catching the way his eyes dart down to catch you licking the ice cream from your lips. "You got a name?" 

"You can call me Paul, baby," he purrs, then wiggles his brows at you suggestively. "Or daddy, if ya want." 

You snort around the straw of your shake, unable to resist the grin that tugs at the corners of your mouth. It's definitely one of the more low-effort pickup lines you've ever heard, but something about him - the goofy little eyebrow waggle, the answering grin when you laugh at him like he knows exactly how ridiculous he is, his overall puppyish manner - manages to push it over the line from sleazy to charming. "You should be so lucky."

"I'd be the luckiest man in the world, I think," he flashing you a smile that's slower, more seductive than his cheesy grin - the kind of smile that would make any pretty young human a little more willing to spread their thighs. 

It's perhaps more effective on you than you care to admit, but you ignore the lazy heat that curls down your spine, turning to bat your eyes at the cherub. "How 'bout you, handsome?" 

"Marko," he says shortly. His face is young, but he's definitely the older one here - you can always tell by the eyes. "And you're on our turf."

"What, a girl can't take a little vacation in peace? I thought this was a free country," you huff in mock indignance.

Marko narrows his eyes at you. "Free country, maybe. Not free hunting grounds." He gnaws his thumbnail again, scanning you like he's trying to judge a threat - though it seems he can't help lingering for a long moment on the bare skin of your thighs. "Mind coming with us? David wants to meet you." 

David. The name is familiar - Max's first, if you recall. From what you'd heard, he could be quite a territorial creature. 

Paul, perhaps mistaking your thoughtfulness for unease, squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. "Hey, you're not in trouble. We just wanna make sure you're cool, you know?" His thumb draws steady circles over the arch of your shoulder blade. "This is our turf, but if you're not gonna cause any trouble, you'll be okay." 

The expression on Marko's face makes you doubt Paul's optimism, but you play along, curling a hand around his bicep and leaning in. "But what if I like causing trouble?" 

Paul grants you another sunny grin. "Then you can cause trouble with us," he murmurs against the shell of your ear. "I bet we could show you a good time." 

Marko clears his throat, distracting you from your flirting, and you're suddenly aware of the scent of blood grown stronger - along with the pungent smell of motor oil. Looking ahead, you see a group of bikes before you, two more vampires leaning against their respective rides. 

Both handsome, and you can tell they're both strong - but it's clear from a glance which one is the leader. 

"Thanks for fetching our guest," the blond - David, you know instinctively - rumbles, his voice a warm, sardonic purr. He looks you up and down, the weight of his eyes like a physical thing. "Welcome to Santa Carla."

"Do you give all visitors a personal welcome?"

"Only the interesting ones." He smiles at you, the edge of a fang glinting in the light. "Come with us. There's someone you should meet." 

You lift a brow. "Oh? And here I figured you were the one in charge around here?" 

"I am, don't get it twisted," he shoots back lazily, pulling a battered pack of cigarettes from inside his duster. "But our sire wants to meet you." 

"Ah, so you're the lead enforcer," you muse, nodding. David gives you a look caught between exasperation and amusement and takes point as you're herded after him. "And you?" You chirp, turning to the dark-haired boy who walks behind you. 

He blinks languidly at you. "...Dwayne." 

Strong and silent. You can appreciate that in a man. 

You're lead to a video shop in the center of the boardwalk, fielding Paul's flirting, Marko's questions, and Dwayne's cautious stare as you go. David walks slightly ahead of the rest of you, puffing on a cigarette and occasionally glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

As you approach the door you hear Dwayne sniff, his rumble of "Maria's not here yet," barely audible even to your heightened senses. 

"Good," David murmurs, pulling open the door with a merry chime of the little bell. He bows his head, making a sweeping gesture to usher you by. "After you."

Drifting inside, you're assaulted by flickering screens and lurid posters, a storm of color and noise. You run a fingertip down the spine of a videotape, but a whimper draws your attention. Bending at the waist, you catch sight of Max's hound hiding under a desk, watching you with ears pinned flat to his skull. 

Shame, really. You found him rather cute, but the beast had always been terrified of you. 

A familiar scent reaches your nose, and a familiar face follows soon after - though he's changed significantly since the last time you saw him. The trappings of the modern world suit him well, you have to admit; the thick glasses lend a sort of non-threatening charm to his face, which you suppose is the point.

"Thorn, what's gotten into"—he stops so quickly his shoes squeal against the floor, the friendly shopkeeper guise dropping in the space of a blink—You." 

"Maxie." You greet, inclining your head. "You look... alive. In a manner of speaking, of course." 

He steps between you and the hound, hands curled into tense fists at his sides. "What are you doing here?" 

"Just sightseeing, really," you say soothingly, holding up your hands in surrender. "Figured the time was ripe to catch up with the world, see how all my little birds are doing. Carmilla sends her love, by the way." 

"This is my territory," Max hisses through his teeth, eyes bleeding yellow. "You know you can't be here without prior notice, it's law—" 

You sigh through your nose and snap your fingers. "Maximillian, kneel."

He falls to his knees hard enough that the tile cracks under his weight. You step closer, lifting his chin to meet his furious glare; he visibly strains against your order, a vein pulsing in his temple. You have no doubt that he would tear your throat out if given the chance.

But you've been alive entirely too long to let a little upstart like Max get the better of you.  

"I'm not here to cause trouble," you say, calmly, but firm. "But I made the laws, Max. You would do well not to forget that." 

He bares his teeth at you, face fully transformed to reveal the beast within. You look at him impassively for a moment, then sigh, turning on your heel and edging past a stunned Dwayne. "I'll meet you outside, boys."  

You push through the door with more force than strictly necessary, the tinkle of the bell almost mocking your dampened mood. Disappointing. Max had always clashed with you, even if he lacked the nerve to do anything about it. You'd hoped that a few hundred years apart might have cooled his animosity towards you, but clearly that was too much to hope for. 

You suck on your straw, making a face at the airy rattle you get instead of ice cream. All out of milkshake, and still so thirsty.  

The bell jingles again, heralding the approach of Max's coven. "I apologize for not warning you," you say before any of them can speak, twirling your empty cup. "I did have a feeling Max would react badly to seeing me. He's always been a bit of a cunt when things don't go his way." 

"How old are you?" Marko blurts. 

"Don't you know it's rude to ask a lady's age?" You tut, waving a finger in mock-indignation. "Really. No manners at all."

David steps forward, eyes glittering in the neon lights. "You turned Max." 

"No," you say, smiling to show off the long, curving points of your canines. "But I turned his sire. And I turned the sire before her, too." 

Glances are exchanged. Dwayne and David hold each other's gaze for a long moment, then Dwayne breaks away to glance at Marko, murmuring something just quietly enough that you don't catch it. Paul smiles, curious and admiring, and when David looks back at you there's a cautious interest written in the lines of his face. 

"Tell you what," you purr, looping your arms around David's neck. His gloved hands come to rest on your hips, leather creaking as he idly kneads the flesh hidden beneath soft cotton. "My throat's feeling a little dry. Why don't you boys take me for a drink, and then I’ll answer a few questions."

[dcbbw]

The Witch Hunt

This fic is a highly fictionalized account of true events. I wrote it as a way of coping with the discourse and said it would never be publicly posted. But thanks to an ask from @twinkleallnight (and her persistence that anything I write needs to be shared and enjoyed by all), and discussions with my boos, bears, and Coven sisters … here it is.

HUGE THANK YOU to @ao719 for the amazing moodboard.

Thank you to my writing sisters for re-reading this story and assuring me that it still makes sense.

For all who will read this fic, THANK YOU! Your time, efforts, and energy spent reading, commenting, and/or reblogging is greatly appreciated more than you know.

Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. (I rushed through my final editing)

Only the Commoner and the King belong to Pixelberry.

Song Inspiration: Every Breath You Take, Scala/Kolacny Brothers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bt63b4x2Xec

Word Count: 3,546

Eastwick

Light years and many moons from Reality, there is an alternate universe called Fandom where both children and witches live. The witches are a large coven, and spend their days writing spells; incantations of love, lust, and laughter … sometimes of darkness. The spells are for their intended and beloved, and tell of the lives and adventures the sorceresses wish to experience with them.

