#and he has to claw through to find her again and keep using the power of his eyeball demon friend even though

[droodlebug]

soo many of my ocs.. and like All my beloved ones.. are people who just desperately want to live a quiet, peaceful life with their loved ones. but forces outside of their control keep making that impossible for them, and they aren't able to keep going through the situations against them without having to hurt and push themselves too far but still keep Choosing to be good and do good things because it is just what you should do

this says nothing in particular about me, i am sure.

[selfcarecap]

Cat & Dog [L.H.]

✧ Logan Howlett x kitty hybrid!reader

✧ summary: Logan rescues you, a kitty hybrid, on a mission and you become infatuated with him. (that’s all the plot you get, the rest is porn lol <3)

✧ warnings: smut 18+, unequal power dynamics bc Logan saves reader (and she’s a bit naive and inexperienced), kitty hybrid!reader (human with kitty ears, a tail, claws and kind of fangs and she purrs), reader’s first time, unprotected piv, oral sex, Logan teases reader a lot, slight daddy kink (like two mentions – still figuring out whether i like it for Logan), implied age gap, pet names (baby, bub, kid (not during sex), sweetheart, kitty — at first mockingly but then not), reader making biscuits on Logan w/ her claws lol, slight pain kink, Logan teaches reader about consent, uh i ignored that the reader’s probably gone through some trauma lool, Logan is indifferent to reader’s feelings for him at first but it changes, reader wears Logan’s hoodie; alternative summary that i thought was too cringe to use: Logan’s a nasty dog and you’re his pretty kitty. 

✧ word count: 5.2k

Logan Howlett is your saviour — the most handsome hero to ever exist.

He finds you on a mission, abandoned like the runt of the litter. The only reason he knows you’re still alive as he carefully approaches you, curled into a ball, is because his strengthened senses allow him to hear your dull heartbeat, and the matted tail at your lower back bristles when you hear him come closer.

“I’ll get you out of here, kid. You’re safe now,” he says, telling you his name and that he’s part of the X-Men. You turn slightly at the sound of one of his claws unsheathing, and watch him use it to pick the lock of the cage you’re being held in.

He opens the door and takes more steps backwards than necessary, “There you go.” 

You’d be able to dart straight past him and escape. You trust him. He smells different from the men that locked you in here, too. Sure, he smells a bit doggish, or like a wolf maybe, but he’s sweaty from fighting men to get to you so you’re not going to complain.

You slowly crawl through the cage door on all fours, feeling his eyes rake over your body. You don’t know why he’s staring – apart from your tail, and, sure, your ears, you have the body of a human – but you don’t mind it. You immediately feel warm in his presence. Everything is about to get better, all thanks to him.

He carries you in his arms when you’re too weak to even stand and you’ve never felt as peaceful and protected as when he holds you, and you cling to him with all the energy you have left. You can’t help but hiss when he puts you down in the seat next to him instead of in his lap to get you home.

-

It’s now been two weeks since you last saw Logan. He gave you his zip hoodie to keep you warm as soon as you got to the mansion and he didn’t leave your side until you were safely in the infirmary. You wish he never left.

They’re insisting on keeping you in here to heal, ignoring every time you ask for Logan. You feel healthy – they’ve even made your tail all pretty and fluffy again – so you take it upon yourself to find him.

You sneak out of the infirmary late at night, and all you have to do to find Logan is follow your senses.

Once you’ve located his room, you push the door open without any thought. He’s in bed but he’s still awake. The light on his nightstand casts a glow over the room and you smile when you finally see him again.

“What’re you doing here, kid?” he asks, sitting up slightly. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers, and you eye the muscles from his chest down to his abdomen, noticing the delicious layer of hair he has all over.

“Can’t sleep,” you take a step over the threshold, holding onto the door shyly.

Logan smiles, more to himself, “Was wondering when I’d see you again, bub.”

“Was waiting for you to come visit me,” you pout. You jut out your hip to one side, your tail curling upwards and peeking out behind your legs. You’re showing off. Last time he saw your tail, it was all tattered, but now it’s soft and bouncy again. You see Logan looking at it, smiling slightly, but he doesn’t compliment it like you hoped.

“We barely know each other. It’s nothing personal, kid. It was a standard mission. Anyone from our team could have got you first.” It stings that he doesn’t find your bond as special as you do, but you don’t mind if you have to do some convincing. He’s worth it.

“But we do know each other,” you close the door and make your way to his bed, “You saved me. I wouldn’t be alive without you. I just want to show you my appreciation.” You’re at the foot of his bed, crawling onto it on all fours. You’d never normally be this blunt but you can’t help yourself around him. Your need for him has taken over your entire being in the last two weeks. 

You watch him taking you in. Your movements are sensual and sleek – feline. You know he’s never been with someone like you, and you’re happy for him to take his time if he needs it. Perching on his bed, between his spread legs, you slowly unzip the hoodie of his that you’re still wearing.

His eyes follow the languid movement as you drag the zipper down, revealing your simple black top underneath. It clings to your skin in all the right places in the same way that your soft, tight, black shorts do.

“Looks good on you,” he nods towards the hoodie.

“Do you want me to keep it on?” You ask, but he shakes his head, smiling. 

“It’ll look better off.”

You unzip it fully, throwing it to the side of the bed. 

“Can I stay with you?” you lean over him. He’s about to open his mouth, and you have a feeling he’s going to tell you no.

“Please,” you cut him off.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he huffs, moving to give your ears a light scratch, “you can stay for a bit”. He’s intrigued enough to let you stay – you can hear it in his elevated heartbeat – and you don’t mind if curiosity is the only reason he’s keeping you with him for now. 

He paws at your fluffy ears, almost groping you, unsure how to treat you, but you haven’t been touched there in so long that it feels like heaven anyway.

“Who’s a good kitty?” he mocks as he gets the sweet spot behind your ear, but you don’t realise he’s teasing you, pushing your head further against his hand in bliss as you begin to purr. 

Logan isn’t sure how you’re making the noise, but it turns him on. He wants to hear more of it, “Well, don’t you sound pretty?” 

Your purring intensifies. You move down his body and settle over his legs, your head in his lap as his hand stays on your head. It’s then that Logan realises he’s already half-hard. The only reason he let you in was because he’s sexually intrigued by you, your cute demeanour and that fluffy tail somehow doing it for him. But he wasn’t planning on actually doing anything — not until now.

Your face is mere inches from his cock and he’s starting to ache to do something about it, getting harder. You’re still trying to find the most comfortable position as you rub your cheek across his lap like a little cat. You stop when you feel his erection.

“Are you hard?” you ask bluntly, eyes all wide. 

“I am, bub.”

“For me?” you purr quietly.

“All for you.” Logan tips his head to the side, waiting to see your reaction. He can tell that whatever you’re asking him next is taking you a bit more courage. He watches you gnaw on your lip all cutely.

“I’ve never seen a cock before…” you confess, and Logan stifles a laugh.

“Y’wanna?” He surprises himself when he says it. At first, he thought your affection was simply that of the saved towards her saviour, or familial maybe, but he’s not mad at this. 

Logan gets fully hard as you nod at him in such awe, your tail curling around his bare leg, and it’s even softer than it looks.

He pushes his boxers down just enough to pull out his cock, jerking himself off for just a few seconds to get some friction. You’re staring at it as you move your legs back, instinctively arching your back with your ass up. 

Your tail bobs behind you Logan can’t resist giving it a light tug, curling his finger around it. “Mmh,” you huff, pulling your tail away by instinct.

“Sorry, kitty,” he chuckles, “just wanted to feel it.” Your cheeks warm at his confession and you move your tail back in the direction of his hand so he can reach for it when he wants to. Your tail is your pride and you won’t let just anyone touch it – Logan’s the exception. He can gladly dominate you by tugging at your tail all day if he wants. 

He smiles as he touches your tail again, letting it glide through his fist from the bottom to the tip of your fur. “Such a pretty kitty,” he hums as he bites his lip. 

Hearing that he likes it pleases you more than you would’ve thought and you begin to purr again. You’re not exactly sure how to go down on a man, but you let your intuition guide you as you lower your face to press a wet kiss to the tip of Logan’s cock.

Suddenly, he’s pulling you back up by the scruff of your neck.

“Ah-ah. Manners, bub. You gotta ask first, you don’t know that?” Logan scolds.

His expression goes soft as you shake your head all sadly and apologetically, “‘S okay, kitty. I’ll teach you. Say please.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You look at him as you get back up on all fours, leaning close to his face. You want to kiss him so bad but you gather you’re not allowed to do that without asking either. 

“Please can I kiss you, daddy?” you ask.

Logan is surprised, not unpleasantly, at the word, “Where’d you get that from?” 

You shrug, and even that movement is fluid and smooth. “Just wanted to call you that. ‘S that okay?” You slur, head already clouded with pleasure and Logan.

He nods and places his hand back on your neck, pulling you towards him as your face reaches his in a searing kiss. He’s hungry for you, devouring you with his mouth and tongue and teeth immediately. His hand glides down your spine and to the side of your ass, grabbing you there. 

You purr against his lips as his other hand squeezes the flesh at your waist, and the vibration feels so good to him. You lower yourself against him so you’re chest to chest, and your belly rubs against his cock as some of his precum spills between you two, rubbing up against your skin and dripping onto his own abs.

Logan gently pulls you off, “Be a good girl and suck daddy’s dick now, alright?” You nod so adorably it makes his heart clench – you’re so eager to please him, all wide-eyed as you get between his legs, your ass up in the air.

On your way down, you give tiny licks to his skin; your tongue is all over his chest hair and his happy trail. Your tongue glides through his pubic hair, ignoring his throbbing cock, and you make your way to his thighs. He watches you lick through the dark hair there, and he realises what you’re doing. 

You’re acting like a cat, taking care of him. You’re bonding with him, and grooming him. He lets you do it some more, but it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore how hard he is, leaking precum. He slides a hand down to his dick, jerking off right next to your face.

“Mhh,” you pout, pushing his hand away with your head and giving him a cross look.

He smirks, “you gonna start sucking at some point then, baby?” It’s not that he doesn’t like you playing around but he’s getting desperate. He places a hand on your face to make you look at him.

“I don’t know how to.” Your cheeks are hot under his touch. 

Logan smiles, “Start with kisses. Or lick, like you’ve been doing.”

You nod and curl your tail around his knee, your hands to the sides of his hips. You press a wet kiss to the underside of his cock and Logan sighs in pleasure; you immediately want to hear more of it. You press quick kisses all over him, remembering what he said about using your tongue.

You begin to lick all over his dick, his balls too, until you’re drooling over him. But he’s stopped making pretty sounds and you’re not sure what you’re doing wrong. You hear a quiet chuckle from above you.

“Come up here,” Logan says. You sit up and straddle his waist. He takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth.

“Like this,” he tells you, taking one of your fingers between his lips. He wets it with his spit, sucking it into his mouth, tongue moving over your fingertip. You grin – you like the look of it. You like the way his cheeks hollow as he sucks on your finger, wishing your hands were as big as his.

As you move to push another finger past his lips, Logan takes your wrist. “Uh-uh. Your turn, kitty.” 

You pout but then feel his hard cock against your ass, your tail brushing it, and you get excited. 

“And none of those sharp teeth,” Logan tells you as you move down his body again. You bare your smile to him, letting your fangs retract. They’re a special part of you and you’re glad you could finally show them off to someone who deserves to see. Logan awards your little show with a grin. 

“Good girl.” Those words make you put your mouth on him immediately, swallowing him down your throat as deeply as you can. You pull away when you almost gag, heat spreading over your face, but Logan is unbothered.

You settle between his legs as you press a few more open-mouthed kisses to his cock with spit-slicked lips. You take the tip in your mouth, staying for a bit as you suck on it, spit dripping down his length and over your lips.

You start purring when you take him a little deeper, and Logan’s breath catches in his throat when you do, the vibration turning him on even more.

“Keep doing that,” he mumbles absent-mindedly, eyes on you but mind evidently gone. You smile around his cock, moving your mouth up and down as the spit begins to make a crude sound against your lips, but you like it. You’re feeling more and more of an urge to touch yourself between your legs, but you want to make Logan feel good first.

Your purring gets louder as you take him even deeper, and Logan lets out a sharp gasp. You pull your mouth off him, wondering if you’ve hurt him, sliding your tongue over your teeth to make sure the sharp fangs aren’t out.

Following Logan’s eyes, you see what you’ve done. Your claws have come out, and you’ve been scratching his thighs open. You feel tears prick your eyes as you bend down to lick over the wounds apologetically, wondering in awe as they heal up immediately.

“Don’t worry, just surprised me. You won’t hurt me.”

“Sorry, ‘s just how I show that I like you. Don’t wanna let you go”, you hang your head low in shame despite his words.

“It’s okay, kitty,” he lightly scratches at your ear, making you purr and forget all about hurting him, “Do your worst.”

You’re not sure if he’s teasing you. “Know they’re not as big as yours.”

Logan huffs, taking a hand away from you, pressing his elbow into the bed and his claws come shooting out. You only saw one of them briefly, when he saved you. They’re majestic up close and in all their glory, glinting against the low light. 

You reach out, “Pretty.” Logan smiles at your sparkling eyes, but retracts his claws before you can touch them.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”

You give him the meanest look you can muster for not letting you touch, sinking your own, much tinier, claws into his abs to hurt him. But Logan lets out a soft moan instead, and you marvel at the pleasure he takes in the pain, forgetting all about why you’re mad at him.

Your eyes light up when you realise he likes you scratching him open. It’s a dream come true – someone who likes the way you show affection. You bite your lip as you scratch over his abs, his hips, and his thighs, watching as the wounds close up just before you draw blood. You hook your tiny claws into the flesh of his thighs as you wrap your lips around his cock again.

Logan lets out a string of moans as you have your claws in him and your mouth on him. You begin to purr, and with the way his cock flexes in your mouth you know he’s close.

“Just a little more for me, can you do that, baby?” he gently nudges your head down some more, and with the praise coming from his lips you can definitely take him – you feel like you could do anything.

“Yeah, just like that.” Logan’s voice gets shaky as you take his cock deeper, spit running down to his balls as you take almost all of him in your warm, wet mouth. 

You swallow everything Logan gives you as he cums in your mouth, shooting strings of his warm load down your throat. You don’t stop until he’s gently pulling you off him, and you look up at him.

“Again,” you plead, eyes wide, taking in how his cock is still hard.

Logan chuckles, “Don’t get used to the idea of that. Most men can’t go more than once.” 

You look at him strangely – what do other men matter to you? Before you can ask, Logan manhandles you into a different position, and you don’t notice until then that you’ve been grinding your clothed pussy against his knee, and you whine at the loss of contact.

You’re on your knees as Logan gets up to fully remove his boxers, and you see the skin at his knee glistening from where you’ve soaked it. The sight makes your cheeks heat up but also makes you press your thighs together.

He’s standing in front of you like a god, and you put a hand on his thigh to suck his cock again. Before your mouth can reach him, he puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, “Your turn now, kitty.”

“Oh,” you say as he lies you on your back.

“Gonna play with you now. Can I take this off?” he’s holding the bottom of your top, and you nod as he pulls it off you. Logan gets on the bed again, taking in the sight of you half-naked. You’ve never felt so good about yourself. He looks as if he’s seen God herself.

“Look at you, kitty, so fucking pretty,” he whispers more to himself, touching and kissing you there as his knees sink into the mattress. You arch your back when he wraps his lips around your nipple, and the action makes your pussy rub up against him. He looks down between your thighs, pushing his mouth there.

You’re not wearing any underwear, so his face against your thin shorts makes you squirm. “Smell so good,” he breathes, rubbing his nose up against your clit. It makes you moan.

He begins to pull down your pants, stopping as they catch on your tail. The nurses cut a hole into the back of the material for it, and your cheeks glow when Logan carefully pulls your sensitive tail out of the way before he slides your shorts all the way down your legs, spreading them to get a look of you afterwards.

“Look at you, kitty. Prettiest kitty I’ve ever seen,” you miss his joke, placing your feet on Logan’s broad shoulders, as he says “Can I?”

You’re appalled that he even has to ask, pushing his head down between your legs. 

He begins to eat you like a man starved, moaning against your skin at the taste of your wet pussy. He doesn’t even tease you, licking through all your wetness, licking over your clit in circles.

Logan pushes two fingers in without any preparation, but you still feel too empty, grinding your hips against him. 

“I got you,” he promises, lapping up all of you, “Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” He grabs one of your thighs, holding it so that you don’t squeeze his ears any more. Your knees are still pressing against his temples, but he doesn’t mind them there. He can feel you tremble when he licks and sucks and when he curls his fingers.

Logan has you cumming on his tongue quickly, sucking on your clit until you’re seeing stars, whining for him to stop. He pulls his lips off you, sitting up to push his fingers into your mouth.

“You taste good, huh?” he smirks as you suck your own arousal off him, humming around his fingers in agreement. He slowly fucks his fingers into you again, bringing them up to his own lips. He moves his hand between your legs again, fingers going over the hair above your pussy.

“You’re so soft here, kitty,” he says, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek against your pubic hair, making you giggle.

You’re still wet, and he’s still hard, and you don’t want to be too direct but you want to know when he’s finally going to fuck you. You tell him “I’ve never done this before either,” hoping he’ll catch what you’re getting at.

He places a kiss above your pussy, into the soft hair, smirking up at you and kneeling between your spread thighs, “I know. I’ll go slow.”

“Don’t want you to go slow,” you mumble, watching his eyes darken a bit.

“Don’t say that to me. Y’don’t know what you’re saying.” 

You don’t reply, smiling to yourself. He is big – very big – you remind yourself, but you still want him to be rough with you if that’s what he needs. You want him to use you. But maybe you should wait before you tell him that.

Logan wraps a hand around his cock, fucking his fist for a few moments before he leans down to rub the tip against your clit. You mewl at the sensation, ready for more.

“You sure?” he asks, head already beginning to push in.

“Yeah,” you whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him close. Logan pushes himself halfway in, both of you moaning with pleasure. The stretch already stings, but you tell him you want more.