The witches live in a corner of the Fandom known as Cordonia, in a small town called Eastwick; for the most part, they all got along well and were supportive of each other.  Within the coven were three sisters: Hilda, Zelma, and Glinda. The sisters lived together in a large Victorian house, complete with wraparound porch, bay windows, and spires. All three were well-known and well-liked throughout the coven.

Glinda was the most popular; her bright cheery smile and sweet personality made her a favorite throughout Eastwick.

Zelma was the friendliest; she knew nearly all the other witches, and read over their spells to ensure that nothing went wrong. One incorrect word or improper enunciation could twist the spell’s intention completely.

Hilda, who was also a wizardess, was the most empathetic; she offered hugs and a listening ear to the strays of the coven: The witches who either had no magic, or if they did, no idea how to use it. Her sisters were usually tolerant when Hilda brought home her newfound, friendless acquaintances … except for Apple Core. There was a reason the oldest citizen of Eastwick had never truly been a part of the coven, but Hilda insisted Apple Core just needed love.

The sisters were sitting at their kitchen table, writing spells for their love interests. Zelma was in love with the Commoner of Cordonia, as were many others; it did not deter her from sending her love spells into the universe, neither did it stop the Commoner from returning her affections.

Glinda and Hilda were in love with the King; as was the case with the Commoner, the sisters were in competition with many for his both his hand and his heart. Glinda had decided that she and Hilda would love different versions of the King so as not to make things awkward between them. Glinda fell in love with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed King, while Hilda’s King had dark hair, dark eyes, and Asian features.

“I love him so much,” Zelma murmured as she finished her spell, her eyes landing on a picture of the Commoner she had summoned in their crystal ball.

“And he loves you in return,” Glinda said while tapping her quill pen against her chin.

“He loves an alternate version of me. If he knew what I really looked like, he wouldn’t,” Zelma lamented.

“Our beloveds see our hearts and souls, not our outer appearances,” Hilda stated as she waved a wand over her spell of lust.

Silence as the sisters worked to finalize their spells before casting them into the Void. Suddenly, there was a jarring of the earth and a loud clap of thunder; it was so loud and sharp,  Glinda covered her ears as the house shook.

Zelma looked up, her eyes darting around the room, as if the source of the disruption was in their home.

“The Dark One is casting.” She looked at her sisters uneasily.

WestWorld

On the other side of Cordonia, in WestWorld, The Guardian’s head lifted at the sound of distant thunder. Her eyes fell to her glass of water, now slightly moving across the table from the remnants of the shaking earth. Her gaze narrowed.

“The Witches!” she hissed.

WestWorld was where the children of Cordonia lived. There were some adults:  survivors of trauma and abuse from their previous worlds, but the majority of the residents were children. The Guardian lived there to ensure the under-aged residents were properly housed, clothed and fed. She shielded them from the Witches, whose sorcery and magic were misunderstood by WestWorld.

The Guardian and her Army believed in love and light; no sex was needed for that. Angst and strife were not needed for that. Darkness definitely was not needed. So, the Guardian warned the children constantly not to venture into Eastwick and to never, under any circumstances, read the spells that were cast into the Void from the other side.

And now, the Witches were casting darkness into the Void … again. Dark magic was the only thing that would have such far reaching effects.

The Guardian retrieved an ornate gold box from her cupboards and removed the lid to reveal her crystal ball. She chanted as she waved her hands over the ball, summoning up a spell to inform her of what was happening.

The Dark One appeared in the glass, looking rather smug and pleased; her image faded, to be replaced by the parchment containing her spell. The Guardian fell into her chair, her eyes wide with shock as she read what the Dark One had cast.

The Guardian felt her stomach churn; the children would most certainly want to see what had caused such a disruption in their world. Normally, the citizens of West World were content to read their tales of otherworldly creatures from a time long past, or of the single mothers who loved their childen beyond measure.

But they were children, and they were curious.

And now Dark One was once again summoning the Guardian’s charges to the other side.

The Guardian rose hastily from the table, and ran through the halls calling for her Generals.

One Week Later

Eastwick

The Dark One sat in her living room, her eyes fixed on her Book of Spells, searching for an answer, a solution.

Something.

The Guardian and her Army were calling for the Dark One’s head. They wanted her banished from all of Cordonia, and her spells erased from existence.

The Dark One shook her head to herself.  

That was unacceptable.

The Dark One was in love with the Commoner; she always had been since she first laid eyes on him. However, The Dark One knew she would never stand out in the sea of spells filled with love and lust. She didn’t speak that language.

No, she needed to speak to the Commoner soul to soul.

She focused not on his perfection, but his flaws and insecurities. She sought out the Commoner’s dark side that no one wanted to hear of or speak to. The Dark One offered the Commoner her broken pieces, her sorrow and hurt … and he was finally accepting them.

He was falling for her.

And she refused to let anyone stop them from being together.

With a small sigh, The Dark One sipped from her glass filled with hibiscus wine. This was not her first run- in with The Guardian. When The Dark One cast her first appeal to the Commoner’s dark side, her spell was met with resistance from both Eastwick and Westworld. She had taken a day away from the coven, not in shame, but to consider whether to remove her spell. If it inspired such strong feelings from her fellow witches, would it repel the Commoner?

But it did not.

He began looking her way. He urged her to tell him more about herself; he whispered more of his secrets in her ear. And The Dark One decided not to remove her spell simply because others were jealous the Commoner’s attentions were turning to her.

But now, The Guardian was viciously attacking her, over simple spells! There were threats of her murder if she did not comply with The Guardian’s request. Her sister witches, save for a few, were silent. The chosen to do battle with WestWorld fought alone; however The Dark One was given suggestions, instructions, and encouragements in private:

Listen to their concerns.

Perhaps you need to not cast so many spells.

Just stand down for a little while; it will blow over. The battles always do.

The Dark One thumbed slowly through her Book; her eyes took in the words that her soul had spilled. Her blood, sweat, and tears covered every page. And she knew what she had to do. She would step away from the coven; not because The Guardian told her to, but to protect the innocent.

It meant leaving the Commoner behind and The Dark One wasn’t sure she could do that. She had finally captured his attention and found her understanding.

But she would try.

She just had to do one last thing …

That night in Cordonia the earth shook, and the thunder clapped loudly and incessantly as The Dark One released nearly all her spells into the Void.

The Three Sisters

At the home of The Three Sisters, Zelma fretted as the house shook and dark clouds covered the sky.

“She’s been casting nonstop for a week! They’re threatening to kill her! And now what is she doing? The Void cannot handle so much dark energy.” Zelma stopped pacing to angrily throw her hands in the air. “She’s going to make it so none of us can cast!”

Glinda poured hot tea into three delicate teacups. “Perhaps we can appeal to The Guardian.”

“She won’t listen to us! With The Dark One being so unreasonable, The Guardian will set her sights on us. I’ve dealt with WestWorld once and I’m not eager to be once more tossed into that fray,” Hilda argued as she added honey and lemon to her fragrant beverage.

“If we use our powers of invisibility, she may. I see others from both sides are appealing to her in that manner.”

Zelma and Hilda barely heard their sister; they were watching the crystal ball reveal spell after spell flying past, flurries of parchment and ink whisking before them as if in a windstorm.

“Stop it! Stop the ball!” Hilda yelled.

With a frown of confusion, Glinda waved her hands over the sphere and froze the image. The sisters read the spell before them, eyes widening at the darkness it revealed. When they finished reading, they looked at each other, each trying to process what they just read.

Hilda straightened up. “This…this is not good. Perhaps I will approach the Guardian. I see where she has let the children read one of my spells. She praised it.”

“Perhaps … “Zelma said doubtfully as she reached for her cup.

The knock on the door startled the trio. Glancing at the clock, Glinda wondered aloud who it could be at this hour. Hilda went to the door; she was the oldest and viewed herself as her sisters’ protector. She pulled open the door to see Apple Core.

Apple Core was an outcast amongst the witches. She was without magic, and very demanding of members of the Coven. Apple Core had no true home and only one friend.

“Hello, dearie,” the outcast croaked.

“Good evening,” Hilda responded politely.

She noticed the older woman’s threadbare cloak and cracked, dry lips. Hilda stepped aside, pulling the door open wider as she did so.

“Please, come in. Perhaps partake in a glass of water? And a bowl of brew?”

Apple Core smiled thinly as she entered the household; she ignored Glinda and Zelma rolling their eyes at each other.

“The Dark One is releasing her magic quite freely tonight,” Apple Core remarked as she settled into a wooden rocking chair.

Glinda went to fetch water and brew for their visitor. Zelma and Hilda sat side by side on the sofa.

“Yes, she is. I plan to reach out to The Guardian as she and I are on friendly terms.” Hilda smoothed down her dress.

Apple Core looked at her quizzically. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“She has let the children read one of my spells.” Hilda said with a hint of pride.

WestWorld never allowed a spell to be voluntarily brought into their corner of Fandom.

“Your spell has been removed and cast out of WestWorld. The Guardian has discovered that you are mutuals with The Dark One, and therefore are guilty by association. In fact, all three of you are now on The Guardian’s blacklist.”

Glinda was returning with the sustenance for the visitor and heard the last part of the statement; her voice held an edge when she spoke.

“What are you talking about? I was never mutuals with The Dark One, and Zelma broke ties with her months ago! Hilda has maintained ties with The Dark One, but in name only!”

“This has become so much more than a push to banish The Dark One. And I fear now, even if she leaves, the damage has been done. Deep damage,” Apple Core said cryptically.

Her eyes fell to her bowl and the glass of water; she greedily licked her lips. “The best thing to do … frankly, the only thing … is to deflect The Guardian’s anger and ire back where it belongs. On The Dark One.”

“But how?” Glinda sat next to her sisters.

Apple Core slurped her brew directly from the bowl; splashes of broth splattered both Apple Core’s dark cloak and the silver spoon still sitting on the tray. Her eyes rolled over to the three sisters. “I can only point you in the direction, I cannot lead you.”

Hilda spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “The spell we just read; perhaps that will be enough to redirect The Guardian. I can speak to her invisibly. It can’t hurt.”

“Have you ever used the Spell of Invisibility?” Glinda asked, scoffing slightly.

“Hmmmm, once?” Hilda shrugged.

Glinda shook her head impatiently. “I’ll show you!”

Apple Core finished her meal and rose from her chair. “Your secret is safe with me, dearies. Just know, I have seen many battles fought between the two sides, and this one is going to be far worse than the others before. And a word of caution … The Dark One has even more spells; she just isn’t releasing them yet.”

“MORE spells?” Zelma exclaimed, wondering just how many spells The Dark One had. She rose to  usher Apple Core to the door where she bid the woman a good evening, watching Apple Core’s dark cloak billow behind her as the outcast made her way back to a hut on the outskirts of Eastwick.

Two Weeks Later

Eastwick

Zelma was sobbing as her sisters tried to comfort her. The battle with WestWorld was intensifying at a rapid rate.

Hilda’s attempts to divert The Guardian had failed: The Guardian had already read every spell The Dark One had cast into the void, which led her to seek out who among the Witches approved of such an abuse of power. The Guardian’s research went back over a year and was helped along by several informants, all invisible and anonymous to her but she had her ideas as to who the people were.

Names filled her ears, portions of spells and those who supported them crossed her desk. Her lips tightened a tad more with every name she came across. The Guardian needed a plan; a plan to end this once and for all.

This was so much bigger than simply The Dark One.

Zelma had wanted to approach The Guardian with news that one of the informants was bogus, and a spy for both sides. But in her haste and eagerness, she forgot to cloak herself with the Spell of Invisibility.

The Guardian’s lips had curved in a slightly cruel smile when the two women faced each other in their crystal balls. The Guardian knew who Zelma was; Zelma found out who the Guardian was. The witch flushed beet red and began to stammer, but The Guardian waved her hands and both balls went dark.

Zelma panicked. She knew about the Blacklist and didn’t want to be on it. Zelma didn’t want to be in WestWorld’s crosshairs at all.

She saw what had happened to Hilda; she saw what they were doing to The Dark One. Zelma immediately wrote a letter of apology to both the Coven and WestWorld. She tried to scrub any traces of her affiliation with The Dark One; but still, they remained.

The Guardian refused to listen to Zelma’s apologies and excuses. Moreover, she was angered by the outpouring of love and support for Zelma. But The Guardian held the upper hand, and she did not hesitate to use it.

Zelma was blacklisted and outed.

Her best friend in the coven had her spell creating abilities revoked.

Yet another friend wrote an appeal to both sides, asking to come to a consensus as to the best way to protect the children. She too was outed and blacklisted.

The only concession made by The Guardian was to restore spell creating privileges and to assure Zelma that she was in good company:  Her sisters, along with many others, would be joining her on the list.

Invisibly, Glinda, Hilda, and several others from the coven reached out to The Guardian; they were either ignored, or met with dismissiveness. Hilda’s plea was met with acknowledgement she raised valid points, but The Guardian would not waver on her decision.

This was for the children.

The sisters and their friends were both resigned to and relieved at their fate. Perhaps this Blacklist would be a good thing. They were buoyed by their fellow Witches requesting to be added to the list.

WestWorld and Eastwick rarely interacted; another layer of separation may be the best thing.

WestWorld

The Guardian’s head was in her hands, her fingers splayed across her face. Everything was going to hell in a handbasket, so quickly.

Too quickly.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

The Guardian had started her crusade with one mission in mind: banishment of The Dark One. But that hussy hadn’t left; she had barricaded herself inside of her home after releasing hundreds of spells into the Void. For days on end, all that crossed anyone’s path were dark, potentially triggering spells. The Guardian was truly puzzled how one witch could have so.many.spells. just waiting to be cast. And for the Commoner’s love at that; for the King … The Guardian could see that.

At least it was over.

Then began the influx of invisible, anonymous visitors. The Guardian knew they weren’t all witches, at least in the beginning. The Spell of Invisibility was available to all the citizens of Fandom.

Hour upon hour, The Guardian heard words of support and encouragement; tales of trauma; grateful sobs … all from people with no names or faces.

The Guardian knew she was doing the right thing; she and her Army were protecting those who were defenseless. The Dark One was simply the tip of the iceberg. All the dark spells had to go, and the ones who wrote them had to be outed, at the very least.

A new plan formulated in her mind, and her generals agreed with it.

The Blacklist would include the witch’s names, their addresses, and a list of the offensive spells.

And that is when the others began to visit.

They came while The Guardian slept; they came while she was preparing her meals. One came while she was bathing. All told her she was self-serving, trying to draw attention to herself and WestWorld.

That her plan of the Blacklist was simply telling the children where to go.

That they too were traumatized, and this is how they chose to cope.

The others told her they warned the children not to read their spells because the words they spoke were not for young eyes.

They told her to reach out to the people being put on the list, to walk in their shoes for a day or so.

The Guardian’s brain felt as if it were about to explode from too many voices and too much information.

She argued that she had reached out to the Witches; they had blocked their portals to her.

The Witches said that was an untruth.

The Guardian said she was doing what was best: Providing the children with the witches’ addresses and providing them access to their portals was to protect the children and survivors.

The Witches countered The Guardian was readying her Army to attack them. The children had already used their invisibility and anonymity to bully them to the point of encouraging the witches to commit suicide.

The Guardian said she was making Fandom a safe and nurturing environment for all.

The Witches scoffed at that, arguing that was why they lived in Eastwick and the children lived in WestWorld. It was neither safe nor healthy for either side to interact with each other.

It was all too much; this is not what was supposed to happen. Despite what it looked like, she was not looking to start a war.

But one was underway.

And to make everything even worse, The Dark One was casting spells again.