“So fucking tight for me, baby,” he grunts as he fucks into you deeper, bottoming out with an almost pathetic groan that makes you smile through the slight pain.

“You’re so big,” you moan, leaning your head back against his pillow.

“I know. Think you can take me?” he kisses up the side of your neck, hand sneaking between your bodies to play with your clit.

“Yes–yeah. I want you.”

“That’s a good kitty,” he whispers from above you, beginning to thrust into you slowly, rocking your whole body with his movement. He feels so big in your pussy, but you like the feeling of being stretched out for him. Even if it hurts, you want him to take what he needs.

It helps when your claws come out, scratching at his back to relieve some of the pain.

“Hurt me, baby. Hurt me as much as you need,” he moans into your ear, fucking into you at a bit of a rougher pace. You sink your claws into him, feeling how you draw tiny drops of blood from his big muscles, dragging your fingertips down his shoulders and over his big arms.

“That’s it, baby,” Logan moans against your mouth, kissing you sloppily, thrusts becoming messy, and you grunt in a mix of pain and pleasure that feels so good. He looks down at you, hips getting slower as he takes your tail in his hand.

“Does your tail hurt like this?” he asks, tugging at it lightly. You’re lying on your tail, technically, but it doesn’t hurt. You shake your head. Still, Logan tips your hips to the side a bit, lifting your thigh to fuck you sideways. But this way you can’t reach his back, and you don’t like not being able to squeeze around him with your thighs.

“Wanna sit on top,” you say, and he pulls away to look at you, unable to stop himself from smiling.

“You can’t take me like that yet, bub. Trust me.”

“M-mh,” you mumble, and with a bite to his lip Logan lifts his hands in defeat, slipping out of you and obeying you. He flips you around so that he’s on his back and you straddle him.

His dick looks bigger when you hold it in your hand, raising yourself to your knees to line him up with your pussy. Logan chuckles and you smile too, but you want to show him that you can take him.

You struggle to even get the angle right because you have to sit up so high, but when you’ve got the tip in your pussy, you just slowly lower yourself, hands leaning on Logan’s chest.

“Go slow, baby,” Logan says, suddenly gentle, seeing the pain on your features as he goes deeper. His fingers draw circles on your hips and on your ass, and he almost cums from the way you moan when he won’t fit in all the way in this position. He reaches out to rub at your fluffy ears, loving the way you lean into his touch, purring again.

“Sounds so pretty when you do that.” He’s less and less sure about the thing he said earlier, telling you not to get used to him, about you fucking other men. He’s not sure it’ll be relevant after all. He’s going to keep you all to himself.

“Hurts so bad,” you moan, pussy straining around him.

“Then stop. Y’don’t have to,” Logan coos, pulling you up by your hips but you take his hands off you.

“Don’t wanna stop. Wanna cum.” You grind your hips against Logan’s, his cock pulsing inside you. It drives him fucking crazy seeing you struggling to take him, fucking yourself stupid in his lap nevertheless.

He rubs his thumb over your clit, in circles to match the movement of your hips on him.

“Lo–Logan,” you moan, hands back on his chest as you start to fuck him again, your claws coming out against his chest to scratch him there, and he revels in it.

“Yeah, that’s it, kitty. Don’t stop,” he keeps playing with your clit, starting to become breathless himself as your pussy squeezes around his cock.

You cum with a whimper so animalistic it sets off his own orgasm, pulsing his cum into your pussy that clenches around him hard. Logan’s hand on your hip helps you grind on him as the pleasure spreads through your body and he’s grabbing at your flesh.

You come down from your highs together, a fucked out smile on your lips as you bend down to kiss Logan. He pulls you off his cock, not wanting you to hurt any more, but from the way you kiss him back lazily, hurt is the last thing you are.

“Did such a good job for me,” Logan tells you, holding onto your face, “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, “Didn’t mind it,” and you kiss him again, liking the way he devours you like a hungry animal every time his lips are on you.

As he’s kissing you fervently, with tongue and spit, you let your fangs come out, nicking his bottom lip carefully. He hisses into your mouth, and you draw two drops of blood – one for each tooth – before the wounds heal shut.

Logan grins, “Feisty kitty,” he squeezes you at the waist, making you giggle.

“See, you like pain and I like it too.”

Logan hums at your words, hand moving up to play with one of your ears. You move to lie down on your side, Logan turning to face you. You watch him.

“Can I stay?” you ask shyly, quietly, and he doesn’t understand the man he was only an hour ago. How could he not want you entirely? He hates that he made you feel unsure for even a second.

“Of course, bub. You’re staying with me from now on.” You purr at his words, cuddling into him. 

He puts his arm around you, holding you close as you begin to lick all over his face. He giggles as you make your way over his beard and his neck too, grooming him like a kitty. Your claws hook into the muscle of his arm and, as much as he enjoyed it during sex, this is definitely something he still has to get used to, gasping at the contact. The way you purr louder makes it more than worth it.

You’re pawing at his hair, smoothing it back into place from where you’ve messed it up. Logan closes his eyes from how good it feels. Suddenly, he hears you giggle.

“Your hair is kind of like kitty ears,” you grin.

He deadpans. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Your fluffy tail bounces up and sways a bit as you giggle mischievously. You pretend to zip your mouth shut but he knows he’s never hearing the end of that. Maybe he doesn’t even mind it coming from you.

“So, did you escape just to come see me or d’you get permission?” He asks, remembering how you’re probably not even supposed to be here. 

You panic for a second, beginning to sit up, but Logan holds you down, “I won’t tell anyone you’re here, kitty. Told you you’re staying with me. Would just be good to know if you’re making me break the rules.”

The way you smile at him sheepishly tells him everything he needs to know. He presses another kiss to your adorable face.

“You coulda told them you’re leaving. I’m sure they’ll be looking for you, bub,” he tells you. You turn around so that you’re spooning, with him at your back and your tail wrapped around his thigh.

“Hmpfh, don’t care,” you begin to purr, closing your eyes, “Just wanna be with my daddy.”

Logan wants the same. 

You don’t stop purring as you drift off to sleep, held safely in Logan’s arms.

-

P.S. Logan thinks that hot readers leave a reblog and a comment and let the writer know what they enjoyed about the fic <333 🫣🤭

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

What Attracts Them [1]

Alastor

Vulnerability. If there is any weakness or fault in your self-concept, Alastor will pick up on it and try to exploit it to garner a connection with you. He’s not particularly fond of approaching someone without an ulterior motive in mind or solely because he finds you mildly interesting -among other sinners, that is. He needs leverage and uses whatever he can pry or observe about you to his advantage. Need protection? He’ll offer to guard you. Need financial support. He’ll hand over any amount you desire. As long as you either sell your soul or initiate loyalty to him, Alastor will proudly proclaim you his (property).

Alastor is wildly addicted to dual-sided sinners. The pure joy he gets from seeing you go from being sweet, shy, and agreeable to bloodthirsty, witty, and downright stubborn gets him going. You don’t often get that way unless it’s to put someone in their place or to show how protective you are of him -even if he’s far more powerful than you in every way. Still, when you do, his grin stretches wider than usual, and he’ll constantly try to encourage your violent behavior out into the open after the fact.

He’s got a massive thing for motherly types. Partly because he is a momma’s boy but mostly because he is very prone to being taken care of, as much as he’ll deny needing anyone’s help. What overlord would willingly say they like having their ears petted, antlers touched, or hair messed with by the one they love? None. And he won't be the first. You can always do the simplest things too: helping Charlie around the hotel, giving angel advice (even if he doesn’t use it), or running around with Nifty trying to help her catch bugs strikes a nerve in the stag he can't ignore. Seeing you tend to others makes him incredibly hot-blooded. It gives him more motive and excuses to breed you later on.

Dancing. He loves to trot around his room late at night with you. Soft jazz or swing music playing from him keeps a smile on your face as he leads you through various steps, effortlessly twirling you around the room and addicted to hearing you giggle softly anytime he sweeps you off your feet. He was a phenomenal dancer while alive, and that fact hasn’t changed in death. You will either have to learn from him or already be light on your feet when Alastor decides to ask you for a dance.

Alastor doesn’t mind having a chaotic partner but values a higher level of ‘obedience’ from them. If you aren’t the type to make a deal with the stag and he can’t convince you to do so, he’ll settle for an almost toxic form of companionship. What he says goes, and if you put up a fight, he’s not above reinforcing his command. Physically or emotionally. No one has ever called the Radio Demon fair, and they’ll never have a chance to. He does enjoy your stubborn fits occasionally, though….they make it so much more fun for him when he has to break you into submission again.

Overprotectiveness. He’s got a bad habit of practically stalking you whenever you’re away from him, but you have quite a temper when he’s put in a vulnerable position. This doesn’t happen often, though. For instance, his brawl with Adam enraged you to want to skin the angel alive. Luckily, Nifty and Lucifer got to know him before you did. Alastor adores it when you hiss at sinners who stare at him a little too long and can’t help but smile wider when you flash him an innocent look right after. You’re smaller and much more prone to be hurt, but you’ll still claw someone’s eyes out for him…yeah he’s never going to let you go.

Alastor isn’t very touchy but delights in invading others' personal space, so having an overly clingy partner would annoy him. You learn he appreciates acts of service more than anything else and is pleased to see what you do for him—keeping his room and Radio Tower tidy even if they’re usually clean and straightening out his bow tie if it’s crooked, bringing him raw meat after a long day of running errands, or even slipping into his room at night to sleep even if he’s wide awake himself just because you ‘miss him.’ It's all so trivial, small things you get used to doing, but meaningful to him nonetheless. He returns the favor in the best ways he can think of. Praise, gifts, making you cum until you can't think straight… You're such a sweetheart, and he can't help showing you bits of gratitude.

Lucifer

A sucker for the cliche type of love. Running into you while on a stroll, seeing how clumsy you can be right off the bat, and feeling obligated to help poor little you make Lucifer giddy. You don’t mainly get why he’s so infatuated with you at first sight, but having the attention of Hell's King is flattering. Your friendliness is what pulls the devil in like a magnet at first. He wonders how you ended up in Hell even though you’re lovely and genuine. He finds kinship with those out of place because he fell from heaven for the same reason. In his opinion, you stand out amongst other sinners by being less of one.

Confidence. Whatever vanity you have, Lucifer drowns in it. Your looks, talents, and impression on others…if it’s all done with a sense of pride, he can’t get enough of it. His drug is seeing the smug look on your face when you make him beg for attention. When you want something from him and know you’ll get it if you ask, that glint in your eye sends the devil spiraling to his knees. You don’t have to be obnoxious about it either; quiet as a mouse hanging onto his arm as he walks about, he’ll, with a slight smirk of delight on your face when people stare at you, stroke his ego more than anything else could. You’re his prize, and he’s glad you’re proud.

Curiosity. You are asking him questions, getting him to talk, or even rambling about what’s on your mind, which comforts Lucifer. It reminds him of his time in heaven, being able to express his thoughts to those who’d listen, and you tend to do the same, which excites the fallen angel. He enjoys explaining things to you, deconstructing complex concepts to see your bright eyes light up with wonder, and the oh-so-sweet smile you give him during long, in-depth conversations eases his heart. The pure excitement on your face when he shows or explains something new to you is contagious. You’re too cut to be left clueless.

Touchiness. Lucifer is very prone to clingy behavior and sees nothing wrong with that. He likes your attention on him. Physical touch is his favored love language, and sharing it with you comes naturally. You often sit in his lap, play with his hair, pet his wings, and cuddle. He can’t get enough of it. He shudders when you’re all over him, pining for a kiss he can’t resist giving to you and whining for another right after he gives in. His hands never wholly leave you, and yours always find a way to bring him in close again.

Creativity. He’s drawn in by those who have an eye for the arts. It doesn’t matter what your interest maybe if it’s a form of expression for you; Lucifer tends to admire it. He’ll go as far as researching facts about the subject/hobbies to impress you with his knowledge and actively participate in the activity. You don’t mind him joining in, happily spending time with him more often, and appreciative that he puts so much effort into learning about something you love to do.

Reliance. Not in the sense that you’re utterly helpless without him but more so that he likes to be needed even for the most minor things. Being unable to help or fulfill another’s wishes irks Lucifer. He embodies pride, and feeling useless damages him a lot more than other things. He’s very attentive and soft-spoken even when agitated with you, and he genuinely does his best to do anything you ask of him. Once you become his, the world (alive or dead) is yours for the taking. He hates it when you brush him off to do something on your own, so you’re bound to let him tag along with whatever you do to keep him busy. He doesn't intrude if it's too severe of a boundary for you, but he can't help but want to take care of you with the utmost diligence.

Brattiness/Sassiness. Lucifer can't understand why he's attracted to a sharp tongue and an even colder attitude (which only occurs when you're upset with him), but he loves every second of it. Sometimes hell does or says things on purpose to piss you off and get your focus back on him. Other times, if you're already in a sour mood, he’ll suggest you take that anger out on him. He's noticed a pattern of you using stress as an excuse for him to fuck your brains out, and he's not mad about it. If making you break down into tears underneath, thanking him for fucking the bitchiness right of you after the edge of another high slowly wears off helps you in any way….Lucifer won't hesitate to participate. He wants to see you happy, but he loves the minor spats of aggression you have, like every other sinner in his domain. Though, you don't get very cutthroat as much as the majority does.

New filler posts because sometimes I have random ideas and need a break from writing a series. ❤️

[demonic0angel]

Spectra discovers the misery factory that is Gotham. Everybody has a bad time.

(Will just be focusing on Anger Management for this ask, but this is a VERY fun ask lmao, I love angst/comfort)

Red Hood tried not to let the tears fall as he firmly kept his finger on the trigger.

“I’m not scared of you,” he gritted out.

Spectra laughed. “Maybe not. But I know someone you’re scared of. You’re scared of Wolf, aren’t you? You’re scared that she won’t like what she sees when she finds the true you. Your worries certainly have merit. After all, who can expect someone like her, brilliant, beautiful, powerful, to like someone like you? Someone who can never understand her, someone who is as disgusting and damaged and weak as you.”

“I-I—!!” His hands trembled and the gun nearly slipped.

Spectra smirked and prowled closer. “You’re nothing compared to her. My apprentice was raised into excellence by me. She’ll know. She’ll know that someone like you is beneath her. Someone who doesn’t even deserve to touch her feet. After all, who would like someone like you, who died in such a pathetic way?”

Red Hood inhaled, trying to clear the spots in his vision as the tears persisted. “I’m not pathetic! I got to where I am with my own strength and will! I crawled out of my own grave! I am—!”

“You’re nothing,” Spectra hissed, her eyes flashing. “You’re nothing but a spineless, cold-blooded murderer who begs his daddy for love. No one mourned you. No one cared for you. You were replaced like nothing because you are nothing. The Lazarus pits have healed you, wiped away your outer scars, but the inner ugliness still remain, don’t they? No one will love you. Not your siblings, not your father, not Wolf. You are an unloveable, forgettable trash who should’ve died on the streets.”

A voice interrupted her, but Red Hood was completely and utterly hyperventilating already.

“Spectra. Enough.”

Red Hood froze in his place, shivering like an abandoned dog as Wolf strode across the roof towards them. He bit down on his lower lip, stifling a whimper as the gun dropped from his hands. He shouldn’t have done that. He should’ve done everyone a favor and—

Wolf shot a strange bullet at Spectra, who disappeared with a hateful scream. Red Hood could not see through his tears, fogging the inside of his helmet and as everything began to close around him, like the coffin that used to hold him in his death, he tore it all off like he had done before at the age of 15, weak and helpless and mindless. He whimpered and whined and clawed at the mask on his eyes, wanting it off, off, off—

Hands gripped his wrists and Jason reared back with a sob. Everything felt wrong, like his skin was keeping him caged and the air of Gotham City was too cold and he felt boiling hot like shame and embarrassment and Wolf was looking at him through her helmet. She let go of one wrist and for a moment, Jason wondered if she had truly thought that he was disgusting, when she reached for his face and gingerly held his cheek in one gloved hand.

The gentle touch immediately pulled him away from his thoughts.

His breath hitched and he blinked away hot tears, closing his eyes as he just focused on her touch. She let go of the other hand and then pulled him into a hug, cradling him and for a moment, Jason wished he was 15 again, undamaged, innocent, and clean, untouched by death and murder.

But for now, he just held tightly onto Wolf and sobbed as she murmured sweet nothings into his ears only.

“Shhh… it’s okay. Nothing she said was true. I promise you, I’ll stay by your side no matter what. Shhh, it’s alright, you’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay…”

[eccentricallygothic]

| Video Game Brat |

Description: One in which Simon wakes up to find his baby whom he had carried to bed and away from her gaming system waging war on Roblox through her iPad that she has managed to sneak in.

Pairing: Daddy-Dom!Simon Riley | Baby-Sub Female!Reader. 

Warning(s): Ddlg, m!dom, f!sub, fluff, they're in love, bratty reader, size kink, age gap, manhandling, spanking/belting threat but it's empty, soft vibes, caring protective Simon, allusions to dacryphilia towards the end. Minors do not interact. 

Note: Coping piece because Lord knows I am exhausted to fuck and sleep evading like my life depends on it. Feedback is appreciated <3 

.

Tap. Tap. Tap. “Fucking noob” although Simon could sleep through literal war because of his military training, his eyes crinkled as his face scrunched from the light he could feel on his face. It was his baby's scent mingled with her vicious curses that brought him out of his slumber for he realized that under this circumstance he couldn't and won't tolerate the noise because he could tell just what was going on. 

His eyes opened before darting to his girlfriend's side of the bed and sure enough, she was propped up against her mountain of fluffy pillows as she furiously typed away on her iPad. 

Simon sighed as he let his eyes pull shut just for a second before he moved his hand to block out the light exploding out of the screen of the device. 

Baby was too engrossed in her cyber fight to notice his stirring and since she couldn't express her frustration through voice chat due to the almost 7 foot beast laying next to her who just happened to be her strict Daddy -especially when it came to her wellbeing-, she slammed the tips of her fingers down on the screen in an unceasing fashion. 