With a slightly trembling hand, she reached for her glass of water as she popped an aspirin in her mouth. The knock on her portal startled her; water sloshed from the glass and onto her frock.

She raised her head as the witch stepped over the threshold. It was Hilda.

A smile on her face, but a serious look in her eyes, Hilda sat uninvited at the table with The Guardian.

“We need to talk.”

Tagging:  @sirbeepsalot @jared2612 @ao719 @burnsoslow @bbrandy2002 @ofpixelsandscribbles @debramcg1106 @marietrinmimi @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @indiacater @forthebrokenheartedthings @kingliam2019 @bebepac @zaffrenotes @liyanin @liamxs-world @choiceslife @ac27dj @the-soot-sprite @gnatbrain @anotherbeingsworld @atha68 @hopelessromanticmonie @amandablink @mom2000aggie @cmestrella @iaminlovewithtrr @shewillreadyou @starrystarrytrouble @liamrhysstalker2020 @alyssalauren @queenrileyrose @ladyangel70 @yourmajesty09 @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @lodberg @charlotteg234 @sweatyrysconnoisseur @mainstreetreader @busywoman @gabesmommie1130 @jessiembruno @darley1101 @txemrn @tessa-liam @phoenixrising308 @beezm @gardeningourmet @lovingchoices14 @thegreentwin​

[chicagosfinest2021]

I'm probably going to piss off a lot of people by saying this but here we go. . .

I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to be monogamous.

I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to be married to one person your whole life.

If that's what you want and you're willing to put in the time, effort, energy and work to make a relationship like that solid, more power to you.

But I also think it is perfectly possible/acceptable to have multiple meaningful relationships over the course of one's life.

And I'm not talking about NSA sex/flings/entanglements, I mean I think it's totally possible to have more than one meaningful, loving, mutually beneficial relationship over the course of one's lifetime. I don't think one is a "failure" if they never walk down the aisle with someone, just like I don't think someone necessarily "wasted their time" if their marriage ended in divorce.

Some people feel like out of the billions of people on this planet, they are only destined to be with ONE until the end of time. There's nothing wrong with that, if that's what you want, but I am not one of those people.

And it just trips me out the way that there are some people out here who have convinced themselves that unless they have a partner, their life has no meaning. I understand, life gets lonely, life gets rough, life throws all of us curveballs and sometimes it's nice to not have to go through that alone. Primates are social creatures (most of us anyway), we want affection, we want to be loved on, we want verbal and physical validation as well as intimacy. There is absolutely 100% nothing wrong with ANY of that.

But I just can't understand the way some people feel like they have to throw this pity party for themselves and refuse to enjoy life UNTIL they're "boo'ed up" with someone. I mean, life is already short as it is. Whether you live to be 52 or 102, life is short. There's food to eat, people to meet, places to visit, experiences to have, things to see, smell, taste, touch and hear, memories to make and dozens upon dozens of ways to leave this world in a better condition than when you found it. . .and you're telling me you're going to bypass all that because you haven't had a date in a while? Sorry not sorry but. . .GET A LIFE!!!

You're going to pass up the chance to visit a city you've dreamed of visiting since you were a kid, because you haven't gotten laid in over 6 months??

You're not going to take that art class or go on that group rock climbing trip, or learn a new language. . .because you haven't met "The One"??

Instead of going on that cruise with a friend or a family member, or even just going by yourself, you're going to just sit and home with a bottle of vodka and mope on the floor for two weeks??

Feel free to have your pity party, but please do not invite me to it.

You are special and you have mattered since the moment you drew your first breath. Your existence is a special occasion and something that should be celebrated in any way, shape or form you see fit. It is not your "duty" to be on The Hunt for years or decades at a time to try and find someone who can validate how special you are. Finding someone to share your life with is just the icing; you will ALWAYS and must ALWAYS be the cake.

So yes to love, yes to romance, yes to sex, yes to the house and the cars and the kids and the white picket fence and all that.

But also yes to self fulfillment, yes to meaningful connections, yes to having passions and hobbies and interests that make you feel alive, yes to being able to appreciate and enjoy your own company, yes to having the inner strength and security to take the time to figure out who YOU are what YOU are about and what makes YOU feel alive.

And if you meet someone along your journey who wants to be a part of the picture great. And if you don't, so what? Write that book, book that flight, take that class, order the meal, buy that house, take off your shoes and dance.

Don't be afraid to be the person of your own dreams!!

[thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters]

Bathe in Sin

Summary: A stubborn Sam leaves the bunker and Lacey goes with him. After days of trying to get through to him, she decides on a different approach to help him blow off steam. 

Created for: @cockslut-padalecki​‘s Decade Under the Influence Challenge

Prompt: “Dressed to kill, you look so right. I am drunk with lust tonight. Your wounds are opening wide, and they might be just my size” - Side Walk When She Walks by Alexisonfire

Pairing: Sam x OC

Warnings: 18+ PLUS ONLY!! Angst, unprotected sex, rough, my unstoppable obsession with how large Sam is shining through here and there

Word count: 2.9K

A/N: This is my first time posting an explicit smut fic. I tried to do the lyrics and the vibes of the song justice. Let me know what you think! Feedback is the best fuel for every writer <3

Beta: @princessmisery666​

|| JJ’s Masterlist ||

(gif)

It was the first night in their third motel since leaving the bunker. Lacey wasn’t sure if Sam was looking for a hunt, or maybe he didn’t want Dean to find them. She doubted Dean would be looking for them. Neither brother was going to concede anytime soon. 

Knuckleheads.

Lacey could smack herself for not having realized sooner how serious their falling out was. She wondered, if she had only stepped in a little bit earlier, things wouldn’t be the way they were now. They would have been home, where they belonged. She would be sitting around the table with the two brothers, rolling her eyes at one of Dean’s stupid jokes while Sam looked at her with that peaceful smile he only got when it was just them. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand why Sam was upset. Dean had lied to him. Again. He said he did it to protect his little brother. Again. Sam got angry with Dean. Also, not new. But this time he had packed a bag and bolted out the door. Lacey had barely had any time to grab her own duffle and follow him.

It hadn’t been her choice to leave home, but if it meant she at least got to be with Sam while he figured this out, she would bite her tongue and get through it with him. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t support Sam. She would die for him without a second thought. The problem with this situation was that it was a waste of time. Lacey knew the brothers would come to their senses and make up eventually anyway. She just wished she knew when so she didn’t have to wonder when she’d sleep in her own comfortable bed again, or get to use a shower of which the water stayed warm for longer than three minutes.

Sam was stubborn. Lacey had figured that out soon enough when she got to know him. Despite that, she fell in love with the man. Maybe even a little bit because of it. She knew he could handle all this. He just needed some time.

She had brief text-exchanges with Dean to let him know they were all right, but the brothers hadn’t spoken since their argument. That was over two weeks ago.

Sam had been on edge from the moment he hightailed out of the bunker. Lacey tried to talk some sense into him multiple times. During the long car rides, Sam would turn the radio volume up to end the conversation. At night in bed, he would say he was tired and turn off the light. The few times she did manage to get him to say something, Sam would tell her Dean was the one she should be trying to talk to. In the texts from the older Winchester, she got the same response about Sam.

Lacey wanted to grab both brothers’ pride and stick it where the sun couldn’t reach. She was usually a pretty patient person, but when she saw the people she cared about hurting because of something so stupid, something they could fix so easily, she got frustrated.

One night, Lacey had pushed Sam a little too far and he snapped at her, telling her to get lost. She hadn’t even been able to turn around to leave before he was in front of her, grabbing her hand and looking at her with regret deep in his eyes. She’d stayed. And Sam apologized a dozen different times that night, in a dozen different ways.

Following that night, Sam seemed to have realized he had to be more careful who he directed his frustration toward. He wasn’t angry with Lacey, he was angry with Dean. And, Lacey knew, with himself, but that was a conversation he definitely wasn’t ready to have yet.

Day after day, Lacey was hyper-aware of how tense Sam was. She had exhausted most methods to get him to talk about it and face the problem. She had to come up with a new plan. Maybe what Sam needed was a distraction, a way to forget for a moment. Lacey knew just the thing to help him blow off steam.

Sam needed to get lost in something other than his frustration. She wanted him to get lost in her.

Lacey was still in the bathroom when Sam came back from his supply run that night. When she came out, he was putting away the last of the food in the small motel room fridge. Lacey walked into the room barefoot, wearing nothing but one of Sam’s large shirts over her underwear.

Upon hearing her approaching, Sam glanced over his shoulder. He frowned and looked at the clock on the wall, before looking back at Lacey. “You’re going to bed already?” he asked. “It’s only nine. I thought we could go into town, catch a movie.” 

Ever since he’d snapped at her, Sam had been trying to find ways to make being away from home more enjoyable for her. Lacey knew he felt guilty, and she appreciated the effort, but tonight she had other plans.

“I thought we’d stay in tonight,” she said. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

Sam took in a sharp breath before slowly closing the fridge and standing up straight. Though there was a few feet left between them, he was still towering over her. A disapproving look shone in his eyes.

“Lace, I told you, I don’t want to talk a-”

“It’s not about that,” she quickly cut him off. Lacey’s lips pulled into a conniving little smile. Her finger caught a lock of her hair and started twirling it. “I was just wondering…”

As her voice trailed off, Sam’s eyebrows raised. She could tell he was slowly catching on to her mood, and so she continued.

Her hands disappeared underneath the shirt she was wearing. “I was just wondering…” she said again as she swiftly pulled down the pair of panties that had been hidden by the shirt’s fabric. She bent forward to guide the piece of lingerie down her bare legs. “What you think of these.” When she righted again, it was dangling from her outstretched index finger. “I bought them new the other day.”

Sam took in the laced fabric. It had always been her favorite style of lingerie to wear, and his favorite to see on her. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them.

Lacey noticed Sam’s eyes had darkened to that familiar shade of lust. She rubbed the insides of her thighs together. Sam still hadn’t said anything, so she continued.

“It’s a matching set,” she innocently informed him as she let the panties drop on the floor. Sam’s eyes didn’t follow them down, they stayed right on her. They watched her pull the straps of her bra down her arms, and through the sleeves of his shirt. They took in the way she reached behind her back and unclasped the second piece of the set.

This time she didn’t hold it up for him to look at. She just gave the bra a quick tuck and let it fall from beneath the shirt, onto the floor at her feet.

A new form of tension hung in the air between them. Lacey let Sam evaluate the situation in silence for a moment. Let him look at her, standing in front of him, knowing she was fully naked underneath his shirt.

She averted her gaze, looked down at her bare feet and started drawing circles into the carpet. After listening to a few deep heavy breaths from Sam, Lacey glanced up at him through her lashes and asked, “Well? Do you like it?”

Sam tilted his head to one side, then the other, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles in his neck. His eyes moved down from her face to her chest. Lacey knew what he was looking at. Her nipples had gotten hard and were now prominently standing out through the fabric of the shirt. Sam’s fervid eyes took in the sight.

Then he finally moved closer to her. He crossed the distance between them in barely two strides. His hands found her hips and pulled her in. Lacey wrapped her arms around his neck and Sam dipped his head down.

“I think,” he hummed in his low voice, his lips brushing her ear, sending shivers down her back, “you look good in anything.” Bending his knees slightly, he easily lifted her up, guiding her legs around his waist. The shirt rode up her thighs, revealing her bare ass. When Sam hoisted her up a little higher, her cunt rubbed against the rough fabric of the waistband of his jeans. The friction caused a soft whimper to escape her lips.

The build-up had heightened all of Lacey’s senses. She could feel how wet she’d gotten solely from the way Sam had been eyeing her.

“However,” he continued as he started walking forward, “I think you look best trapped between me and the closest wall I can press your pert little ass up against.” As Sam finished his filthy thought out loud, Lacey was pressed tight between Sam’s hard chest and the motel room wall. He put his hands against it on either side of her head and leveled his forehead with hers to look into her eyes rather sternly. “You wanna play, huh?” he said, sounding askew.

Lacey nodded, looking deep into his eyes.

“Use your words,” he chastised her, his voice hard.

“Yes.” She licked her lips feverishly. “I want to play, Sam. Please?” Her hips bucked against his, desperately looking for more friction.

Sam smirked at her politeness. “How could I ever say no to that?” he mused. “Look at you, so eager for me.”

“Sam,” Lacey whined. She continued grinding against him. There was now an obvious bulge in his pants and she could feel it against her needy heath every time she moved.

She reached for his belt, but Sam was faster. He grabbed her wrists with one hand and effortlessly pinned them over her head against the wall. His other hand grabbed her chin firmly and tilted her head back to expose her neck.

His mouth was on her instantly, ravaging her skin, breath hot and teeth scraping. “I heard you last night when you were in the shower,” he grunted between bruising kisses. “You didn’t really think you could keep quiet for me, did you? I could make out those sweet noises of yours anywhere.” He pulled his hand from Lacey’s chin and it disappeared beneath the shirt of his she was still wearing. “Or maybe that’s exactly what you wanted.” His rough fingers found one of her hardened nipples and gave it a nasty pinch.

Lacey let out a sharp moan of surprise. It never failed to amaze her how well Sam knew her. It was true she hadn’t tried to hide her little play time in the shower the night before. She had wanted to give him something to think about. Something to stay on his mind throughout the entirety of the next day, to build up to this very moment. It pleased her to find out it had worked out exactly as planned.

“We better get you what you want,” Sam continued, his hand now brazenly groping her tits underneath his shirt. “You look like you’re about to break open,” she didn’t need to see him to know he was smirking, “and I haven’t even filled you up yet.”

Lacey didn’t doubt his words. She sure felt like it. Her heart was thumping in her chest and she had lost all control of her hips. They just kept bucking against Sam’s body, grinding to find some form of release for the desperate want inside of her.

When Sam let go of her wrists, she climbed a little higher up his impossibly large body to allow him to pull his pants and boxers down just far enough. His cock sprung free and Lacey could feel it probing her ass.

Sam’s hands were gentle yet resolute as he pushed Lacey away from his body. It gave him enough room to pull the shirt off her and reveal in all her beautiful, naked glory what she had been teasing to him during her little show from before.

Before the shirt had even landed on the floor, his hand was pulling his hard length up between their bodies. The tip left some of its precum on Lacey’s lower stomach. Sam didn’t miss a beat and wiped it off with his large thumb before moving his hand up to her face.

Lacey parted her lips without a second thought. In response, Sam’s smirk grew and his eyes darkened further. “Good girl,” he spoke huskily as she sucked his finger clean eagerly.

The salty taste subsided after seconds but Sam didn’t pull out his thumb and Lacey kept her plump lips around him. She never broke eye contact, looking at him with the same lust in her eyes that she saw mirrored in his.

He didn’t need any more verbal communication to know what she wanted, and she didn’t need to ask to know he was about to give it to her.

Their bodies moved in sync. Lacey moved her hips back and Sam positioned himself at her entrance. Her body jerked up when he slammed into her, easily filling her up all at once because of how wet she was. He let out a low breathy sound of approval when he watched her breasts bounce from the movement.

“This is what you want, isn’t it, baby?” he cooed in her ear when he leaned closer.

Lacey’s head was leaning back against the wall and all she could get out was a frustrated, “Yuh.” Her hands reached for Sam, blindly finding his long hair and tugging at it.

Sam’s low growl sent a shiver down to her core. Another tug and his teeth were scraping her neck again. One more and he was finally moving inside her.

She could feel him sliding in and out with ease, giving a few lazy thrusts before he started picking up the pace. She had to move her hands from his hair onto his shoulders to grab on tight when he really started pounding into her.

His movements were ruthless, stretching her open wide for him and no doubt leaving her bruised; just the way she liked it. The sounds falling from her lips spurred him on and he somehow began moving even faster.