“Bullying children on your kiddie games instead of sleeping, again?” Though she started a bit because she thought he was asleep, it didn't waver her determination. 

“More like noob cunts who can't design for shit” Simon's eyebrows raised as he let his eyes close again. “And it's not a kiddie game. It's a fight to the death!”

Ever the brat. 

“Language, please” she scoffed before rolling her eyes. “And it's way past your bedtime, young lady” Baby didn't budge, instead hugging Toto the puppy plushy Simon couldn't help but envy sometimes before she continued to hurriedly go about her game. 

The man shook his head before reaching for her iPad. The girl gasped before her eyes widened to the shape of saucers. “NO YOU WOULDN'T–!”

“You know when I brought you to bed it was so you would sleep and not so you could melt your eyes on this thing” he had thrown her over his shoulder a few hours ago after pulling out the power cord of her gaming station. Only to wake up to find that she had somehow managed to sneak in her iPad. She had never been a rival to his strength, yet she passionately struggled against him to keep her gadget. “Let go or you can have the belt on that bratty little butt tomorrow” it was an empty threat and she knew it. Sure, it used to intimidate her at first because Simon was not the most friendly looking man and his scarred up build did not help. But spankings and the like were punishments he did not prefer for her himself for she was too small and adorable for him to rough handle.

Which was the reason why she was spoiled so rotten.

“Like hell I will!” Simon sighed before freeing the device from her vicious little harmless claws with a firm jerk before turning it off and placing it away, his other arm easily holding her smaller body in place that lunged in the direction of the iPad almost instantly when he half turned to put it away on the bedside table. 

“Ughhh, noooooeee!” Simon easily picked her up before bending her into the little spoon position, ‘knocking’ Toto off the bed in the process before placing her back against his strong chest and pulling the blanket over her squirmish form. “Ugh, you're such an old man with your stupid bedtime rules!” He was unfazed and unbothered as he dipped his face in the crook of her neck before closing his eyes in satisfaction. “Leave me meanie I don't like you!” She meant leave me alone but he knew her brain was at times too small to form proper sentences. “I don't like you, I don't like you, I don't like you!” He felt her little feet kick protestingly under the blanket. 

The idea that her rivals or rather haters probably thought she had pussied out pissed her off. 

“You don't have to like me, just go to sleep” he simply answered in a concluding manner, smiling in satisfaction at the way she kept muttering begrudgingly yet did not dare raise her voice since he had used his Daddy voice this time around. Simon snorted before dozing off with his baby in his arms, fully aware that she would keep pouting through the darkness of the room until she dozed off. 

Her claiming she didn't like him when he wouldn't let her have her way was nothing new. It had surprised him at first but then he understood that it was just her bratty way of expressing her disapproval. He was unbothered, because he knew he would wake up to breakfast with a note, ‘I don't like you because I love you INFINITY times Daddy ♡’ or something along the lines. That was, if she woke up before him. Or it would be with a drink, or a snack or lunch perhaps dinner. She was not good at ignoring him for too long though in times of brattiness she pettily tried to pretend that she was. 

One way or another, she would tell him that tomorrow. 

Either while being held in his arms or while crying on his cock.

But she would. 

That was the only way.

For now, she was resting and he dozed off feeling at ease now that he knew he had safeguarded his baby's wellbeing. 

And that mattered more than anything. 

.

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (19)

Word count: 4.5K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: A huge shoutout to all my wonderful readers! Your support and love keeps me going! <3

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

“You can’t kick 'em in the nuts and make a run for it?” The girl in the next cell asked.

“Not if you want to avoid getting beaten into a pulp,” you told her through a mouthful of bread and tomato. “There’s always a guard outside the door.”

“Kick 'em in the nuts, too.”

You snorted so hard, bits of tomato landed on the floor.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “There are fancy rooms upstairs with wardrobes full of fancy clothes that you have to wear and then they take you to other fancy places for men–”

“Sometimes it’s just the fancy rooms overhead. Men come here, too.”

“But they take you out, don’t they?” She argued. “Just go to a reception and tell the hostess, a waitress, anyone. I know you managed to run away once… so why not try again? If they let you out, it can’t be that hard!”

You swallowed the bite in your mouth and sighed. What did it matter if you told her the truth? Neither of you would make it out anyway. 

“They’ve kidnapped my half-brother and half-sister. Little kids, barely six… have them at gunpoint somewhere. I make one wrong move and they are dead.”

“Shit.”

You could picture her dumbstruck expression. After spending a week next to her, seeing her face while going in and out, you were starting to get a hang of her. You still didn’t know why you did it, take her turn every night. Eventually, they would drag her out, but for a week, the boss wasn’t in the building and no one seemed to push the inevitable and drag that girl’s stubborn ass out. 

And boy was she stubborn. She bit and clawed like a wild cat at the guards who tried to drag her. She got plenty beat up in the process, but everyone seemed to wait for the boss to get her in line when he came. 

“Don’t you worry,” she said. “My fiance is going to get us out.”

“Fiance?”

“Yeah. I bet he’s worried out of his mind right now. But there’s police. They’ll find us.”

“The police are in on this,” you said. “They get serviced for their quiet.”

She spat, then screamed in frustration.

Footsteps echoed off the walls, and blood froze in your veins. You recognised the hard tap and unforgiving rhythm of his steps. The boss.

“Go to your bed and pretend to sleep,” you hissed, discarding the sandwich in your hand and doing the same. 

“W-what?”

“Just do it.”

Covering yourself entirely with the blanket, you rolled into a ball, as if that would make you invisible, teleport you out of the horror story you were about witness. Since staring at the glass wall in his cabin for the first time, you had prayed for yourself. The pastor in the church your aunt dragged you to every Sunday preached that one should only pray for the world and not for oneself… because praying for oneself was selfish. If you prayed only for the world, that made you a good person, and God helped good people without having to ask for it.

You had never been particularly religious, but that one thing had stuck around. Subconsciously, all your life, you had never asked for yourself, not from God, the universe or even as a favour from people. If you wanted something, you had worked hard to earn it, and achieve it by sheer will and not divine intervention.

But that first night with the boss had made you pray for yourself over and over.

And you prayed now, in whispers that only remained in your breath, never making a sound. 

God, let him forget that I exist… Not tonight. Please please please.

The footsteps came to a halt, and the door next to yours opened.

You closed your eyes tighter. Oh, that poor girl. He had come for her at last.

“I hear you’ve been difficult.”

A spit.

“Michael,” he said in his cold, raspy voice. “Hand me my cane, now.”

“Yes, Boss,” said Michael, gleefully.

A slash in the air and a piercing scream sliced the air.

You shut your ears tightly as the scuffling began… but then it ended as suddenly as it had started when a loud, sickening crunch which sounded so close to the shared wall that you were certain it had happened against it.

A minute passed.

“Oh, what a terrible waste,” the boss sighed at last, almost delicately. “Remove it.”

The taps receded and then soon they carried her body by your cell, blood trailing behind her.

You sat up bolt in your bed, unable to keep the bile down as you emptied your stomach on the carpet next to the bed. Sam’s side of the carpet.

You plopped back on the bed, breathing heavily. 

“Just a dream,” you told yourself. “Just a dream.” Then, the reality came crashing down on you and you wanted to throw up all over again.

Abby’s quiet knock from the main door wrenched you out of bed and through the seating area. She didn’t have to see the vomit. Her face was pinched when you opened the door for her. She entered trepidly and placed the breakfast tray on the table. 

“Who’s in the house?” You asked

“Just us,” she said. “Mr Dean Winchester left last night itself.”

“And S-Sam? He’s out for his run?”

“Mr Winchester left for work.”

“It’s only 7.”

She gave you an apprehensive look, as if she wanted to say something but was scared of how you would perceive it.

“What is it, Abby?”

“Miss, he’s in a right state, that man. Before you came, he used to be so dry and detached… but this past month, since you first locked yourself in your room, he’s gone from pillar to post for you. Sleep, food, everything be damned. The only thing he has done is worry.” Her hand fluttered nervously to her side. “He stumbled down the steps this morning from exhaustion and still went for his run anyway. I think he needs to see a doctor.”

Abby didn’t know what had conspired last night.

“I don’t know the deal with his brother being back now,” she said, wrangling the corner of her apron. “But everyone knows they don’t get along. It can’t be good for him.”

Sam had looked exhausted last evening. The dark circles under his eyes, the once-fitted shirt that hung loose on his shoulders, and the ever-present frown on his forehead had become more and more etched now. 

“Abby, tell me when Sam is back, will you?”

You sent her away and cleaned up your mess in the bedroom. A hot shower further cleared your head. Taking stock of your time in the Winchester Mansion made you recount the number of times you had run out on Sam, locked yourself in the room, the number of secrets you had kept. So, he’d had his own secrets. You knew that. 

Then there was the fact that Sam had never explicitly said he hated his brother. In fact, he’d never spoken of him without pain mingled with love. His exact words- “We had a fight and I couldn’t see his face after that.” Couldn’t…. Not ‘Didn’t want.’ Nowhere had his words implied that Sam’s consent was considered.

The day appeared stormy, with an overcast sky. Maybe the light of the lantern would carry, perhaps it wouldn’t. You set it on the sill anyway.

Dean found you at the pier an hour later, when you had nearly given up hope. He stood at his usual spot but did not sit beside you and you noticed he was dressed differently; no jacket today, just a black T-shirt and jeans.

Slowly, you tilted your face upwards to meet his sharp green eyes. How often had you wondered what Dean Winchester would be like? Bitter? Angry? But Han wasn’t any of those things.

“Get up!” He ordered, without an ounce of remorse. You got to your feet.

“This way,” he pointed and began to walk towards the jungle without a preamble.

A frisson of annoyance ran through you. Where was his abashedness?

“Sam didn’t know,” he said briskly. “That you knew me. That we knew each other. That poor bastard had no damn clue.”

“You want me to believe you’ve been hiding out in these woods without Sam knowing?”

“Yes.” He came to an abrupt stop and you realised Dean was dead serious. “That kid’s as straight-jacketed as they come. Keeping up the charade nearly did a number on his head, and then you came into the picture. Sam’s nearly lost his goddamned mind over you.”

“He told you that?”

Dean sighed in exasperation. “Haven’t you been listening to a single word? I haven’t seen Sam in months, not since the fight. But he’s my only family left. I had to keep an eye on the kid.”

The trees were too damn thick for any sunlight to trickle down. Dean started walking again and you followed.

“What was the fight about, then?” You pressed, refusing to believe.

“You,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Two years before I came into the picture? Yeah, right.”

Dean tilted his head, weighing his words. “About the idea of you, I guess.”

“Wow, that clears it all up, doesn’t it?” You laughed sarcastically.

He stayed quiet for so long that you actually paid attention to your surroundings, finding the trail vaguely familiar in the thick trees.

“We were to be married in eight weeks,” he said, voice deep and achingly sad. “She’d come to drop off pie for me. Sam says he insisted on dropping her back, but I knew my Jo. She was stubborn that one. If she wanted to drive herself, nothing Sam said would’ve changed her mind. Nothing. Ellen called three hours later asking for her. We searched all night long, all through the woods, all the way two towns over. Nothing. Sniffer dogs couldn’t catch a trail. The police found her car two days later in New Mexico… and her body two weeks later face down in the lake.”

You wanted to reach out, say something… anything, but words failed.

“She hadn’t drowned, Y/N. She’d already been dead when they threw her in there. Post-mortem said haemorrhage… blunt force trauma to the back of her head, ligature marks, bruises…” He closed his eyes unable to continue. 

You knew bits and parts of what followed– Dean’s self-destructive tendency and Sam’s unwavering support. The latter won.

“Sam still thinks he’s to blame. That he should have somehow foreseen it. I know Ellen doesn’t disagree with him or shy away from throwing it in his face.” A mirthless scoff.

“I think the bigger part of her anger is because of what Sam did to you… and me.” You said. “Or rather, what she thinks he did to you and me.”

Dean sighed. “I owe Sam a lot more than my life, a sorry and a thank you. This whole plan hinges on his resilience.”

“What plan?”

He ran a hand through his hair, but his pace slowed down. “The detective working this case, Jody Mills… she’s suspected a human trafficking ring here for years. Every few years someone goes missing or a body mysteriously appears. But this thing has its claws in so deep that we can’t trust the entire PD.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

He glanced at you briefly, and you saw the ever-present kindness there. “You’re smart. I’m sure you’ve figured out a bunch of this yourself.”

Nodding to yourself, you thought out loud. “Sam wasn’t keeping me around for sex, didn’t want to hang me as bait for kidnapping, so obviously he wants information about where I was but…” You vividly remembered the night when he’d held your bloody hand and then all but shushed your barrage when you had tried to spill it all in a haze. “He stopped me from telling him… He didn’t want to hear any of it.”

Dean chuckled. A sudden light sound in the pressing quiet. “And I just called you smart.”

“What?”

“For all your God-forsaken angst over loving Sam… Have you not considered him liking you back?” Dean narrowed his eyes as if he was judging your intelligence. “Obviously it’s hard for him to listen to what you’ve been through. Hell, I’ve choked back on what little you’ve told me. Why are you being so thick?”

Tears sprang in your eyes. 

He placed a gentle hand against your cheek. 

“Give yourself some credit, Y/N. As stupid as you’re being right now, how can you question your own judgement of Sam so easily? You took your time forming your opinion, didn’t you? So consider all proof objectively. He was on board with the plan from day one knowing it would wreck his reputation if I disappeared after transferring my inheritance to him, knowing he’d have to make himself a villain… all for Jo. The kid didn’t bat an eye before agreeing. What led to the fight was the very last step of the plan. After infiltrating the system, he’d have to be one of them and well…”

“Buy a girl,” you finished.

“Yes,” said Dean. The word hung heavy in the air. “Sam refused to do it at first, but it was the only way. It’s killed him since day one, Y/N. And yesterday when you said he’s no better than any of those men who hurt you…”

The tears now freely flowed down your cheek and right into Dean’s palm. He slowly directed your face into his chest, tightly wrapping his arms around you.

“Oh, what have I done?” You whispered into his jacket. 

Sam had banged hard on your door last night and you never gave him a chance to explain. Not a single word. If you truly loved him, how come the trust was broken this easily? And when you refused to speak, he’d respected your consent then, too.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” you said. “I should’ve trusted him, trusted you. After all, you never coaxed anything from me. I–”

A thousand memories ran through your mind: Sam’s fingers holding up your corset, touching his hand for the first time in the entrance hall before, his laugh after the false escape from dinner. Sam handing you a portfolio, Sam showing you around the old guesthouse, his fingers slipping on your wet shirt in the barn, laughing with him on the floor of your bedroom, his voice as he read out poetry… and his lips when they met yours.

“Sam took to playing chess in high school,” said Dean as you moved back. “I don’t think he ever got too good at it, but he used to come back rambling about all these moves, the King's Gambit, the Scandanavian, the Sicilian. He didn’t have anyone to play against, so I learned the basics to humour him and we played every night before bed.”

He’d started walking again and you kept pace this time.

“So there we are one night, recreating some classic game from half a century ago and I played a different piece and well, what do you know, my king ended up in a position from where he couldn’t move. Thought I’d lost because that was the only square my King was safe in. But then Sam said that’s not what it was. I couldn’t be forced to move my King to a checked square, but it wasn’t currently checked. A stalemate is what it was. That’s where we are at, Y/N.”

“A stalemate?”

“Yes. We know pieces of information, but not the ones that actually matter. It’s our move next, but every square is checked, Y/N. We need to know.”

The dim lights of the dungeon came back to you and oddly the crack of the skull. “The operation is not local, definitely crosses state lines. The building where they kept me is somewhere along New Mexico's border. It’s a huge glass building, seven stories high. I don’t know exactly where but from the se…” you gulped. “From the seventh floor, I could see a tall red tower with blinking lights. They blinked all the time… like passing seconds… but slower than s- seconds. The boss sits on the seventh floor.”

“The boss?”

“I-I don’t know his name. No one does. They only call him ‘the boss.”

“This is good, Y/N,” Dean said eagerly. “What does he look like? How does he find these girls? How does he keep them?”

“He… He looks like any other white man, in his 50’s, maybe early 60’s but his eyes, he has the coldest gray eyes and his laugh...” You stopped, collecting your thoughts. “You already know how he gets the girls. Men as scouts, pretending to be friends or lovers, finding vulnerable girls with little in the way of family. Me… Rosalie. About keeping them, there are two ways. One is standard, get them hooked to heroin. Once you have that, they’ll do anything to get the next fix. But those girls don’t make much money, yeah? They aren’t polished. I was the second kind, for the richer clientele that don’t like the smell of drugs and want the girls alive and kicking. For them, guess, it’s easier to blackmail by holding a loved one hostage. Rosalie only had a mother and I only had Jamie and Danny.”

You told him about how your siblings were held hostage somewhere, and how you stayed in line just to protect them.

“There’s very little we wouldn’t do to protect them, wouldn’t we?”

Dean nodded, then came to a halt and you noticed with some surprise that you were standing in front of the wishing well. 

His fingers grazed the parapet's tally marks, and you voiced a long-lost curiosity. “Why do you have one extra?”

“That dumbass brought you here, didn’t he?” Dean snorted. “So much for our secret place.” But he didn’t seem to hold any grudge over it. “Dad brought me here right before Sam was born. Told me this was a magic well, so I needed to make a wish about what I wanted… a sister or a brother.”

“What did you ask for?”

“You see the extra mark there, don’t you?” He winked. “After the fire, I used to run out a lot, trying to find the well again. Wish my dead parents back, you know? Finally found it when I was twelve and Sam was eight. ”

“Seems like you’ve kept pace since with the tallys.”

Dean winked as if there was a secret to it, but didn’t share it with you.

“Come on, make a wish then,” he said.

“One is already due. I don’t want to burden the well.” You sighed. “Look, Dean. I’ll help you with whatever you want. I can draw plans of the building, and the street layout I could see from the seventh floor. Tell you the number of guards, the shifts, even the names of some of the clients, but I need you to promise me that nothing will happen to my brother and sister.”

“I promise.” 

The walk back should have seemed like an interrogation, except Dean held your hand as you described more of the place, the people, the process… the boss.

“I told you already, I don’t know his name,” you burst out when he questioned a third time. 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Did he… Did he hurt you? This boss?”

You laughed. One short, shaky laugh. “He had a wall full of these instruments… silver, gleaming and so cold.” Then there was the glass wall.

“Oh, that son of a bitch.”

“I wonder why you think Jo was involved in this,” you said, more to change the subject that anything else. “I mean she didn’t exactly fit the pattern.” Full family, doting boyfriend, well-to-do. Blitz kidnapping didn’t seem likely. The boss had to have had something on her.

“No, she didn’t fit the pattern and for a long time, we didn’t suspect her to have been in this.”

“How come?”

Dean’s voice reduced to barely above a whisper. “No obvious signs of… sexual assault in the postmortem report.” And despite the tragedy of it, Dean almost sounded relieved. He pulled out an old wallet from his back pocket and gazed at a picture inside lovingly. “I don’t know, Y/N, it makes me feel like an asshole but knowing that maybe she might have escaped the worst of it… God, I think it kept me from throwing myself off a damn cliff.”

“Oh, Dean!” You closed the distance in-between to hug him. “I bet she–” you gasped. The wallet hung loosely in his grasp and you glimpsed the picture behind the plastic. 

You grabbed the wallet and held it up. “That… That’s Jo? Your Jo?”

He took you by your shoulders. “You knew her?”

“Oh my God!” All the hurt and anger and fear came crashing down on you as you collapsed to the green earth of the side lawn. Over the years she had gone from being the girl in the next cell, to the girl with brown eyes, to the girl in your nightmares and eventually… the only thing you were proud of.

“She’s… she used to be the girl in the next cell. I knew her.”

“Who did this to her?” Dean asked, voice so sharp, it didn’t even sound his.

“The Boss did,” you whispered. “I think it might have been an accident. I only heard the scuffle and then the crack of her skull. It was quick. She didn’t suffer much.”

There was a sharp intake of breath over you and you didn’t dare look up.

“Dean, you should know, the girls there… eventually choose to stay there. I know I did. Once you stop with the kicking and screaming, it gets a little easier. The bad days are lesser and most clients don’t treat you like complete trash. There’s food on your plate at night and poor orphan girls have a bed to sleep in when they comply… they…. we stop fighting. Because there is no relief to fight for, no home to go to and no one who could protect us. But your Jo, she never stopped. I bet she took a few teeth out of that one guard, too.”

“Did they… did anyone ever…?” He could not spit the entire sentence out and you saw the courage it took to finally confront that question.

You looked straight in his tear-stained tortured eyes. “No one hurt her that way. I… I took her turns for the week she was there. I still don’t know why I did it. I’m not a charitable person, and it was hell that week, but something about her faith in her fiance reminded me of, well, me… before I found out how I got there. I wanted to protect her faith just a little longer. So, no Dean, no one touched her that way. And you should also know, she died like she lived, fighting and believing in your love for her.”

Dean hugged you and broke down. “Thank you… Thank you for doing that for my Jo,” he blubbered. “You’re… You’re like an angel. Sam said that you know… yesterday he said that he thought you were some kind of an angel when he first saw you dressed in white. Wasn’t wrong.”

And you broke down with Dean. The night had descended upon you, as you both held each other in the darkness and just cried. 

Much later, locked in the dining room, you drew the floor plans of the building from your memory, a map of the road and the way to the bus stop that you could remember, the names of the guards, physical descriptions, names of the girls, anything and everything you could think of. The maids all gave you curious looks. Getting along with a brother-in-law would be normal for most families, but an estranged brother-in-law who you had never supposedly met? Knowing the history they knew, that had to look shady.

As it turned out, Dean had been alternating between living in the Guest house in Sam’s room and a cabin further north that not many people knew of in the estate. He knew ways to sneak in and out better than almost anyone. Hired security was never too big a problem for him. He was to set out first thing tomorrow morning to see how he could use your intel.

“You know my roommate Carmen,” you said at the door when he was about to leave. “She might have been the only one to care for me back then. I fought with her the night before. If you can do one thing for me, find her and tell her she was right and I am so very sorry.”

“Of course.” Dean stepped up and kissed your forehead. “And Y/N, I’m going to get that bastard. Not just for what he did to Jo, but also for what he did to you. You said you didn’t fight after a while because you didn’t have a home, a family. Now you do. Remember that.”

You watched Dean head out. He would be gone before you woke up tomorrow, but you felt lighter than you had in years, like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. Upstairs, you found Abby in her room.

She stood up the moment she saw you. “Miss, is everything alright?”

“Yes, Abby. I was wondering if you knew when Sam would be back?”

“He was home earlier this evening but didn’t stay long. I believe he left for Colorado.”

Hurt. “Did he say anything about when he would return?”

“No, Miss.”

“Did he ask about me?”

“No, Miss.”

“Did he say anything at all?”

The pitying shake of her head was enough for you to turn around and return to your room. What if you had hurt Sam beyond fixing this time? Abby had been correct, he looked fragile, not just physically, but something about the fragmented look in his eyes, as if one blow could shatter him. What if your hurtful words and vitriolic accusation finally pushed him to the edge? How much bullshit could one man take after all?

You had stepped into this house thinking you would be used, and it was the most horrid feeling in the world. What if Sam thought the same now? That you had used him… used his home, his wealth, and his empathy. Hell, you had used his body, too! 

No, you didn’t pray for yourself much. But in that moment you did- God, please give me one chance to apologise. Please.

*****************************

A/N 2: So turns out I was tagging all wrong :/ Ana is feeling sad about that. Hopefully, it will work this time.

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[cryptidghostgirl]

Ritornello (Alastor x Cursed!Gn!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: I don't think there are any but please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 3,565

Previous Part: Rhapsody

Next Part: Rapture

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N Okay I know that canonically Charlie is like 200 but we're gonna make her 25.

After everything with Alastor, Y/n tried to continued their life as it had been before he'd stepped into. It was challenging, they faltered and misstepped. They had been good at being on their own once but now that they had a taste of the alternative, it was difficult to fall back into their old ways. Eventually, they managed to fall into a new pattern of being.

They were a bit more careful now, they didn't dash out unannounced from behind corners or secret hiding places. Seeing Alastor was the last thing they wanted to do. Now, they had someone to avoid.

For seventeen years, they continued on like this. They struggled through their battles on their own, against the overlords and against their own personal situation. They searched high and low for a cure but the only things they ever seemed able to come up with were false promises and temporary fixes. Every day, the curse the overlords had placed on them to limit their powers was growing stronger. Every time they used their magic, played their music, it became more and more corrupted and so, they learned to fight with their hands. This was until they got the call from Lucifer, of course.

The pair were old friends of a sort. Y/n had met him by chance within their first few days in Hell when he'd pulled them out of a tight spot. They didn't spend time together ever or really see one another at all but, Y/n had a vague sort of trust for the man, a strong sense of a debt needing to be repaid. Y/n didn't like owing people things, not even back when they were alive. They didn't like depending on people in that way. When he asked them if they could keep an eye on his daughter, they couldn't refuse.

Charlie was a lot. At twelve years old, she was bright and over the top and constantly bursting out into song. At first, Y/n had been rather uncertain about the whole arrangement, even when she'd gone through her emo phase at fifteen.

Y/n tried to steer clear of them for the most part. Picking her up from school, dropping her off. Babysitting when her parents needed a night to themselves, the normal stuff. When the issues started between Lilith and Lucifer, Charlie was suddenly thrust into Y/n's life a lot more. She had no idea the real reason, both her parents wanting to keep the trouble from her due to their own care and protective natures, and Y/n tried their best to keep it that way. It didn't help that by sixteen, Charlie had practically moved in with the demon but they managed.

Charlie had always pushed for a connection, something more than Y/n making her dinner and getting her where she needed to go. Y/n resisted at all costs. They'd been hurt before by trust, by care. The idea of going through it all again was terrifying. That all changed the day Charlie found out about the curse.

Y/n hadn't meant for her to find out. One of their situation's many many downsides was that while the curse ate away at their magic, it also ate away at their physical form. If they weren't careful, if they didn't temper their emotions and make sure they were eating enough raw meat, the beast would take over.

The beast was a horrific thing in their eyes, blood hungry and devastating. It was sub-human, sub-demon even, writhing and scornful. A mass of twisting shells of prey, a mass of claws and sharp teeth.

Of course, Y/n couldn't keep it from Charlie forever and on one fateful evening, Y/n had transformed. They'd been overworked, stressed about the fact that the Vees were gaining more territory and power, that soon they would be practically untouchable. They had forgotten to take care of themselves in the rush of it all, prioritizing Charlie and their plans.

When they had come back to their senses, come back to themself, it had been to the sight of Charlie. With a damp rag held to their forehead by the demoness and a whole lot of bones from victims of their situation on the floor around them, they had opened their eyes. Y/n had expected Charlie to flinch, to run in fear, to tell Lucifer who knew nothing about the curse. Instead, she had smiled brightly and told Y/n she was glad they were okay. From that day forward, they were absolutely inseparable, completely attached at the hip.

With Charlie's help and cheerful influence, Y/n was beginning to learn how to exist. They loved the girl like she was their own and Charlie knew if she ever had an issue of any sort, she could go to Y/n about it. Even when Y/n had relayed the story of how they'd been cursed and why, there had been no issues, no qualms, nothing. Charlie promised her watcher that she would help them break the curse, no matter what it took.

It was watching Charlie come into herself as a young adult, watching her meet and fall in love with Vaggie that made the real difference. The princess of Hell was unapologetically herself and Vaggie took everything she had to offer with open arms. Slowly but surely, the search for a cure took a back seat as did Y/n's goal of taking down the overlords of Hell. Their life was different, but they were happy. They found themself wishing for the past, the one they had shared with Alastor, less and less, channeling their energy into the world around them. They didn't even notice when the reports started to come in that the Radio Demon of the overlords had seemingly vanished.

Things hadn't been without their challenges. Charlie's relationship with her dad was strained to say the least and when her mom had disappeared? She'd been absolutely inconsolable but with one another's help, they figured things out, made it through.

When Charlie pitched the idea of the Happy Hotel, Y/n had been doubtful. They knew a lot about Hell, the way it functioned, the way the demons within were. It came from decades running around back streets and surviving in the underworld of the underworld. It was Charlie's hope that did it, her earnest gaze. Y/n had caved and after months of hard work, the Hotel had finally opened.

Things were going well, too well even. Then there had been the interview with Katie Killjoy, the other shoe dropping. Y/n had watched it from the sidelines with Vaggie. As soon as Charlie had come down off the set, they had enveloped her in their arms and held them close. With Vaggie's help, they managed to get Charlie back to the hotel.

Once she had calmed down a little bit, Charlie stood from where she had been seated in the sitting room beside Y/n, Vaggie, and the hotel's one resident: Angel Dust. She mentioned something about calling her mom before disappearing into the lobby.

Y/n and Vaggie exchanged a look. They both knew the situation Charlie was in with regards to her mother and how she tended to get after one of her failed attempts to contact the woman. Neither thought this was the time or the place to step in however, and remained seated, chatting idly with Angel as they waited for Charlie's return.

When she finally did, it was with a nervous attitude and a strained expression.

"Hey Vaggie?"

"What?" Vaggie asked as she and Y/n twisted to look at Charlie who stood in the door way behind the couch.

"Can you come help me please?"

Vaggie got to her feet and exited the sitting room with her girlfriend. Y/n turned to Angel to continue their conversation but had barley gotten a word to the spider demon out when Vaggie stepped back in the room.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?" Y/n replied calmly.

"Charlie actually needs our help with this one, I think."

"Alright then." Y/n got to their feet, shooting a glance back at Angel, "A true hotelier's work is never done." they lightly joked and Angel rolled his eyes.

"What's this about?" Y/n asked Vaggie as they followed her down the hall towards the hotel's main entrance.

"Just..." Vaggie sighed, "you'll see."

Noting the girl's odd behavior and stressed demeanor, Y/n steeled themselves. Not much put Vaggie on edge. She was strong, toughened, as far as Y/n knew, by a brutal upbringing in the streets of Hell. While each use of their powers made the curse grow stronger, they would not hesitate to protect Charlie or her dreams should the need arise. Besides, they'd become quite good at other means of self preservation over the years.

As they rounded the corner into the lobby space, Y/n was greeted by a flash of red as someone pushed past Charlie into the space from the street and a familiar voice.

"Excuse my sudden visit, but I saw your fiasco on the picture show and I just couldn't resist. What a performance! Why I haven't been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929. So many orphans."

Y/n let out a low growl, summoning their lute into their hands and Vaggie pointed her spear at the Radio Demon. It was pure instinct. If they knew anyone, they knew Alastor and redemption was not the Radio Demon's cup of tea. As Charlie shut the door, he turned to face them. Y/n walked a few steps forward, planting their feet a little ways away from Alastor and poising their fingers to play.

"Get out of here." They said through gritted teeth.

Alastor's eyes widened with recognition for the smallest moment. As quick as he had lost it, he regained his composure.

"My what a protective force this Hazbin Hotel has." Alastor mused.

"It's called the Happy Hotel actually?" Charlie hesitantly corrected and he laughed.

"Not anymore its not. I did you the favor of fixing your sign."

A little threat couldn't hurt, a little reminder of who he was dealing with. Alastor had no idea Y/n was any less capable than when he'd first met them. One little note couldn't hurt, wouldn't show any of the damage done. Y/n plucked a single string on their instrument and the room around them began to glow. Everyone's hair lifted around their faces, the loose edges of their clothes beginning to flutter.

"Get out of here now. I wont ask you again."

"Now, is that anyway to treat an old friend?" Alastor replied, smirking.

Everything suddenly clicked into place. There was something different about him. Y/n couldn't put their finger on exactly what it was, but they could tell he hadn't been lying. He'd been at the Hotel for at least five minutes by now, maybe more with all Charlie and Vaggie's running back and forth since his arrival. If he had had any truly negative intentions, they would have revealed themselves, especially to Y/n. Alastor was a good liar, but no one was that good, good enough to trick someone who had watched them become the person they are.

"Old friend?" Vaggie repeated, turning to Y/n in confusion.

Their grimace faltered, before falling completely. They released their instrument, letting it hang loosely in their hand by their side.

"Alastor! You're embarrassing me in front of my kid."

"Your kid?" Alastor asked after a moment.

This time the shocked expression that crept its way onto his face stayed there.

"You know him?" Charlie asked at the same moment as Alastor spoke.

Y/n let their instrument dissolve into the air and gestured to Charlie.

"My kid. And yes, Charlie. I know Alastor."

Alastor turned, looking Charlie up and down.

"You got with Lucifer?" Alastor asked in confusion as he looked back at Y/n.

They laughed lightly at the notion, unable to stop themselves. They shook their head.

"No. Oh my gosh, I would never. Seriously just... great guy and all but no thank you. I just take care of his kid for him. Well, used to. We sorta got attached."

Charlie walked up to Y/n as they spoke, pulling them into a side hug.

"Y/n practically raised me. They were kinda the only one who was always there for me."

Y/n looked down at Charlie with a fond smile. They ruffled her hair and Charlie quickly batted their hand away.

It was clear to Alastor that Y/n had changed. They were no longer the trouble making demon he had known, that he had loved. Still, there was that same spark in their eyes, that fervent desire, that want. From just the small interaction playing out before him, he could tell that Y/n had learned how to trust and protect rather than just fight. They had learned to live hand in hand with that creeping need woven so tightly around their bones, rather than despite it.

It made him happy to see, it made him happy for her. At the same time, it caused his heart to ache terribly. They had finally been able to let someone in, and it hadn't been him.

In the years since their separation, Alastor had never stopped thinking about Y/n. Their memory was tender to the touch, shot sparks of joy or anguish down him depending on the day. It was like an old wound that had never quite healed right. Seeing them now was unexpected. The wound reopened. He sheltered himself.

Y/n saw the way Vaggie still had her spear pointed at Alastor, aimed straight at his neck. Gently, they placed a hand on it, pushing it down. Vaggie looked at them, her eyebrows raised.

"If he wanted to hurt anyone here, he would have done so already."

Vaggie stared at Y/n for a moment. Seeing how serious the demon that had become a mentor to her was in this moment, she lowered her blade. Y/n's hand fell back to their side.

"Now," Y/n turned to look at Alastor once again, "why are you here?"

----

It was late. Vaggie had told Y/n that Charlie wanted to speak to them about something in their office and so, Y/n found themselves outside the familiar door. They knocked once on the dark red wood.

"Yeah?"

They opened the door and Charlie smiled.

"What'd you wanna talk to me about, Sunshine?" Y/n asked as they entered the room, taking a seat in the chair across the desk from their young charge.

"Just about Alastor."

They should have known. Not only was the hotel at a potential risk thanks to the decision to allow him to work with them but Charlie had always had a sharp sense of curiosity. Y/n sighed.

"Fire away, kiddo."

"Well, how do you two know one another? Can we trust him? Do you think he means what he says he does? I thought you hated overlords? I.. I..."

Y/n smiled softly, the change in their face easing Charlie's nervous temper.

"We will handle these one at a time, no prying. Deal?"

"Y/n, you realize how suspicious that makes you sound, right?"

"Fine. A little prying. Deal?"

"Deal."

Y/n leaned back in their chair, letting out a sigh of nostalgia. Their hands rested on their stomach as they kicked their feet up onto Charlie's desk.

"I... I met Alastor practically right after he arrived. We both thought the overlord system was dumb and so, we decided to team up."

There was a moment of silence, broken by Charlie. The young demoness had always loved Y/n's stories, begged to hear them. They had never once heard this one before.

"Is that all?"

Y/n shook their head.

"We dated."

"You dated!" Charlie exclaimed in shock, nearly jumping out of her seat, "You dated the Radio Demon. Were you in love?"

Of course she'd go on and ask that next. Not 'how'd that happen?' not 'when was this?' No, Charlie had to go for the hardest question first, like she always did.

"Yes." Y/n hesitantly replied, "I did."

"I... oh my god. This is actually crazy. You dated? You actually dated. Like for real, in love, dated."