Lacey wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck tightly, pulling her entire body against him. Her hands slid underneath the collar of his shirt, allowing her nails to dig into his shoulder blades. Sam let out a hiss at the stinging scratches she left behind. She could feel his wicked grin against the tender skin of her throat. He was still sucking, leaving it raw and sensitive.

She let him release all his frustrations, liberate his grievances. And she let him do it all with her. Every movement felt so right. They were both drunk on desire, grunting and panting while their bodies felt like they were on fire.

One of Sam’s hands sneaked its way between them and down Lacey’s front. His large fingers found her clit. He wasted no time starting to circle the bundle of nerves, sending a jolt of deliciously excruciating pleasure straight up to her core.

“Sam,” Lacey moaned into his shoulder, “Baby, I…”

“It’s okay,” he breathed. “Let go.” His hips snapped sharply.

Somewhere far in the back of her mind, Lacey was aware that that was exactly what she was supposed to be saying to him. Then Sam hoisted her up just a little higher and she lost all sense of thought when he hit her from a different angle. Even if she’d still been to her full senses, Lacey wouldn’t have been able to stop herself snapping from the pressure.

“Let go,” she heard Sam say again. Her hips bucked and her body shook as she came. With her walls squeezing around him, Sam’s body tightened against her. She could feel him emptying his load inside of her.

Her name and his praises fell off his lips in the same sloppy rhythm he kept thrusting into her, riding them both through their climax. Lacey’s lips found Sam’s and their deep kiss smothered their moans.

When they pulled apart, Sam caught his breath. He stepped back from the wall and carried Lacey through the room. He didn’t pull out of her until she was hovering over the bed. Then he gently placed her on the mattress. Lacey pulled the blanket over herself as she watched Sam pull his pants the rest of the way down. He took off the rest of his clothes before joining her.

“Feel better?” he asked, a lopsided grin on his beautiful face. The darkness in his eyes had gone but Lacey could still spot a hint of lust remaining.

She nodded, letting out a soft sigh. Then her eyebrows pulled into a slight frown when she thought of how that had hardly been the point of all this. “Yes, but-”

“Me too,” he interrupted her, as if he knew exactly what she was going to say. She realized he probably did.

His hand was on her knee, snaking up her thigh until it reached her core, feeling up the wreckage he’d left behind. “But I bet I can make you feel even better.” And with that same grin still on his lips, Sam fully disappeared under the covers.

Let me know if you want to be added to any of my taglists!

Team Game Face (Everything tags) @princessmisery666​ || @lyarr24​ || @mishkatelwarriorgoddess​

​Team Bitch Face (Sam tags) @samfreakingwinchester​

[stardustdiaries]

Frozen over - Dincember day7: Cold

☆ @dindjarindiaries ☆

Pairing: Madalorian x reader

Summary: The reader's body is intolerant to the cold and all sense of self-preservation is tossed out the window when the Crest crashes and Mando is out cold.

Warnings: Descriptions of the effects of extremely cold weather, soft!Mando, fluff aaaand I think that's it!

Word count: 2,553

A/N: I can't believe I actually wrote this- aH! I ♡shamefully♡ dropped writing a few years back, so I'm a bit rusty, but feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!

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After months of travelling with the beskar-cladded Mandalorian as a mechanic, there are many things about said armored man that you picked up on rather quickly. Like how his actions we’re cautious, calculated and precise, or how he seemed to be a tad bit more protective than usual whenever you were out on a supply-run as he was after a bounty.

You also noticed how quick he was to pick up on your own quirks and needs as well.

It all began on one of your first bounty hunts with him, finding yourselves in a slightly-colder-than-normal planet as you followed the beeping of the tracking fob that was clutched in Mando's gloved hand. It wasn’t until the job was done that he took notice of your shivering figure next to him- even when you were wearing layers upon layers of clothing. His heart then dropped at the sight of the bright shade of blue that painted your fingertips.

He had then ushered you back to the Crest and did everything in his power to warm you up, even going as far as wrapping his cape around your shoulders in hopes that your trembling body would soon come to a rest. That’s when he found out about your body’s intolerance to the cold. Mando would then make sure to stock up on gloves, scarves and, he won’t admit this out loud, but he also made sure to buy you a cape of your own simply because he absolutely adored how his looked on you. That, and he loved matching with you, but that’s his own little secret.

Fast forward a few months of the Crest breaking down, run-ins with bounty hunters, late-night talks and hints of flirting, and here you are, stumbling through the hull of the fallen Crest. How you ended up in this situation was hard for you to remember, but the memory of the distress in Mando's modulated voice was enough to make you scramble up the ladder to the cockpit where you last saw him.

Rushing into the cockpit, your breath caught itself in your throat at the sight of Mando’s slumped figure- completely unmoving. Immediately, you fell to your knees by his side, your bare hands reaching up to his shoulders to give him a soft shake. “Mando?” The concern lacing your words was hard to hide when he didn’t respond to your voice. “Dank farrik, Mando please stay with me. Please.” you begged, noticing the icy coating that began to spread over the surface of his armor. With a sigh and a grunt of effort, you straightened his limp figure on the pilot seat and pulled down the cloth around his neck just enough to press your fingers against his skin. Once making contact and feeling his pulse, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, but shoot, he was freezing.

You must have crashed on an ice planet.

Without much thinking, you tumbled down back into the hull and grabbed all of your blankets, scarves and capes after pulling on your gloves. Holding the bundle close to your chest, you sped to where the Child was put to rest on his little compartment. Upon seeing him, you ran through the same process of checking for a pulse and then proceeded to wrap him up with some of your blankets and scarves. Once you were done making sure the Child was safe from the bitter cold that seeped through the metal walls, you ran up to do the same with Mando. You finished wrapping the last of the bundle around his shoulders before your tried working the controls of the ship.

What happened? Zip, zero, nada.

The ship’s dead and considering that you had no clue what was wrong with it, you would have to do a full inspection as you waited for Mando to wake up.

You packed up your tools and quickly got to work, running checkups on the ship's inner systems and mechanisms, not being able to tell what was keeping the Crest from functioning the way it should. There seemed to be nothing you could do inside until you managed to fix the lights and you would need some of Mando’s help with that. Right now, all you could do was find out if something had gotten damaged on the outer side of the ship. Summoning all of your strength, you trudged through the deep blanket of white powder that surrounded, well- everything.

You have no idea where in the galaxy the Crest had crashed, but the snowfall was strong.

Quickly, you inspected the radiators, turbines and whatever could’ve been damaged before the ship even crashed.

And then you saw it. Dank farrik, this wasn’t good.

The left engine was royally messed up, looking as if it was mere seconds away from giving way right before the crash. It could take weeks to get it up to its usual functionality if you found the right parts for the full repair. However, you might just get it running long enough for you to fly the Crest to some nearby workshop- if there was even one on the planet.

After minutes of fumbling with your tools and hitting the wrong part for the hundredth time in a row, a string of curses flew past your lips, your breath being caught in the cold air before vanishing. To say you were cold was a complete and total understatement; you were sure you were mere seconds away from freezing to death. Your body shook violently as the frigid air pricked and attacked your skin mercilessly.

But you were stubborn- sometimes too stubborn for your own good.

With annoyance etched onto your features, you ripped your gloves off and tossed them to the side. After that, you were on autopilot, getting a better grip on your tools and doing the best you could even as your bones began to ache due to the weather around you.

Time apparently went by faster than you thought as the rapid sounds of footsteps clambering around the insides of the ship fell into your ears.

“Cyare!”

Your head snapped up, your nose stinging when you scrunched it in confusion. Shakily, you dropped your tools, wrapping your arms tightly around your torso as a sad attempt to warm yourself in any way possible. Maker, you’re pretty sure your fingers lost feeling a few minutes ago.

“Dank farrik-  Cyare!”

You pushed yourself up to your knees with trembling arms, peering over the edge of the Crest and down to where the calls seemed to come from. There, you saw Mando, who frantically looked for you as he now held in his hands the bundle of capes and blankets you had previously draped over him.

“I-I'm up he-here, M-Mando!” you called, cursing your teeth for clattering so much. Gosh, your chest was tight.