"Alright." Y/n clapped their hands, taking their feet off the desk and righting themselves in their chair, "Next question."

"Bu-"

"I said some prying."

"Fine." Charlie sighed, crossing her arms, "But I am gonna get that story out of you eventually."

"I'm sure you will, sunshine." Y/n chuckled lightly, "Now. Can we trust him? I... I'm not sure."

All the excitement vanished from Charlie as she looked seriously over at Y/n.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Because, he's up to something but not with us. Or, if it is with us, it's not to hurt us. I... something happened to him, something is different. I am not sure what I just... he's not here to hurt us... I think..."

"You think?" Charlie repeated indignantly, "Can you be a little more sure of that maybe? Why only think?"

"It's been a long time since I've seen him, Charls. Maybe being an overlord is what changed him. I have no way of knowing but my gut tells me he's okay, at least for now."

"You knew him before he became an overlord?"

"You really think I would team up with one of those bitches? Come on. You know I hate them."

"I-"

"Next question." Y/n quickly interrupted, not wanting to think on the past anymore than was necessary, "I think he does mean what he says, as was implied in whether or not I trusted him but the same caveats that applied there apply here too. And I do hate overlords, I just..."

"You just love him." Charlie teased.

Y/n's cheeks grew hot. They looked away.

"I do not. I loved him. There is a difference."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Why did you guys break up?"

Y/n turned back to Charlie. They couldn't say no to those eyes.

"Well, he became an overlord. Also I maybe... never told him. About the curse. He could tell something was up and..." Y/n took a breath, "couldn't take it after a while I guess."

"So you guys still loved each other when you broke up."

"What are you scheming over there."

"Nothing! Nothing!" Charlie quickly replied as she not so discreetly scribbled something on a piece of paper, "How long were you together?"

Y/n placed their hands on the arms of the chair, pulling themselves to their feet.

"Alright, trouble maker, I think thats enough lore outta me tonight."

"But Y/n!"

"I'm gonna go to bed. Vaggie already headed upstairs for the night I think. Sweet dreams, princess."

"Good night Y/n." Charlie dejectedly replied as she realized she really wasn't going to be getting anything else out of her mentor that night.

"Good night."

Y/n was about half way through the Hotel back to their room when they felt a hand on their shoulder. Reacting purely out of instinct, they ducked out from under the person's grip, spinning around with their fists raised. Alastor smiled down at Y/n and they sighed.

"What is it?" they asked, straightening up.

He had expected Y/n to be angry, to have that familiar sharp edge behind their voice. Instead, they looked up at him. As if everything was normal, as if it hadn't been thirty years since they'd last seen one another, as if they had just been together yesterday, their eyes met his.

"I... it's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too." they replied after a moment's thought, "What are you doing up this late?"

"You know me, sleep is not my preferred way to pass time."

"I meant what are you doing in the hall, but sure. Yeah, I know you."

"That darling Charlie asked to see me."

Y/n scoffed, shaking their head with a tired smile.

"Of course she'd... yeah."

They stood in the hall facing one another. Just a few feet apart. The silence was thick.

"You seem happy."

"I am." Y/n nodded, "Charlie is a great kid. I was pissed when Lucifer first asked me to look after her, I'll admit it but, she has grown on me."

"I didn't know you were acquainted with the big man. I thought you despised all authority figures."

Y/n looked critically at Alastor, over his whole being. He felt they were looking into his very soul, the heart of all his intentions and desires. He felt absolutely naked in the worst way under their gaze.

"No, just overlords. Especially ones who make deals for the souls of others. It's a stupid and outdated system. Even the best of them like Rosie abuse their power to get what they want."

It was a well sharpened arrow, the remark. Perfectly aimed. Alastor had, after all, introduced the small group inhabiting the hotel to Husk and Nifty just that afternoon. Y/n turned their back to Alastor.

"She has big dreams and the passion to see them through. I believe in her. Don't... don't fuck this up for her, Alastor."

----

Next Part -> Rapture

@moonmark98 @luzzbuzz @snowlotr @randomuser-89 @fakeguysarehot @xdolls-crownx

[eternalwritess]

I may know someone - Platonic!Alastor & tech demon!reader + Vox x tech demon!reader

Summary: Vox decides to confront whoever decided to fuck up with system. Alastor has a proposition for you that he wants you to take...

He couldn't reverse the damage. He knew that by now. He's tried a multitude of things only to get shocked many times. He's even tried screaming at the monitor. Which caused Velvette to scream back at him even louder.

But he had footage he had footage of a demon flicking something causing his computers to work to her liking. It was impressive he would've even offered her a deal. Would've being the key word, they still fucked up his system.

But now he had their face, he could find them. Oh and find them he would.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙

You're not an idiot.

At least you like to consider the fact that you're not. You're powerful, but maybe you should've thought this last one through. After the whole almost getting caught thing Alastor has been visiting you a lot more frequently. A lot more cheerful too.

He's been all up in your space more than usual, and thats saying something. Touching your stuff even though he doesn't even like tech all that much. He only tolerates yours because it just makes old tech better, but not too modern.

He tapped on one of your phones and looked over to you. "Y/n dear, I've been thinking," He hummed his fingers tapping along the glass. "And really you should consider it," He smiled and walked over to you placing a hand on your shoulder.

"Have you ever considered becoming an overlord?"

You scoffed and looked over to him. "Didn't we talk about this last time? Y'know," you flicked of bit of light over to a breaker causing it to crackle before the room lit up. "Before you almost got me killed?"

Alastor laughed and patted your head. "Oh past is past dear. You need to think of the now!"

You couldn't help but scoff. "That's an awfully ironic line coming from you," You looked at his staff and then back to him.

"Well I am thinking of the now, and radio is always better! But enough about that. You should really consider it. Y'know you technically are one already. Don't you own a few souls?" He titled his head with his eyes becoming dials. Slowly. Ticking. Away.

He sat his head to its regular position and smiled.\

"A few I have like one of two, that doesn't count,"

"One or two wouldn't be the word I'd use to describe such my dear," he leaned on your shoulder and grinned. "Besides you got this whole side of the pentagram under your claws," he tapped the desk with an ever growing grin.

"I don't have enough power-"

"Pardon my interruption darling but I do believe that is what you would call... baloney," He grabbed your shoulders and now spun you around to face him. "You should really think about this offer y/n after all I'm just trying to help you get your name up there-"

You stepped back and looked at him. "I don't want my name up there-"

"Once again-, pardon, but I do believe that it would be good. I've even spoken to Rosie about such,"

You paused for a moment before shaking your head. You couldn't do this, why would he want you to become an overlord? "Why?" you asked. "Why do you want this? Is it to show someone up?"

Alastor laughed before giving you a pat. "Oh you know me too well, but no,"

You scoffed. This was a petty rivalry, you could feel it. "Rosie doesn't like it when you lie," You said titling your head towards him. "Is this about that Vox guy?" You asked. You hoped not but knowing him... you didn't want to get invovled.

Alastor sighed keeping the smile. "You know me too well," he said, this time slightly strained.

"Al I can't just show up-"

"Sure you can! Don't worry my dear, Rosie and I will help you every step of the way," He turned around and dusted off his shoulders. "I ought to get going though darling, consider it!" He added as he walked out the door.

You paused sitting down on your chair. You were utterly fucked.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙

Vox groaned looking around. Usually he didn't parade around like such but this was a special case. He just didn't know why it had to be in this part of the pentagram. It was were practically all of the insane people resided in Hell. He watched as demons shouted and as one ate its own hand giggling and laughing.

It was disgusting. He walked around further till he came to a small building that was surprisingly in good shape. He grinned, this was it.

He walked right up to the door watching as the electricity around him responded to his presence, zipping around and disappearing. It was odd to see something reacting to his presence the way the electricity was. He stepped back for a moment as it flickered across his feet and under the door. He sighed looking at the building.

Just. One. Knock.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙

You tapped your feet on the ground before stopping. Consider it, what was there to consider? Truly. You weren't an overlord although in some cases Alastor would be more than happy to call you one. You owned souls, sure, but you didn't even have half the numbers of some of the people on there.

Yet here you were wondering what it all meant. You knew Alastor and you know what he's like. He adores the spotlight almost as much as he adores radio, having a friend like you up there just because he suggested it would paint the spotlight on you both. You have to admit, he's clever but he's rash in such a thought. The blacklash, it would show that he's powerful yes, but at what cost?

But he's thought this through, he doesn't make rash decisions, he wants to show Vox up, and he needs a statement. The fight with the angels show'd him losing, if anyone saw that he would need to show that he was still in power. Since he needs to do that who better to bring up on his own accord than you?

You were already powerful, you were a tech demon for crying out loud, and you were his friend. You already messed with Vox and his tech. You already showed that you're a force. You'd be the perfect subject to bring up. To show that he wasn't just old news.

You grit your teeth and ran your hand through your hair. If you said no? It wouldn't go well, Alastor already offered you power last time, he could also take away some of your power if he wanted. He could make the place you lived worse, although you doubted he would it. It didn't mean it wasn't exactly off the table.

Rosie wanted you up there too, she's been there for a while, she's been in hell for a while. You taking up this offer could be good, but it could be bad. You just showing up, that would piss people off, put a target on your back. Alastor and Rosie would help you but you doubted that they would care too much if you got into a scuffle with another overlord. Alastor did just prove that and-

Knock.

You paused for a moment looking at the door. Everyone on this side knew that you were closed by now, it was dark out. You were practically out. You stood up. It's probably just a new sinner. Is what you told yourself before sitting back down. Your hand pressing against your forehead in annoyance.

"We're closed," We're was a strong word, there's no one here but you after all. The words came out a little stronger than you would've liked but fuck it, this is hell.

Another knock. You set your hand down and sighed looking at the electricity around you crinkle. "We're closed you deaf or something fucker?" You turned around back to the door and sighed. Whoever this was better leave or else you're gonna take out some anger on them.

The door opened. You grit your teeth and stood up turning around. "Are you deaf-" Your words fell short of your mouth as you stared at the person in front of you. Fuck. You were utterly fucked.

Vox. Vox, the CEO of Voxtech was at your door. The man who you just fucked over with Alastor. This couldn't be a coincidence, or a friendly stop by for that matter.

You stood there for probably half a second before regaining composer. You straightened your back and sighed mentally this time. Alastor taught you three things after all.

Always keep a smile.

You smiled at him and although it was strained you could tell it pissed him off, maybe not the best for you but it did assure that you were in control that being whatever meager control you had over a real overlord.

"Hello, Vox from Voxtech I'm sure you've heard of me!" Vox smiled sticking out his hand for you to shake but you continued to smile and dipped your head instead.

"Y/n," You said in reply.

"Ah, well thats great to know. After all I finally get to put a name to the face I've been seeing all around my building lately," You tried to ignore the hollow tv like sound that came out of his mouth with each word. You. Were. Fucked.

You nodded picking at your nails your eyes glancing down at them. You are not looking him in the eyes. "Yes well I was doing a favor for an old friend of mine-"

"Alastor, correct?" He asked he grabbed your hand and forced you closer causing you to look up at him.

You stepped back and rubbed your hand with a glare painted onto his screen. "Yes, Alastor, we've known each other for a while now. Why? Jealous?" You chuckled and tilted your head feeling everything around you respond to where you were.

Vox rolled his eyes and grabbed your again this time, harsher. "Listen here, I don't know who you think you are but let me remind you something," You felt his hands pierce through your skin when you tried to move back. "You aren't anything," You watched as the blue electricity circled around you.

You looked around the room in half panic careful not to drop your smile although you doubt you were smiling much now, it hurt. Your hand hurt like he was fucking dissecting it.

2. Remind them where they are.

You paused for a moment and looked up laughing. With your other hand you flicked your wrist and smiled at him. The room responded to your without a second of hesitation. The lights flickered and the cables and chords lifted up in response wrapping around Vox's legs and pulling him down.

His hand scratched yours tearing it up badly, but it could be fixed. You needed to deal with this now. Vox hissed attempting to get up and free himself of the thick cables that wrapped around his hands. You rubbed your hand unconsciously and looked at him.

"Listen here," You mocked titling your head. You snapped your fingers and felt the lights burn hotter than before and onto Vox watching him panic over the sudden overload. "You aren't in your fancy studio anymore sweetheart," You felt the energy around your creeping into your skin making yourself bigger and more of a shadow than before.

"You're in my house," You grabbed his collar and bent down pressing him close to you. "Now get out," You demanded.

3. Always make them leave on your accord.

You shoved him back and watched as the cables tossed him out of the door and slammed it shut in his face. It might've hit him actually, well that wasn't your problem anymore now was it.

You groaned sitting down in your chair. Your head head like hell, worse than it actually, funny. You rubbed your head and sighed feeling the dull thump slowly trace itself around your body before fading. The energy around you was gone now. You wondered if Alastor ever felt like this after going 'full demon' or whatever the hell this was called. Then you remembered, of course he wouldn't. He wouldn't need to use all of his power, you on the other hand did.

You muttered a curse under your lips. You were a target now. You had no other choice but to accept Alastor's offer, he might help you. He would. He would help you before but now that you'd be more official partners with him he'd be more than glad to do so.

You slowly felt the world fade around you as you leaned on your desk and groaned.

Everything hurt.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙

Vox scrambled back up to his feet in shock. He felt weak. You took energy from him, how the fuck did you do that? He bared his teeth for a moment before stopping and dusting off his suit. If anyone saw that, he'd never hear the end of it.

You defeated him, you took control. It took a while for him to notice that he was weaker, but he was. He stood outside of your door for a few moments glad that he couldn't speak, he couldn't even think right.

That type of power was breathtaking in a way. He shook his head and walked off not wanting to risk another confrontation, he didn't know if he'd survive another.

Previous <---...--->

Taglist: @animedancer14 @roboticsuccubus83 @fandom-queen37 @belletifeshyl @randomuser-89 @belos-simp69 @callmechito @maliciousmace @montis-posts @yukimy @creampuff-bunny @blue-shark-named-blahaj @twismare @sirenetheblogger @hotvillianapologist @saturnhas82moons

[ellswritings]

Code Breaker 1x12

“No, I’m not letting you leave them here,” Stiles shakes his head, his voice breaking at the thought of leaving them here to die. He couldn’t look Michael in the eye and tell him that he let his daughter bleed out on the lacrosse field.

Peter wiped the blood off the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief, “You don’t have a choice, Stiles. You’re coming with me.”

“Just kill me!” Stiles screams. “I don’t care anymore!”

Peter walks over to the boy, sticking his claws under Stiles’ chin, lifting him up by simply using just the tips of his fingers. “Call your friend. Tell Jackson where they are. That’s all you get.”

Stiles pulls out his phone, his hands shaking as he calls Jackson. The explanation is rushed, leaving the blonde with a plethora of questions Stiles didn’t have time to answer. He feels like his world is falling apart every time his eyes meet Fallon’s form. He can’t even tell if she’s breathing. A few tears finally slip from his eyes, him quickly wiping them so Peter wouldn’t see. He just hopes that Jackson brings Issac or someone to get them both to the hospital.

The only thing Stiles didn’t seem to notice was the way Fallon slowly sits up as soon as he and Peter turn to walk away. Her mind is fogged, nothing making sense to her. There’s a dull sting in her side, she feels like she’s walking through a dream. The world around her seems to be in a purple haze. Every direction she looks is covered by the pretty color. She’s not quite sure if what’s happening is real, or if she died when Peter bit her. Lydia lays still beside her, shallow breaths leaving her body. Fallon tilts her head, feeling the urge to reach out and touch her, but a more primal need fills her. She has somewhere she needs to go. Someone she needs to find.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The woods were a maze of twisting shadows and silvery moonlight, and Fallon stumbled through them, disoriented, her mind fogged with confusion. She could barely remember how she’d gotten here. One moment she’d been at the dance, the next... darkness, followed by pain. Everything after that was a blur.

The only thing that seemed clear, cutting through the haze in her mind, was a single command that pounded with every beat of her heart: Find Derek.

But why? Why was that the only thought running through her mind? Her legs were heavy, her body exhausted, but she couldn’t stop moving. Fallon didn’t know how long she had been running. Maybe hours. Maybe minutes. Time seemed warped out here, twisted by the shadows and the overwhelming sense of urgency that filled her.

Find him.

The thought echoed in her head, like a voice that wasn’t her own, yet completely hers at the same time. She didn’t understand it, but she couldn’t ignore it. The forest pressed in around her, branches clawing at her arms and legs, her footsteps uneven and unsteady over the rough terrain. The cold bit at her skin, but there was a strange heat radiating from inside her, a burning sensation she couldn’t explain.

Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, each inhale sending a sharp pain through her chest. She stumbled over a root, her knee crashing into the earth as she hit the ground. Fallon groaned, clutching her side as she gasped for breath, but the pain didn’t stop her from getting back up.

She couldn’t stop. Not yet.

The moon hung high in the sky, bright and full, casting an eerie glow over the forest. Fallon stared up at it, squinting against the light. There was something about the moon tonight. It felt... powerful. She could feel its pull, like it was connected to her somehow, drawing energy from it. The burning in her veins flared again, and she clenched her fists, trying to fight off the sensation.

She had to keep moving. She had to find him.

Derek.

His name pulsed through her like a drumbeat, and her feet moved forward before she even realized it. Her body felt different, almost like it was working independently of her mind. Her senses were sharper—she could hear every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig underfoot, every breath of wind that swept through the trees.

But there was more than that. She could feel something else—something raw and primal stirring inside her. Something that both terrified and exhilarated her. It was as if her body was changing, becoming something new, something powerful. And it frightened her.

What is happening to me? Fallon wonders, her thoughts barely audible over the sound of her own rapid breathing.

The wind carried no answer, only the distant howl of a wolf in the night. The sound sent a shiver down her spine, her heartbeat quickening in response. She felt exposed out here, vulnerable, yet stronger than she’d ever felt before. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

She pressed on, her feet sinking into the damp earth as she moved deeper into the woods. The trees loomed over her, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching out to grab her. But Fallon barely noticed. Her mind was too clouded, too focused on finding him.

Derek. He was the key to this, wasn’t he? He had to be. Why else would her mind keep returning to him? She needed answers, and Derek was the only one who could give them to her.

But where is he? Why does she need to find him?

The moonlight flickered between the trees, casting strange shadows that danced across the ground as Fallon wandered deeper into the forest. Every step felt heavier than the last, her body aching from the relentless push forward. She wasn’t even sure where she was anymore. The forest seemed endless, and every direction looked the same.

Her pulse was racing, and the burning sensation in her chest only intensified the further she went. Fallon could feel it, that primal energy, bubbling just beneath the surface of her skin. She didn’t know how to stop it. Didn’t know if she could stop it.

The branches whipped at her as she broke through the thicket, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She had to slow down. Just for a moment. She needed to think, to figure out what was happening to her. But every time she tried to focus, her mind clouded again, that same thought overpowering everything else.

Find him.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Stiles stumbles into the hospital, out of breath and a strong feeling of panic in his chest. Nurses, Doctors, and patients all whirl around him, only making his anxieties grow. He just got away from Peter, the older man stealing his Jeep in the process. He got Derek’s location for the man and now his only priority is finding Lydia and Fallon. His only hope now is that they’re still alive for him to find.

He charges forward once he sees Lydia’s room, but is stopped by his father. Noah pushes him back slightly, jabbing his pointer finger into his son's chest. “You know what? It’s good that we’re in a hospital because I’m gonna kill you.”

Stiles stammers emotionally, “I’m– I’m sorry. I lost the keys to my Jeep. I had to run all the way here,” he explains trying to get a glimpse of the strawberry blonde. He hasn’t heard anything about Fallon yet.

“Stiles, I don’t care!” Noah exclaims angrily.

The boy finally sees Lydia in full, the girl completely unconscious, receiving her oxygen through a tube. “Is she gonna be okay?” He asks tiredly.

Noah sighs, looking back at the teenage girl with unsure eyes. “They don’t know…” he answers. “Partially because they don’t know what happened. She lost a lot of blood, but there’s something else going on with her.”

Stiles’ chest tightens, “W-what do you mean?” He asks broken heartedly.

“The doctors say it’s like she’s having an allergic reaction. Her body keeps going into shock.”

Stiles’ face falls as he realizes that means her body could be rejecting the bite. Suddenly a more prominent worry takes over his mind. “W-what about Fallon?” he asks with wide eyes. “Where is she? They told me Lydia was up here, but I didn’t hear anything about Fallon.”

Noah’s face scrunches in confusion. His own heart rate quickening, “What do you mean, ‘what about Fallon?’” He questions his son.

“Wait–” Stiles’ lip quivers. “Did Jackson not bring her in? I told him that Fallon and Lydia were on the lacrosse field,” his breathing quickens when he watches his dad get very worried in a short span of time.

“Stiles, Lydia was the only one Jackson brought in.” Noah reveals.

“No–” Stiles shakes his head, trying to keep his fear at bay. Where could she have gone? She was unconscious. “No. Dad, she was there, okay? She was hurt, bad. Like bleeding out from a wound on her side bad. She’s supposed to be here. Why– why isn’t she here? She couldn’t have just gotten up and walked away!”

Noah’s heart drops, but he calmly presses the button on his radio, “All units, I need an APB out on a missing girl. Brown hair, about 5’5, blue eyes.”

“She was wearing a pink sparkly dress with a slit on the side,” Stiles interjects, trying to give as much detail as possible.

His dad nods, ”Her name is Fallon Donovan. Was last seen wearing a pink dress with glitter embedded in it. She won’t have any ID on her, and according to a witness is injured. Wound to the side.”

Stiles runs a frustrated hand through his buzzed hair, his breathing more ragged than ever. He lost his best friend. His best friend since third freaking grade. He lost her. She could be dead, and it’s all because he let Peter control him.

Peter. Maybe he’s the reason she’s gone. Did he send someone to get her body? Why would he do that when he promised he wouldn’t hurt them? His mind runs at a million miles a minute until his dad pulls him out of the rabbit hole he’s going down.

“Stiles,” he snaps his fingers. “Did you see anything? I mean, do you have any idea who or what attacked them? We could use that to try and narrow down the search.”

Telling his father about Peter would mean revealing the entirety of the supernatural to him. He couldn’t risk putting his father in danger. “No,” he lies, hoping there’s another way to find Fallon. “No, I have no idea.”

“What about Scott?” Noah questions.

“What do you mean? What about him?”

“Did he see anything?” Noah elaborates, practically working with nothing to try and find his own best friend's daughter.

“What do you–” Stiles breathes out, confused. “Is he not here?”

“What are you talking about?” Noah furrows his eyebrows. “I've been calling him on his cell phone. I've gotten no response.”

That’s when Stiles remembers. Scott doesn’t have his phone. Derek does. “Yeah…” he mutters looking down to his feet. “And you’re not gonna get one.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon staggers, her legs nearly giving out beneath her as she pressed her back against a tree, trying to catch her breath. The world around her seemed to spin, the trees blurring into a dizzying swirl of darkness and light.

Her chest ached, and she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, her skin prickling as that strange energy surged through her once again. It was almost too much, like her body was on fire from the inside out. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself.

The urge to give up is present, but she needs him. She needs to know where he is. If he’s okay. If he can help her.

She pushed herself off the tree, her legs trembling as she forced herself to keep moving. There was no time to rest, no time to stop. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep going, but she didn’t have a choice.

Suddenly, she heard it—a growl, low and menacing, echoing through the trees.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she froze, her eyes darting through the darkness. The sound sent a wave of fear through her, but there was something else, too. A strange sense of familiarity. The growl wasn’t just any growl.

It was Derek.

Without thinking, Fallon took off in the direction of the sound, her legs moving on instinct alone. Her mind was too foggy to fully process what was happening, but she knew she had to reach him. She had to find him.

Branches snapped beneath her feet as she raced through the forest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Fallon’s heart pounds loudly. She was getting closer. She could feel it.

The ground seemed to slope downward, and Fallon stumbled, her body careening forward as she slid down the incline. She hit the ground hard, her knees scraping against the dirt, but she barely registered the pain. She pushed herself back up, her pulse racing as she darted forward again.

The growl came once more, a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine, but it was closer now. Much closer. Fallon’s heart raced as she pushed herself harder, her legs burning as she sprinted through the trees.

The moonlight flickered overhead, casting strange shadows that seemed to dance around her. But Fallon didn’t care. All she could think about was Derek, and the primal, animalistic sound of his growl pulling her forward.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the growl stopped.

Fallon skidded to a halt, her breath catching in her throat as she stood in the middle of a small clearing. The forest was eerily silent now, the wind barely rustling the leaves overhead. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she scanned the area, her eyes wide with confusion.

“Derek?” Fallon’s voice was shaky, her body trembling from both fear and exhaustion.

But there was no response.

The silence was deafening, and Fallon’s heart sank as she realized she was alone again. She hadn’t found him. Not yet. But she was close. She had to be.

Her legs felt like they were made of lead as she took a few hesitant steps forward, her chest heaving with each breath. The burning sensation in her veins has intensified, and Fallon could feel her body vibrating with that strange energy. It was overwhelming, like her body was on the verge of breaking apart.

She staggers forward, clutching her chest as she gasps for breath. The moon seemed impossibly bright overhead, its light almost blinding as it bathed the clearing in an otherworldly glow. Fallon squinted against it, her vision blurring as the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

She shakes her head, the purple in her vision becoming more clear as she tries to push through. A low growl emits from her own chest as a newfound energy finds its way into her veins. She sucks in a breath, the pine trees above making her chest pang from the freshness. The air is too crisp to avoid the jabbing in her chest, but she ignores it.

The growl she heard reverberates in her head as she tries to follow the sound. It scares her how her body seems to know exactly where to go just by sound alone. She replays it over and over again until her body halts in front of a familiar structure.

The Hale House.

Her brows furrow, until she gets a rather strong smoky scent of leather and pine. It fills her nose and she closes her eyes. It’s him. He’s here. That’s when she also notices a different scent lingering in the air. It’s familiar to her. Fresh soap, cedar, with a slight hint of eucalyptus. It smells energetic and warm. Much like Scott. He’s here too. He found Derek the same way she did.

She travels through an unnecessary amount of brush and weeds, finding an underground entrance. Her mind is still repeating the same mantra over and over again. The scent gets stronger and pulls her through the winding pathways of the underground looking jail. All of her senses are on overdrive. She can hear, smell, and see things that no normal human should be able to.

“Ready for some more fun?” A dark voice fills her ears. She assumes it’s a hunter. She’s careful not to give away her location, walking on the tips of her toes to remain unnoticed. “To be honest, my knuckles are kind of hurting... So, I brought some help. But, I need to warn ya– I used to play in college.”

She stops when she hears the sound of the bat being caught. Right before she turns a corner, she notices Scott standing in the middle of the hallway, no doubt staring the hunter down. “…I brought a little help too.” Derek reveals.

Scott moves smoothly into the room, eyes glowing yellow as Derek knocks the hunter out. Fallon wonders how neither of them have picked up on her scent, but that’s a question for later. She clutches her side, the bleeding slowing, but still rather prominent.

Chains rattle as she moves further down the way. The brunette stops right before the room Derek’s being held in. She peeks around the corner, watching Derek struggle to pull his other arm out of its restraint.

“Scott, help me with this,” he commands urgently, not wanting to get caught by Kate who is no doubt going to return soon.

“No.”

Fallon fights the primal urge to growl at the defiance. She doesn’t understand why her anger is so high, but what she does understand is that Derek needs help. And if Scott isn’t going to do it, then she will.

“What?” Derek looks at Scott in disbelief.

The younger boy takes a brave step forward, standing up to Derek, “Not until you tell me how to stop Peter.”

Derek tugs at the chain again, “You really wanna talk about this right now?” He asks exasperatedly.

“He’s going after Allison and her family. He’s going to kill them.”

“So what?!” Derek shouts, not exactly caring if the Argents end up dead. Fallon can feel his anger, the bubbling rage that he uses to keep himself human. The purple tint over her eyes makes the room around her look much more menacing, darker than it actually is. She hides in the shadows, creeping carefully against the wall, using the lack of light to her advantage.

“So, tell me how to stop him,” Scott demands calmly.

“You can’t!” Derek reality checks him. “All right?” He once again frustratedly tugs in the chains holding him in place. He angrily looks at Scott, “Now, I don’t know when Kate’s coming back, so just get me out of this right now! Get me out right now!”

“Promise you’ll help me,” Scott persists.

“You want me to risk my life for your girlfriend?” Derek asks furiously, baring his teeth at Scott. “For your stupid little teenage crush that means absolutely nothing? You're not in love, Scott! You're sixteen years old! You're a child!”

“Maybe you're right…” Scott nods, conceding to his point. “But, I know something you don't. Peter said he didn't know what he was doing when he killed your sister, right? He lied.” He pulls out a crumpled up autopsy report from his pocket, holding it up for Derek to read. “Remember this?” There’s a dead deer in the center, a spiral embedded into its side. “This is what brought your sister back to Beacon Hills, right?”

“Where did you get that?” Derek asks breathily.

“My boss told me three months ago, someone came into the clinic asking for a copy of this picture. Do you wanna know who it was?” Scott asks rhetorically, planning on revealing the information without an answer. “Peter's nurse. They brought your sister here so that Peter could kill her and become the Alpha, and that's why you're going to help me.”

Derek’s jaw clenches with anger, his nose flaring as he processes the new information. He balls his locked up hand into a fist, making Scott think he’s still being defiant. The boy turns around with a sigh, “Just say you’ll help me, and I’ll help you unlock your other–”

Fallon takes that as her opportunity, she sneaks up behind Derek, ripping the cuff off of his wrist. Scott stops in his tracks when he hears the metal hitting the ground. He spins around and sees Derek freed, with a very dazed Fallon standing behind him, her eyes flashing purple.

“Fallon?” Scott’s eyes widen. It takes Derek a moment to process that the girl is the one who just released him. He takes in her appearance. Still in her winter formal dress, the right side of it torn and drenched with blood. Her feet are caked with mud and dirt and that’s when he realizes Peter did exactly what he told him not to.

“He bit her,” Derek says angrily.

“Derek…” the girl mumbles, swaying back and forth on her feet. “Found… you,” she barely manages to get that out before collapsing. Derek surges forward, catching the girl in his arms.

He cranes his neck to fully assess the wound, his heart pounding rapidly. His breathing speeds up and his eyes grow worried at the thought of her dying from this. But he slowly calms when he sees that the injury is healing. Her body isn’t rejecting the bite. But she’s still in no condition to be running around in the woods.

“We need to get her out of here,” Derek says. “Now.”

Scott nods his head in agreement, leading the way out of the cellar. They climb uphill and out of the gate and begin trudging through the forest. Fallon’s limp body sways back and forth, Derek cupping the back of her head so she doesn’t accidentally break her neck.

“I don’t understand,” Scott turns to the man. “If he just bit her, how did she know where to find you? I didn’t even think people could adjust that quickly after being bitten.” He says, completely lost as he stares at his best friend with concern.

“I don’t know…” Derek mutters. “But she hasn’t completely adjusted, that’s why she passed out.”

Fallon’s eyes flutter open, but this time they’re her regular color. She groans as the pain in her side returns, no longer just a dull ache. It’s come back with a stinging vengeance. Though the wound is definitely not as bad as it would be if she wasn’t rapidly healing.

She startles when she notices she’s in Derek’s arms. The last thing she remembers was running outside to find Lydia. “Derek…?” She questions, voice groggy. Her head spins and that’s when she notices her best friend, “Scott?”

“Fallon!” Scott exclaims, practically ripping the girl out of Derek’s arms.

She wriggles her way out of Derek’s hold, planting her wobbly feet on the ground. She uses Derek’s shoulder for support. “What the hell happened?” She asks, looking at her own appearance with disgust. “And why am I in the middle of the woods?” That's when she suddenly remembers what Derek did to her a mere few days ago. She slaps his chest roughly, “And where have you been?! You sneak into my room and try to kill me only to disappear for two freaking days!”

“You tried to kill her?” Scott asks angrily.

“I didn’t try to kill her,” Derek rolls his eyes, annoyed. “I gave her a warning, one she clearly didn’t listen to considering the fact she has a whole chunk missing from her side.”

“I didn’t exactly have time to build a relationship with a whole family of hunters,” Fallon replies snidely. “I had about as much time as you were missing.” She looks down at her hip, swallowing thickly as she watches the skin literally mend back together. “So– I–” she sucks in a breath. “Does this mean that I’m…?” She looks at Scott and Derek, both of them sensing the fear in her.

“We don’t know yet,” Scott says comfortingly. “We didn’t see much, but you managed to find Derek on your own. You don’t remember any of it?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “The last thing I remember was going to find Lydia on the lacrosse field. She was looking for Jackson.”

“Well,” Scott sends Derek a worried look. The only thing they do know is that she’s not a normal werewolf. At least not one they know of. Her eyes were purple. “We don’t know for sure, but we do know that you’re something.” He watches as her face falls and tears begin to well up behind her eyes. Of course, being who she is, she tries to hide them. “I’m sorry, Fall.”

She sniffles, waving her hand in the air. “It’s fine,” she mumbles. “I’m fine. Can we please just get out of here?”

Derek has never felt more guilty. He told her he wouldn’t let her get bit. He might’ve threatened her, but that doesn’t mean he actually wanted this to happen. His goal was to protect her, and he did the exact opposite. The very person he’s been helping hurt her. Knowing Peter killed his sister and deliberately went behind Derek’s back to bite Fallon makes the man beyond furious.

Scott helps Fallon climb up the small hill that leads away from the Hale house. All the girl wants to do is sleep for the next twenty years. She’s never felt more exhausted in her life. But apparently, traveling with these two means that request is simply too much to wish for.

“Hey, hold on, hold on, hold on,” Derek stops them, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. He analyzes the woods around them. “Something doesn't feel right.”

Scott slings Fallon’s arm over his shoulder, trying to ease the pain she’s feeling as much as possible. Now that her adrenaline has worn off, she’s going to feel the ache of the bite for the next hour or so. That's what happened to him. “What do you mean?” He asks, both him and Fallon trying to see what’s making him skeptical.

“ I don't know,” Derek exhales. “It’s- it's kind of like it was–”

“No!” Scott interjects loudly. “Don’t say ‘too easy.’ People say ’too easy’ and bad things happen,” Derek rolls his head to the side irritatedly. Scott raises his eyebrows challengingly, “What, do you think finding you was easy? Getting away from Allison's dad? Fallon getting bit by your uncle?! None of this has been easy!” He exclaims.

Derek nods his head with a sigh, realizing he might be being a bit over dramatic. “Fine. You're right.”

Scott throws his head back, “Thank you. Now can we please go–”

Scott is cut off by a loud and high pitched whirring. Fallon’s head snaps into the direction it’s coming from, and she gasps as an arrow lodges itself into Derek’s shoulder. He topples over weakly, the wind being knocked out of him as his energy is still depleted after being tortured for the past two days.

“Derek!” She yells, rushing over to him. Another arrow flies through the air, nailing him in the leg. She drops down next to him, moving quickly to try and remove the arrows. She glances in the direction where Derek once had suspicions of and she sees Allison with a large bow in her hand, Kate standing by her side. She whispers something into her niece's ear.

“Now the flash-bolt.”

Fallon’s eyes widen, “Scott!” She screams. “Cover your eyes!” She surges forward, hiding Derek and her own face with her arms, hoping Scott had enough time to do it for himself.

He didn’t. The arrow fires, hitting the tree next to him. A bright light flashes, momentarily blinding the werewolf as he also falls to the ground. He grunts out in pain, the bright light giving him an instant headache. Derek clenches his teeth as Fallon finally pulls out the arrow in his leg. “I know, I know,” she says. “I’m sorry. But you gotta get up.”

She pulls him to his feet, their combined strength being enough to get both of them up. They pull each other closer to Scott, Derek grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. They stumble and fall as they try to run away. Fallon trips over a branch on the floor in front of the Hale house due to Derek losing his grip on her. All three of them fall to the floor, incapacitated in some way.