At the sound of your voice, Mando whipped around, tilting his head up in your direction.

Maker, his heart dropped at the sight of you. Your nose, and fingers were a bright shade of blue and your hair was greatly dusted and soaked with the snow that got caught in it. Your skin was flushed, drained of its usual color. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that you were frozen solid.

“Cyar’ika,” he sighed, his modulator doing nothing to mask the concern that heavily dripped from his words. “Why would you- why would you leave without any protection?” His arms stretched out to show the bundle you had left him with for emphasis.

You forced a lazy smile, but you’re sure it came out more like a grimace. “I di-didn’t leave c-complet-tely unprotect-ted.” You started, “M-my gloves a-are, um,” you looked around, trying to find your discarded gloves. “s-somewhere around h-here.” At that, you clenched and unclenched your fists, trying to get some feeling back to your fingers.

Mando shook his head, tilting his helmet sympathetically at you. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a step closer to the ship, his visor not looking away from your shivering figure. “Can you…are you able to climb down?”

Your heart warmed at his concern and you managed to give him a nod through all of your shivering. Slowly, you tried climbing onto your feet, only to trip back down and land on your frozen rear. With a weak grunt falling past your lips, you looked down at your feet, sighing in realization.

“Cyar'ika?”

“I, u-um, I ca-can't feel my f-feet.”

Mando cursed under his breath, with words travelling through the modulator as a simple crackle that’s whisked away by the cold winds. His voice is strained, almost as if he’s struggling to get the words out when he parts his lips. “Do you trust me?”

Almost instantly, a laugh erupted from your pale lips, the sound so soft and warm that he swore it could melt this entire planet in seconds. His heart fluttered as you looked at him with gleaming eyes, even if he could tell you were struggling against the cold to keep them open. “W-what kind o-of question is th-that?” You breathed shallowly; your lungs tired after your burst of laughter. “Of co-course I do.”

Was that what he wanted to hear? Yes. But…something about hearing those words tumble out of your mouth pulled heavily at his heartstrings. He smiled under the helmet, fully knowing that you weren’t able to see it.

Dropping your capes and blankets somewhere inside the ship, he walked back out and stretched out his arms to you. You looked at him with wide eyes, shaking your head rapidly.

“I thought you said you trusted me?” he tilted his head at you, arms still stretched out.

“I-I do, I j-just—”

Mando chuckled softly, “I’ll catch you,” he spoke up, watching how your freezing figure curled up into itself. “I won’t let you fall, cyar'ika.”

“P-promise?”

“Promise.”

Even with the tightness and stiffness of the air around you, your muscles somehow managed to relax and loosen up at the sound of his voice.

Or maybe it was how lightheaded you were starting to feel?

You crawled to the edge of the Crest, taking one last look down at Mando before squeezing your eyes shut.

Call it a trust fall of sorts.

With one final breath, you pushed yourself off the top of Crest and let yourself fall.

What were you expecting? Probably to gently fall into his arms in the most romantic way ever. But the truth? Let’s say that you somehow ended up lying on his beskar-platted chest as his back was pressed to the powdery ground.

Maybe it was the shock or your lack of feeling, but you hadn’t noticed how his arms were tightly wrapped around you. His chest lifted you up and dropped you softly as he breathed and you couldn’t help but laugh at what just happened.

“H-how graceful of u-us,” you breathed, a smile curling the corners of your mouth. “Too b-bad we couldn’t re-record it.”

Once Mando noticed how your body relaxed on top of him, he spoke up softly. “Cyar'ika, don’t close your eyes,” he pushed himself up with one arm and held you close to his chest with his other tightly wrapped around you. “Stay with me a little longer, okay?”

“Y-you're warmer t-than I’d thought yo-you'd be.” You smiled lazily, visibly struggling to keep your eyes opened and focused on his visor.

Carrying you bridal-style into the Crest, he gently placed you on the ground before taking off his gloves and cupping your face in his hands. He sucked in a sharp breath, frowning under the helmet. “You’re freezing.”

You snickered under your breath, letting your head rest against the metal walls of the hull as your eyes fluttered a few times.

“Hey, hey, stay awake, cyar'ika. I need to warm you up before you go under, okay?” Modulator and all, you could still hear the concern that laced his words tightly. “Can you stay awake for me?”

You hummed softly, the sound barely loud enough to reach Mando’s ears. Immediately, Mando ran off to the makeshift kitchenette that he somehow managed to fit into the ship. He grabbed a clean bucket from a corner and filled it with water hot enough to warm you up.

When he came back, he gently picked you up before placing you on top of a crate, lifting your feet just enough to dip them into the bucket. He then proceeded to grab a new pair of gloves from your compartment and slip them onto your hands. As he worked, he could see your body loosen up from the shivering slightly.

Draping your blankets over your shoulders, he dared release the question that dangled from the tip of his tongue.

“Why did you do it?”

“Why d-did I do what?”

He sighed, lowering himself onto his knees to be at eye level with you. There, he took in your appearance- flushed skin, blue nose, pale lips. You knew conditions like these could harm you more than they should- more than they would harm him.

“Why did you go out without your layers, cyar’ika? Why did you… why did you give them to me?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your head dropped slightly before you looked back up at him. “Your armor,” you breathed.

Mando tilted his head, urging you to continue.

“It was frosted over a-and you were out cold.” You nodded at him, making him look down at the frost that had once again began to spread over the surface of his armor. “I then gave the child my other scarves and blankets, to make sure he was okay. I needed to keep you warm if I wanted to make sure you’d wake up.”

Mando’s heart plummeted to his stomach. Your body wasn’t capable of tolerating the cold like most could and you were still concerned about keeping him and the Child warm. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of someone being so recklessly selfless.

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you so you could look at him. Without even thinking, you leaned into the warmth of his touch, sending his heart into a frenzy.

“Promise me that if this ever happens again, you’ll make sure to take care of yourself too. I can’t have you risking yourself like this for me.”

You pouted childishly, making his eyes soften as he continued to focus on you.

“Mando, I-"

“Promise me that, please, cyar’ika.” He begged, gently caressing your cheeks as he spoke.

Humming at his touch, you offered him a reassuring smile as you nodded softly.

That was enough for him.

As night creeped its way onto the sky, covering the land like a thick blanket, Mando has stripped himself of his armor- except for his helmet- and now held you in his arms. The warmth of his touch spreading through your body nurtured you back to health. Your eyes flutter a few times as he pulls you closer to his body, your heart swelling at the gentle gesture.

“Sleep, cyar’ika,” his rasp is gentle, almost as if he were afraid of startling you. He pulled your blankets tighter around you, smiling at how the corners of your lips curled up. “it’s my turn to keep you warm now.”

[manyfictionsmusings]

Pull Me Like A Ripcord

Summary:

This story takes place immediately after the events of X-Men Apocalypse, where Peter decides against going back to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, despite seeking his father’s attention prior. This fic will just be growing and “mutating” as I write but promising lots of Dad/son angst, hurt/comfort etc.

Chapter 1: AfterEffects

As naïve as it was, Peter had hoped Erik would somehow realize he was his son, now that idea seemed cold and stupid. Why would Erik magically know who he was? He wasn’t Charles, a mind reader, and this wasn’t a fantasy kingdom where the orphan got his father in the end of the story.

Peter pulled his legs up to his chest, or at least he would have if he could have moved his shattered knee, the pain, coupled with the emotional turmoil of the long day sent him easily to tears. He wasn’t used to losing, he wasn’t used to being physically injured. The finale of the Egyptian battle had seen the x-men triumph, but Peter himself had lost…lost another chance to connect with Erik, if only he’d been able to get the better of the Immortal it might have impressed his father enough to take note of him, but instead if it hadn’t been for Raven’s distractions, the Beast’s strength and his own father’s shift in loyalties, he would have been just another victim in the note book of Apocalypse.