“Fallon! Scott! Go!” Derek begs them, hoping that they can find a way to escape. Scott sits there, his vision still not fully focused as Allison comes out of the tree line. Fallon grits her teeth in pain, having fallen on the side that’s still healing. Once Derek sees the hunter coming, he pulls Fallon over to him, blocking her body with his own.

Scott scoots backwards as his girlfriend/ex-girlfriend continues stalking towards him. “Allison, I can explain,” he says in a panic.

“Stop lying,” the girl stops him, not interested in what he has to say. “For once, stop lying,” she hisses.

“I was gonna tell you the truth at the formal. I was gonna tell you everything... because everything that I said, everything that I did–

“Was to protect me,” Allison interrupts rudely. She tilts her head condescendingly as Scott looks up at her with pleading eyes.

“Yes,” the boy confirms.

Tears well up in Allison’s eyes. She shakes her head at his sentiment, “I don’t believe you.”

Kate groans in relief, nonchalantly waltzing over to the scene with a gun in hand. “Thank God,” she huffs tiredly. “Now shoot him before I have to shoot myself.”

Fallon feels Derek tense up when Kate draws near. The newly bitten girl reaches forward, gently placing her hand on Derek’s back to assure him she’s still there. She shuffles around, moving into a more defensive position. Watching Allison betray her friends so easily makes Fallon realize where her loyalties really were this entire time. They were never safe with her. Maybe Peter was right.

Allison looks back at her aunt nervously. She blinks a few times, not comprehending the request. “You… you said we were just gonna catch them.”

“We did that,” Kate nods patronizingly. “Now we’re gonna kill them.” She raises her gun, firing one shot at Derek’s chest, right where Fallon had just pulled out the arrow. Fallon goes to try and attack the woman, but Kate is quick to cock the gun at her. She tilts her head, a menacing smile covering her face. “Too bad you had to go getting involved in things that didn’t concern you,” she pouts fakely. “I actually kind of liked you.” That’s when she pulls the trigger, a bullet whizzing into Fallon’s thigh. She grunts in pain, falling to the floor as blood pools around the wound. She starts applying pressure to it, trying to get the bullet to come to the surface. She remembers Derek saying that it won’t heal unless the bullet is out.

Allison feels the urge to run towards Fallon, but stops when Kate approaches her. “She-she’s innocent,” Allison says with glossy eyes. “She hasn’t done anything. She isn’t a werewolf.”

“Oh honey,” Kate giggles. “Why don’t you look at that big bite mark on her side? I’d beg to differ.” She turns her attention back towards a terrified looking Scott. “Now kill him.” Allison shifts uneasily. Her mouth opens and closes, at a loss for what to do. She can’t just kill the boy she loves. Kate’s face falls, a small groan leaving her lips. “Oh no… I know that look. That’s the ‘you’re gonna have to do it yourself’ look.” She sighs, clicking her tongue, but doesn’t hesitate to hold her gun up, directly aligned with Scott’s head.

Fallon ignores the bullet still lodged in her leg as she tries to crawl towards Scott. However, Derek is able to gain enough strength to pull her back down. He tugs the girl into his chest, preventing her from going anywhere near Kate or Allison. She whispers Scott’s name, calling for him, telling him to run. She wants to protect him, to throw her body in front of his, but Derek’s tight hold stops her. He keeps his arms coiled around her midsection, not giving her any room to escape.

Allison surges forward, “Kate– Kate, what are you doing?!” She tries to stop her aunt, but Kate is quick to shove Allison to the ground.

The older woman tilts her head, “I love those brown eyes…” She cooes before placing her finger methodically on the trigger, but just as she’s about to shoot, someone calls her name.

Chris.

“Kate!” The man’s commanding voice gets all of their attention. His gun is gripped tightly in his hand as he stares down his sister. He takes a step forward, “I know what you did,” he says accusatively. “Put the gun down.”

As the chaos unfolds around them, Fallon lays on the cold ground, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The pain from the gunshot wound radiates through her body, mingling with the strange, pulsing energy coursing under her skin as the transition into a werewolf slowly takes hold. She clutches her thigh, her fingers slick with blood, as Derek pushes himself up beside her, his own pain evident but masked behind his usual stoic expression.

"You need to focus," Derek murmurs, his voice low, barely above a whisper as he presses his hand over her wound, applying gentle pressure. His face is tight with pain, but his gaze never wavered from hers. "You’re healing… but you need to control it."

Fallon clenches her jaw, fighting to keep the overwhelming pain at bay. “It hurts, Derek…” Her voice is strained, barely managing to push the words out as her body trembled. She could hear Kate and Chris arguing in the background, but it felt distant, almost like a blur compared to the searing heat of her wound.

“I know,” Derek replies, his voice still calm, though the urgency in his eyes was clear. "But you’re stronger than this. The moon is giving you strength. Use it."

She nods weakly, squeezing her eyes shut. The energy from the moon seemed to flicker within her, almost like it was waiting for her to take control, but it was slipping through her fingers. Her breaths were shallow, each one sending a sharp pain through her chest.

Derek’s hand moves to her cheek, forcing her to look at him. His face was closer now, his eyes piercing through the fog of pain clouding her mind. “Fallon, breathe. You have to let the pain fuel you, not overwhelm you.”

She opens her eyes, her gaze meeting his, the connection between them grounding her in a way nothing else could. For a moment, the chaos around them fell away, and it was just Derek—steady, strong, a quiet force anchoring her. Fallon took a shaky breath, her fingers curling around his wrist for support. The warmth of his skin against hers was the only thing keeping her tethered to the moment.

“I’m trying,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Derek’s grip tightened, a flicker of something almost gentle in his otherwise stoic expression. "I know you are. You’re going to heal, Fallon. You’re not going anywhere."

The sound of Kate’s voice rang out again, “I did what I was told to do.” It’s a harsh contrast to the moment between them, but Derek didn’t flinch. Fallon, despite the agony she felt, found strength in his words. She took a deep breath, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest next to hers, feeling the energy begin to shift inside her. The pain was still there, but it was duller now, less consuming.

"Stay with me," Derek murmurs, his voice low but firm. "Just a little longer."

Fallon nodded, her hand still holding onto him as the faint glimmer of healing began to take over. She wasn’t sure if she could fight off the transition completely, but with Derek beside her, she knew she wasn’t alone.

“No one asked you to murder innocent people! There were children in that house, ones who were human,” he stares at his sister with nothing but disappointment in his eyes. ”Look what you're doing now! You're holding a gun at a sixteen-year-old boy with no proof he's spilled human blood! We go by the Code– Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.”

“We hunt those who hunt us,” Allison whispers, suddenly regretting all of this evening's choices.

Kate rolls her eyes, moving to try and shoot Scott again, until Chris points his gun directly at her head. “Put the gun down,” he commands firmly. When Kate doesn’t surrender, he pulls the trigger, the bullet barely missing Kate’s face, launching into the tree behind her. “Before I put you down,” his voice is laced with warning.

Kate finally listens, allowing Scott a moment to breathe. Then there’s a small creaking sound that makes everyone tense up as they look to the front door of the burnt down house. Derek is quick to scoot him and Fallon back, both of them getting the sense that the following events are not going to be pretty.

“Allison,” Chris cautiously calls out to his daughter. “Get back.”

The door opens slowly, an eerie tone filling the atmosphere. Chris and Kate’s gun immediately goes to the door. Scott shoots up to his feet, claws out and ready for a fight. Derek and Fallon on the other hand stand up slowly and carefully. Derek’s eyes flash blue, “Stay behind me,” he whispers.

Fallon scoffs, her own eyes flashing back at him in offense. She can’t control them, but it was the perfect moment of retaliation. “No,” she defies him, moving to stand at his side. “I’m helping.”

He growls under his breath, but figures this isn’t the best time to lecture her. He rolls his neck, his Cannes slowly revealing themselves. Fallon gulps, realizing that might be her by the time the next full moon rolls around.

Instead of heeding her father’s warning, Allison gets up and grips her bow tightly. “What is it?” She questions.

“It’s the Alpha,” Scott answers.

One by one, the circle of people are taken down by Peter. Chris goes down first, then Allison, and then Scott. Which leaves Kate being the only one standing. She spins around, trying to catch Peter in a moment of weakness, her gun at the ready. “Come on!” She taunts the powerful man, urging him to try and get her. “Come on!”

For whatever reason, Peter leaves Derek and Fallon untouched. They both watch curiously, waiting for a moment to intervene. But watching Kate squirm wasn’t such a terrible thing. Fallon would probably have cared a bit more if the woman hadn’t just shot here a mere three minutes ago.

As Kate spins around once more, Peter appears in front of her. His hand grabs her wrist, the one holding the gun. She grunts out in pain as he squeezes her arm so tightly that his knuckles turn white. She fires her gun, desperately hoping one of the bullets hits him, but it’s of no use. Every single one of them fly in the air, the casings gracefully falling down to the floor.

Peter hits her hand roughly causing the blonde woman to scream and drop her gun. Her scream is halted by Peter wrapping his hand around her neck. Apparently the Hale’s have a thing for strangulation. She screams in pain as Peter chucks her across the clearing and onto the front porch of the house. She cries out, her back hitting the rotting wood with a loud thud before Peter drags her into the house.

“No!” Allison screams, running into the house in hopes of saving her aunt.

A lot of commotion goes on inside the house. Derek moves to go towards the front door, but once he notices Fallon trying to follow him, he stops. He grabs her by the arms, picking her up and setting her down far behind him. “You’re not coming with me,” he says.

“Yes,” she corrects him. “I am.”

“No,” he mocks her tone. “You’re not. You’re going to stay out here where it’s safe.”

“The second you leave I won’t be safe!” She argues with him. “Just stop being a stubborn ass and let me go with you!”

Derek lets out an annoyed breath, but nonetheless allows the brunette to follow him in. Scott also joins them as they dart inside the house, just in time as Peter starts to advance on Allison. Scott and Derek transform easily, baring their teeth as they get ready to attack Peter. Loud growls escape their lips as Fallon just stands there, struggling to even get her claws to show. They make this look much easier than it actually is.

Scott charges towards Peter, the two of them fighting which gives Derek enough time to help Fallon. “Stop thinking so much!” He yells at her. “It won’t happen if you overthink it.”

“I’m trying, Derek!” She snaps, ducking as a piece of wood flies at her head, courtesy of Scott and Peter. “Not exactly like riding a bike!”

Peter turns his attention towards his nephew after he’s satisfied with throwing Scott around. Derek grunts, “Dig deep!” He advises. “Find something that makes you angry. That makes your pulse rise, and lean into it.”

Peter laughs, punching Derek in the face with no remorse. “She’s not ready. You’re sending her to her death, Derek.”

Scott stands up and lunges at Peter, claws outstretched, but Peter sidesteps effortlessly, sending him crashing into the wall. Fallon watches, heart racing, knowing she needs to help, but her body isn't responding. She’s stuck between human and whatever she is, unable to break free.

“Fallon!” Derek barks at her. “You can do this. Focus on your heart rate. Get angry and use it.”

Fallon squeezes her eyes shut, forcing herself to block out the sound of Peter’s taunts, the chaos around her. She focuses on the rhythmic pounding of her heart, letting it grow louder in her ears. She thinks about the fear she felt for Allison, the anger towards Peter, and the fire in her blood when Derek yelled at her. The tension of the moment surges through her body, sparking something deep inside.

Her pulse quickened, and with it, she felt the shift. Her body responded, bones snapping and realigning as her form began to change. The pain is excruciating, but she embraces it, letting the power of the full moon wash over her. Her senses sharpening, her vision clearing, and suddenly, the wolf inside her is unleashed.

The energy coursing through her feels unstoppable, like she can tear the entire house apart with her bare hands. She locks eyes with Peter, her eyes glowing a bright shade of purple, her lips curling back into a snarl as she steps forward, her claws glinting in the dim light.

Peter’s smirk falters, just for a moment, as he takes in her form. “Interesting,” he muses, “but still inexperienced.”

Fallon charges at him, moving faster than she ever thought possible, her claws slicing through the air. Derek and Scott flank her, working together to keep Peter on the defensive. Fallon’s blows are powerful, each one sending shockwaves through the room, but Peter dodges them with ease, his experience as an Alpha giving him the upper hand.

Scott manages to land a punch to Peter’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. Fallon sees her opening and leaps forward, swiping at his chest with all her strength. Her claws meet flesh, leaving deep gashes across Peter’s torso, but it isn’t enough to bring him down.

Peter roars in fury, his red eyes glowing with rage as he swipes at Fallon, knocking her off her feet. She crashes into the wall with a grunt, the wind knocked out of her. Before she can recover, Peter is on her, his hand wrapping around her throat as he lifts her off the ground.

“You think you can fight me?” Peter growls, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re nothing but a child playing with power you don’t understand.”

Fallon claws at his arm, trying to break free, but his grip is like iron. She gasps for air, her vision blurring as the edges of her consciousness begin to fade.

Suddenly, Derek is there, ramming into Peter and knocking him off balance. Fallon falls to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. Derek stands over her protectively, his own body battered but still standing strong.

Scott joins them, standing beside Derek as the two of them face off against Peter. "Fallon, stay down!" Scott shouts, but Fallon isn’t done yet. She pushes herself to her feet, her body trembling with exhaustion but her determination unwavering.

Peter chuckles darkly, wiping the blood from his mouth. “Is this all you’ve got? Three against one, and you still can’t take me down?”

The three of them run at Peter together, their attacks coordinated, but it still isn’t enough. Peter is faster, stronger, and more experienced. He blocks their blows with ease, countering with vicious strikes that send them sprawling across the room.

Fallon tries to stand again, but her body wouldn’t obey. The shift has taken too much out of her, and her strength is fading fast. She watches as Derek and Scott continue to fight, but they are losing ground.

Peter grabs Scott by the throat, lifting him off the ground just as he had with Fallon. Derek tries to intervene, but Peter swatted him away like he was nothing. “This ends now,” Peter growls, his red eyes glowing with lethal intent.

He throws Scott out of what could’ve been the only window left standing in this house. His body hits the woodsy floor with a loud crash, leaving Derek and Fallon badly beaten on the floorboards inside. Peter jumps out the window, fully transformed as he focuses his full attention on Scott. Fallon groans as she tries to crawl over to Derek who is writhing in pain on the floor. She hears a loud honk from outside and immediately gets a whiff of Stiles’ scent.

“I’ll be back,” she whispers to Derek, placing her palm on his chest. “Don’t move. Let yourself heal,” she instructs him, leaving before he could protest.

Once she exits the house, she jumps backwards as a bottle of liquid flies past her and towards Peter. A Molotov cocktail. She smiles, happy Stiles remembered that little tidbit from the night in the school. Unfortunately, Peter catches the flask with ease.

“Oh, damn…” Stiles says weakly.

Scott’s eyes travel to Allison’s bow and arrow. His golden eyes light up with an idea, “Allison!” He shouts, throwing the weapon over to her. Fallon is quick to jump out of the way as the hunter fires an arrow, hitting the glass dead on. The collision causes the flask to explode, fire encasing Peter’s form.

Everyone watches in complete horror as the man tries to put out the flames on his arm, but it’s no use. Especially when Jackson chucks another flask at him, hitting his other side. His entire body is now on fire. He growls in pain, staggering aimlessly around the front yard of his old home. Fallon would feel bad for the man, he’s about to die the same way he did the first time, but he did try to kill her and her friends countless times. Her empathy can only go so far.

She notices the flaming Alpha about to attack Allison. A low growl reverberates in her throat as she charges at him without much thought. Scott does the same, both of them striking Peter harshly, which sends him spiraling into the trees in the other direction.

Peter shifts back into his human form, his skin completely torched. Scott and Fallon heave heavily where they stand, both of them still stuck in their werewolf form. Or in Fallon’s case, what appears to be a werewolf-like form.

Inappropriately timed, Allison carefully walks over to Scott, kissing him softly. Fallon looks away, not believing after just trying to kill them that Allison has the audacity to do this. Especially in front of her hunter father.

Stiles’ eyes glaze over Fallon’s form. He lets out a relieved sigh, knowing she’s alive and well. But he’s also slightly terrified. She’s a werewolf. At least, he thinks she is. He watches as the brunette closes her eyes, sucking in a deep breath and suddenly she transforms back. Not a trace of werewolf on her. She did that a lot quicker than Scott did.

Fallon twirls in a circle, wondering if Derek ever made his way out of the house. She gets her answer when she hears leaves crunching under someone’s heavy footsteps. Her eyes snap over to Derek who is stalking towards Peter, a clear mission to accomplish.

“Derek?” She calls out softly to him. He doesn’t stop moving. He doesn’t even look back at her. She furrows her eyebrows, “What are you doing?”

He stops over his Uncle’s twitching body, straddling him. The only thing on Derek’s mind is vengeance and power. His claws protrude out where his nails should be and Scott scrambles to his feet. “Wait!” the boy begs Derek, running over to stop him. “You said the cure comes from the one who bit you. Derek, if you do this, I'm dead. Her father, her family–what am I supposed to do?”

Everyone watches tensely. Derek doesn’t even bother turning around, he just keeps his burning gaze on Peter. No one’s sure what his next move will be. Most of them hoping he chooses the path to help Scott.

“You've... already... decided…” Peter says weakly “I can smell it on you...!”

Without even a second's hesitation, Derek raises his hand in the air, claws at the ready. “Wait! No, no! Don’t!” Scott shouts, but it’s too late. Blood flies through the air from Peter’s slashed throat. The man gurgles on his own blood before the red fades from his irises, the power transferring into Derek.

Fallon’s jaw is on the floor. She takes a step back from Derek, a small amount of fear creeping up inside of her. She didn’t think Derek would kill anyone. Even though Peter was a psychotic serial killer, she still never expected Derek to take his life. Let alone for the power of an Alpha. His eyes meet hers, his once blue irises turning into a deep shade of red. One that she isn’t used to.

“I’m the Alpha now.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

“Do we really think this is necessary?” Fallon asks Scott quietly as he unlocks the door to the animal clinic. “I’m really not that curious.”