Peter drew a shaky breath, trying to force the events to wash over him, normally things didn’t bother him, but the last few months he’d changed, the others here at the school, or what was left of the school…he didn’t want to call them family but that’s what they felt like to him. It scared him and it was too much to hope for, he’d been disappointed to many times to open up like that. Which was why he’d told Beast to take him to a regular hospital in Cairo and he’d make his own way home once he was healed.

Beast had had his reservations about it, leaving the scrawny, pale kid who’d been with them since he’d saved literally everyone at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters seemed a shitty way to repay him, but he’d finally consented to it, only after Peter had gotten angry and started yelling.

He felt lonely now, in the hospital bed, with an oxygen tube in his nose and his injured leg casted and hoisted by a sling, a thousand miles from anyone he knew, but the pain was reminding him of his failures as one of the x-men and the isolation served to remind him why he didn’t bother with people, especially his father.

They always left. Or were never there to begin with.

He deserved this.

“You don’t deserve any of this, Peter.”

Peter jolted, startled for only a second by the gentle voice, there was only one person it could be, to know what precisely he was thinking. He hurriedly wiped tears off his face before Charles came any closer.

“I told Beast I was fine. I don’t want anyone wasting any more time on me.”

“Beast didn’t tell your secret, but I was worried about you, Peter. You think I was going to just leave Egypt without you? I wouldn’t leave here without any of you.” Charles stepped closer, softly he took his hand and squeezed gently.  “You all mean so much to me. I owe you my life, Peter.”

He removed his hand and crossed his arms. “I didn’t do anything, if…if Erik hadn’t stepped in, we all would have been killed-including you.”

Charles glanced towards the monitors attached to the young man, before his eyes roamed across the physical state of Peter, in contemplation. “It was a group effort; it took all of us.” He finally spoke after a moment of hesitation. “I know you seek his attention and yet you’re afraid of it…Lehnsherr is coming back with us to New York, he’s going to help me rebuild the institution.”

Peter glanced up, his eyes reflecting a youthful hope the professor hadn’t seen for some time. “I thought he left.”

Charles shook his head. “It’s a way to…perhaps earn his attention, little by little anyway. What do you think? Will you return with me?”

Peter grimaced. “I’m not in great shape professor, encase you haven’t noticed. I might swing in when I’m up and around.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I know all your pains, I’m sorry. I put your life in such horrific danger-”

“I came along on the mission of my own free will, no one forced me,” Peter interrupted.

Charles gripped his shoulder suddenly with an assertive intention. “Let me oversee your recovery, Maximoff, please, it’s the least I can do. I won’t leave here until you agree to be transferred to a hospital in New York, preferably close to Salem Center. You don’t have to be bothered by anyone from the school. But knowing you aren’t in Egypt would put my mind at ease.”

Peter sighed, he was feeling it again, the warm sensation that made him relaxed and somehow extremely uncomfortable at the same time. Family was something he would never be able to hold on to. He was going to mess it up, he knew that. He could already feel the threads slipping between pale, desperate, grasping fingers. But in the meantime, Charles cared about him enough to hunt him down in one of many Cairo hospitals, and he’d checked in under an alias. The professor cared enough to come back, or had he never left in the first place? His caring nature was beyond consolation to Peter’s broken, cold body, so comforting in fact he felt tears welling up again!

He sniffled and hurriedly wiped his brow before their return, nodding. “I’ll come with you.”

Professor Xavier had kept his word, medically and financially he’d arranged for everything to be taken care of, transporting Peter from Cairo to New York. He’d also arranged for him to have his own private room in Sheeran Hospital—a private hospital in upstate New York, forty-five miles from the current disaster of Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters.

Over the next two weeks physically Peter’s injuries slowly healed but mentally he felt wrecked beyond compare. He started having reoccurring nightmares that he couldn’t run; his ability had been fractured when the monstrosity had snapped his leg like a twig under his boot. In the dream he was trying to run away from someone, his first thought was that it was Apocalypse but a couple nights later he realized it was just a shadowy figure, one he could never outrun. Each time he fell, immobilized as pain shot through his leg, the sound of his own bones crunching reverberated in his ears, just as it had that day.

The nurses had unfortunately taken note of his mood, though Peter hadn’t put much effort into hiding his grim attitude, he’d slipped in a snarky remark about getting some extra drugs for an overdose. The nurse didn’t find his dark humor amusing and Charles suspiciously showed up the very next day.

He didn’t say much at first, just sat near Peter’s bed, looking out the enormous rectangle window that looked west, on a glowing sunset. “You have a good view though,” he finally spoke.

Peter pursed his lips. “I do appreciate your hospitality Professor, but I’m fine, you don’t have to check in on me. Just... really bored here you know, I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in one place this long…it’s wearing on me, I feel weird being at this speed.”

Charles turned his chair to face him, hands in his pockets, yet concern on his features. “Must be very uncomfortable to be forced to slow down. How’s physical therapy going?”

Peter avoided the older man’s gaze for some reason and snorted. “I mean it’s slow, I’m not the patience type or a patient for that matter…”

Charles nodded. “But the sooner you’re hobbling around, the sooner I can get you out of here.”

“And take me where?” Maximoff snipped with his signature deep-set frown.

Charles chuckled, “You’d be surprised what several telekinetic mutants can accomplish when it comes to construction. The east wing is already rebuilt, for now we’re using it for sleeping quarters. It’s a little crowded but…”

“…Anything is better than the smell of hospital?” Peter finished, trying to keep his mind in constant motion—moving from thought to thought. He didn’t know how much the professor knew about what he was thinking but Xavier had already noted his inward conception about seeking Erik’s attention in Egypt, so his guess was he was an open book, but Peter’s thoughts could be about as fast as his movement when we wanted them to be. “Well sounds like I need to hit therapy harder, if you’re actually going to get me out of here.”

As much as Peter didn’t intend to be shambling around a cramped wing in the school, Charles’ visit served to kick him in the butt about getting out of Sheeran soon, regardless of where he went afterward. And if he was being honest, he had never planned to go back to the school, though he also wasn’t ready to face his reasoning for not returning there.

No one was going to miss him, well not the one person that mattered, because he couldn’t even see Peter for who he was. A new plan had quickly formulated—get his leg in good enough shape to slip off before Charles came back for him and circumvent the entire situation altogether.

The nightmares continued to plague him, as day after day he added a little weight to the tender broken leg, between tears and a lump that had formed on his lip from how many times he had bit it to deal with the pain, he started making it all the way through the routes the therapist had set up for him. Once he realized he could make it to the end of the routine he had to mentally stop himself from trying out his true speed. He continually checked himself, forced himself to be normal, move slowly. He embraced the pain wholly, promising himself a whole box of Lemonheads when he got out of here.

A week and two days after Charles’ visit, Peter decided he was going. He’d woke up from his worst nightmare by far, clutching his throat, covered in sweat, his heart was beating hard enough his chest ached. His leg was throbbing with shadow pain from Apocalypse breaking it, only in this dream he hadn’t been saved before the giant mutant had slit his throat and tossed him aside like trash. His father hadn’t even noticed or cared.

Peter swallowed painfully, still tracing his fingers across the smooth, blanched flesh of his neck as he slipped out of bed. His x-men costume had been lost somewhere in the shuffle, or maybe the professor had taken it, either way Charles had been kind enough to replace it with his current pajamas and a change of clothing. Not the usual silver tinted clothing but considering he still wasn’t up to his Quicksilver speed, it seemed fitting to pull on the dark blue jeans and faded orange hoodie. Peter sighed in comfort at the velvety worn state of both items as they contacted his skin, though he tried to ignore how billowy the clothes were on him, he’d lost a significant amount of weight since Egypt—which the nurses had been lecturing him over—but what could you expect when there was only hospital food and no snacks to be seen.

Next Peter attempted to calm his silvery hair, by brushing his fingers through it repeatedly, which only seemed to make it worse. Between the wild shock of hair and the dark rimmed eyes, his reflection looked ghostly, coupled with the dim hospital lighting.

Peter exhaled calmly before grabbing the only items that had made it back with him from Egypt, his googles and his earphones, he stuck one of the foreign crutches under each armpit and silently slipped out of Sheeran Hospital…