“You might not be, but the rest of us are,” Scott counters. “And I think Deaton might be able to help give us some answers.”

“How could your boss possibly know what I am? Last time I checked, his specialty was dogs and cats, not were-people,” she says sarcastically.

“He knows a lot more than I do,” Scott tells her with a quickened tone. “Trust me. I think he can help.” He guides her to the back room where Deaton is already waiting. He has a small smile on his face as if he were already expecting them to come in.

"So," Deaton begins, his voice steady, “I hear you’ve had quite the night.”

Fallon offers a tired, sarcastic smirk. “You could say that.”

Scott, still trying to process everything himself, jumps in. “Deaton, you have to help her. She’s different. The way she shifted, the strength—everything’s just... different.”

Deaton’s brow furrows slightly as he looks from Scott to Fallon, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Different how?”

Fallon shifts in her spot, rubbing her hands together anxiously. “I don’t know… It was like I couldn’t control it at first, but then, when I finally did, it was… intense.” She hesitates, searching for the right words. “It felt like the moon was... in me. Not just influencing me but actually... fueling me. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Deaton leans back slightly, a rare hint of intrigue flickering across his normally composed face. “The moon was fueling you?”

Scott nods enthusiastically. “It’s not like how I turn, Deaton. She—she’s different. Like, stronger.” He pauses, “And her eyes are purple!”

Deaton moves toward one of his bookshelves, pulling down a heavy, worn tome. He places it gently on the table, opening it with care as Fallon and Scott lean in, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever knowledge the pages hold.

“I’ve read about something like this before,” Deaton says, flipping through the pages. “But only in legends. The kind of thing passed down through the ages, not meant to be believed, just stories.”

Scott’s eyes widen as he stares at the book. “Legends?”

Deaton stops on a page filled with intricate drawings and old, faded text. “Lunar Sentinels. Guardians of the moon’s power. Werewolves unlike any others, tied directly to the lunar cycle. But not just influenced by it—amplified by it. The moon’s energy flows through them, granting them heightened abilities, strength, and instincts.”

Fallon blinks, trying to absorb the gravity of what Deaton was saying. “So… that’s me? I’m a Lunar Sentinel?”

Deaton nods slowly. “It’s incredibly rare. I’ve never encountered one in my lifetime. I’ve only read about them in texts like this, and even these are more legend than fact. Most werewolves don’t have such a strong connection to the moon, but you... you’re different.”

Scott shakeshis head in disbelief. “Wait, so Fallon’s... like a werewolf, but more powerful?”

“Not necessarily more powerful, but... unique.” Deaton explains. “She’s directly tied to the moon’s energy, which can give her abilities other werewolves don’t have, particularly during certain phases of the moon. But with that power comes unpredictability.”

Fallon’s brows furrow. “Unpredictability?”

Deaton closes the book softly, his gaze meeting hers. “The stronger the connection to the moon, the more volatile it can be. You’ll need to learn control, Fallon, perhaps even more than Scott did. The moon’s phases will affect you differently, and you may find yourself stronger during full moons... and more vulnerable during new moons.”

Scott rubs the back of his neck, still processing. “So, what do we do? How do we help her?”

Deaton smiles faintly. “You’ll need to train, both of you. Fallon will have to learn how to harness this power, how to control it. The strength that comes with being a Lunar Sentinel is a gift, but without control, it could be dangerous.”

Fallon swallows, her heart pounding in her chest. The weight of everything is now suddenly overwhelming. She never asked for this, never wanted it, but now it was hers. The idea of being something so rare, so powerful, scared her as much as it intrigued her.

Scott reaches out and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re not alone in this, Fall. We’ll figure it out together.”

She nods, feeling a surge of gratitude for Scott’s unwavering support. “Thanks, Scott. I... I appreciate it.”

Deaton, ever the calm guide, stands once more. “I’ll look into more information about Lunar Sentinels, but for now, just focus on grounding yourself. The moon may fuel you, but you are in control of your own power.”

As they turn to leave, Scott couldn’t help but glance back at Deaton one last time. “This is crazy. We’re really dealing with something... legendary here, huh?”

Deaton smiles knowingly. “In Beacon Hills, Scott, legends have a way of becoming reality.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Returning home from the animal clinic felt odd to Fallon. She doesn’t know what to do with all this newfound information about herself. She barely even knew what to tell her dad about her disappearing after the formal. Thankfully, Chris Argent gave her and Scott a pretty good alibi, despite the older man pretty much hating Scott.

She collapses onto her bed, her eyes going straight up to the ceiling, “I’m a werewolf…” she mumbles.

“That’s one way to come to terms with it.”

Fallon shoots up in her bed, eyes widening as she sees Derek just casually sitting in her desk chair. He gently closes the book he was reading, his eyes meeting hers with their usual stoic glare. Yet his words have some sort of playfulness to them.

““Jesus, Derek!” she yelps, clutching her chest. “Can’t you knock like a normal person?”

He shrugs, his usual intense stare is locked on her. “I needed to see you,” he explains shortly.

Fallon rolls her eyes, her pulse still racing from the jumpscare. “Well, you scared the crap out of me. One of these days, you're going to actually give me a heart attack.”

Derek’s expression softens ever so slightly, but his eyes hold the weight of everything that had happened. “I wanted to apologize.”

Fallon frowns, crossing her arms. Apologizing isn’t exactly Derek’s thing, so whatever this is, it has to be serious. “Apologize? For what?”

“For killing Peter in front of you,” he says quietly, standing from the chair and taking a step towards her. “And for not being able to stop you from getting bitten.”

The sincerity in his voice hits her like a punch to the gut. Fallon shakes her head, trying to brush it off. “Derek, you don’t have to apologize. Peter was a psycho. I’m not exactly losing any sleep over him being dead.”

Derek’s jaw tightens, and he glances down as if weighing his next words carefully. “Still... I should’ve protected you better.”

Fallon huffs, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “I don’t need protecting, Derek. And, in case you forgot, you were kind of busy getting your ass kicked at the time. I’m not exactly holding it against you.”

Derek looked back up at her, his eyes searching hers. “You’re taking this better than I expected.”

“Being bitten and turned into a werewolf? Oh yeah, piece of cake,” Fallon remarks sarcastically, though the smile on her face told a different story. She rubs the back of her neck, trying to ease the tension. “I mean, it’s a lot to process, sure. But it’s not like I can change what happened. So, I just have to deal with it.”

Derek’s lips twitched slightly, a ghost of a smile. “You’re handling it better than most would.”

“Well, I’ve had good company,” Fallon replies, smirking. “Plus, Deaton gave me some... interesting news today.”

“About what you are?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding, the weight of the information still settling in her mind. “Apparently, I’m not just a regular werewolf. I’m a Lunar Sentinel.”

Derek’s brow furrows, though Fallon can see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “A Lunar Sentinel?”

“Yep, a living myth,” Fallon says with a wry smile. “Deaton said they’re rare. You know, super special. No big deal.” She shrugs with a polite brag.

Derek crosses his arms, leaning against her desk. “He’s right. Lunar Sentinels are rare... almost unheard of.”

Fallon raises an eyebrow, her grin widening. “So, you’re telling me I’m one of a kind?”

Derek’s lips quirk into a faint smile. “Always were.”

Fallon snorts. “Right. Because if there’s anything I needed on top of this whole werewolf drama, it’s a mystical title and the weight of centuries-old legends hanging over my head.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Derek says surely. “You always do.”

“I guess,” Fallon shrugs, a playful glint in her eyes. “But seriously, if I’d known turning into a werewolf would come with this much responsibility, I might’ve considered running a little faster when Peter came at me and Lydia.”

Derek’s expression shifts to something softer, almost amused. “You didn’t run.”

“Yeah, well...” Fallon waves a hand. “Maybe I should’ve.”

Derek shakes his head, stepping closer to her. “You don’t run from anything.”

Fallon glances up at him, her smirk softening into something more genuine. “Neither do you.”

For a moment, they stand in comfortable silence, the tension between them gone, replaced by something else. Something lighter.

“So,” Fallon says, breaking the silence, “are you done lurking in my room, or...?”

Derek smirks. “I don’t lurk.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Fallon teases. “Next time, try knocking. It’s a pretty standard practice among normal humans.”

“I’ll consider it,” Derek replies, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

Fallon can’t help but laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re the one that keeps letting me in,” he shoots back, his eyes flicking over her face before softening again. "But seriously, if you ever need help... with the transition, the shifting, any of it... I'm here."

Fallon nods, her teasing demeanor melting away for a moment. “Thanks, Derek.”

Derek gives her one last lingering look before turning to leave, but Fallon calls after him. “And next time, I better hear a knock!”

Derek’s only response is a faint chuckle as he disappears through the window.

*ೃ༄ tags˚◞♡ ⃗

@iamaslytherin0 @famousrunaway1329 @avengersheart @random-fangirl003 @mysticliars-blog1

[honeyryewhiskey]

She moves through the shadows in a triplicate form, reigning over sorcery, crossroads, and necromancy. An enigmatic force, she is the pulsing heart of the dark, perched perfectly in the balance of good and evil.

As the Winchesters scour myths and lore for answers, they find themselves delving deeper into the labyrinth of her power—a maze that shifts with every step.

Now, with her aloof little familiar bound to Dean’s soul, the brothers are trapped in a game of Hecate's making. Breaking the bond demands a sacrifice neither of them is willing to give—but the bigger challenge might just be surviving the sharp-tongued, frustratingly useful familiar who seems determined to push Dean’s every button.

FALL INTO THE CHAOS

PROLOGUE i. THE THREE HEADED BEAST

Long, long ago—centuries before the Winchesters ever walked the earth—your world was steeped in herbs, potions, and spells. You and your sisters were the village’s love witches, shadowy figures whispered about in the darkest corners of taverns and prayer circles. The desperate and forlorn came to your family’s door—unhappy wives, weeping girls, and lovesick souls—placing their fragile hopes in your hands and trusting you to grant their desires.

Together, you and your sisters became the answer to countless prayers, weaving love and longing into potions that could soothe the ache of lonely hearts. But it was the work done in shadow—the forbidden craft, the manipulation of desires too dark to confess—that stirred ripples in the fabric of your magic and drew the attention of Hecate herself.

The goddess, rarely concerned with the trifles of her mortal followers, took notice of your bloodline. In you, she saw power unbridled and potential unchecked, a spark capable of burning brighter than any mortal flame. But such power demands a price. And when the time came to pay, a sacrifice was made—a choice you never spoke of again.

Condemned to an eternal servitude, you surrendered everything to become what you are now: a shapeshifting spirit, bound to Hecate’s will. For centuries, you have been her tool and her weapon, drawn from the dark recesses of your tomb whenever you proved useful. She wielded you in secret wars, relied on you for whispered truths, and cast you aside when the work was done.

Time has become a blur of fire and shadow, of fleeting moments stolen before being returned to the cold embrace of eternal sleep. You have watched empires rise and crumble, seen humanity claw its way to triumph only to destroy itself again. The horrors of war, the fragile joys of peace, the endless hunger for power—all have left their marks on you.

But through it all, the ache of what was lost remains, an ember that refuses to fade. Bound by a leash you cannot sever, you have lived through centuries without ever truly shaping them.

And now, after untold years of servitude and silence, you awaken again. But this time, it is not Hecate’s call that stirs you—it is the binding of a mortal soul, tethered to yours in ways you cannot yet fathom. Dean Winchester is no king, no god, but his defiance burns brighter than any ruler’s crown. As frustrating as he is, he offers something you’ve long forgotten how to hope for: the chance to carve your own destiny.

j's note 𖤐 no use of y/n, will be using nicknames but keeping physical descriptions to an absolute minimum, aside from what could be applied to a fem!reader.

series warnings!! hunting-esque violence, strong language, canon divergent?, adult themes — 18+, nothing non-consensual will happen, just not my cup of tea. but. reader is bound to dean, souls intertwining and whatnot. makes that relationship a bit taboo in nature. still learning tags, bare with me ppl

[ disclaimer ! this is based on different Hecate myths, but i took a hop, skip and a jump of creative liberty to make it fit into the spn universe and this fic. so. this is not entirely accurate to greek mythology ] 

[grimalkinmessor]

MP100 Characters Ranked on How Likely I Think They Would Be To Use The Death Note:

(because I like combining my hyperfixations ✨)

Mogami. I don't think I have to explain this one.

Ritsu. He is going on a killing spree IMMEDIATELY the boy practically IS Light Yagami, his name is literally spelled with the kanji for justice and he already went on one power-hungry crusade, he is RIPE on the Kira tree og

Dimple. He already has the god complex down, he just has to get on board with the whole killing people thing—considering he's already an evil spirit, it wouldn't take much convincing tbh

Shou. He would cause SO much havoc with it but only for fun. For the meme. For the vine. He kills the Queen of England with it and cackles as he watches the ensuing flood of Megamind memes. He would also threaten his dad into compliance with it because the Death Note isn't Battle Based, it's Instadeath. "Ever go on TV and embarrass me like that again and you're going out by dysentery."

Takenaka. He's not a bad kid, but being telepathic would make him incredibly susceptible to wanting to take bad people out before they did anything wrong. Plus just getting them to shut up. That idiot that keeps having vivid erotic fantasy in the middle of science class has ONE more again before Takenaka would embrace his villain arc whole-heartedly. The only reason he's this far down is because I think he'd hesitate.

Tsubomi. I think she'd kill someone just to see if she could get away with it. Then she'd put it away and only bring it out when certain situations arose that needed a Quick Solution™. That girl knows what needs to be done and she does it—she decisive. Anything like Suzuki happens again and she just drops them dead on live television Lind L. Tailor style and then goes on about her day like nothing happened. All heroes wear pretty hair clips 🙏

Tome. I don't know how to explain this one. Vibes. She feels like she'd be gripped by the powerful urge to kill someone but it would take her a lot to go through with actually writing someone's name down. She'd want to test the Death Note first to see if it worked, so that's one person down, but anyone else would need to have either hurt her or her friends irreversibly, and even then it would probably be a one time thing. She'd use it far less than Tsubomi—two people might actually be her max.

Serizawa. I hc that people with psychic powers can see the Death Note's bad jujus or whatever, so he wouldn't have to test it to know it would work, but I still think he'd use it. If he found it while he was still with Claw, he'd use it because it was easier to kill someone that way than with his psychic powers. Even if it he found it after Claw, it'd be the same reasoning. He's definitely killed people in the past and if someone hurt his friends or his mother he'd very much take the easy out of simply writing down a name rather than going for a fight. He'd still feel really bad about it though, so it'd probably only happen once.

Minori. She uses it to see if it's real, finds that it very much is, and then locks it away in her room. She won't use it, but it'll be a constant thought in her mind. A very real temptation.

Emi. She uses it once out of curiosity to see if it's real, then buries it in the woods where no one will ever find it...but she can go back for it if she ever needs it.

Hanazawa. He's reformed but his temper is still something to behold. He's only this far down the list because he's got that "I could kill you with my powers why would I need a book to do it for me" swag ✨

Shimazaki. Similar to Teru but less reformed. "I would just kill you with my powers why would I need a notebook" two electric boogaloo. Plus he's blind and idk if the Death Note takes braille or morse code.

Toichiro. The ULTIMATE "I'll just kill you with my powers I don't fucking need that thing"

Shinra. He wouldn't use it, but he'd absolutely make the mistake of picking it up and handing it over to someone that WOULD use it (cough rising sun psychic division cOugh)

Onigawara. Talks big shit about using it, but would never. Likes to think he COULD use it though, even though he's too upright for it.

Reigen. Picks it up out of curiosity and gets a laugh out of it, but doesn't test it. He's seen enough shit to be cautious though, so he has Mob look it over and then burns it once Mob confirms it's got bad vibes.

Mob. Sees bad vibes. Doesn't even pick it up. Blasts it into ash and goes home without thinking about it again. Buys milk on the way there.

[dirtyvulture]

Darkest Knight - Part 4

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You meet a pretty woman in a bar...

Word count: 3787

AN: Please enjoy the long-awaited finale!

Click here for Part 3!

Natasha tears after you, light-headed from the sudden change in emotions. She can barely keep up with you down the hall until you suddenly screech to a halt, holding your arm out to block her from going further.

“Y/N–”

“Shh,” you hiss, your hands clenching into fists, the silver, razor-sharp claws bursting out of your knuckles. “Wait here.” You slip silently around the corner and Natasha holds her breath in wait. She hears a man cuss, then the muted blast of a gun, and she cringes when she sees splinters fly from the wall. There’s a few thuds and cut off screams and you suddenly pop back, blood on your hands and the front of your shirt.

“I definitely ruined the professor’s curtains,” you say with a heavy sigh. “Let’s go the other way. Stay close. They’re only here for you.”

Natasha hates being reminded that she is the reason for this chaos and bloodshed, but she knows it’s the truth and you probably didn’t mean to remind her so brashly. She grabs onto the back of your shirt, tailing you closely, her heart beating in her throat. 

“We need to find Storm. Or Jean. Or anyone, really,” you explain, not sure why there hadn’t been a better plan for this inevitable scenario. But you follow your nose, although the air is now muddled with unfamiliar scents. You’re careful to use all your senses to stay on high alert, but it seems like the Red Room agents have learned a thing or two from your past encounters.

A thick white smoke fills the second floor of the mansion and you grope behind you for Natasha’s hand in desperation. You duck into a room.

“Get the windows open,” you tell Natasha. “As wide as you can.”

“Are we going to jump?” she asks fearfully.

“No. But Storm can get a nice breeze in here to push out the smoke.”

Natasha doesn’t question you further but struggles to open the stiff latches of the old windows. You come over to help her, waving plumes of smoke towards the open screens.

“Let’s keep moving.” You make your way through two more rooms uninterrupted. Outside, the sky has taken an ominous gray tone and a powerful wind rips through the trees. “Hey Nat, we should–”

But the moment you turn around and see Natasha being held at gunpoint by a Widow you lose all control. Four male soldiers funnel into the room, blasting lead slugs into your chest and stomach. You don’t even have to unleash your claws as you slump to the ground with a loud thump, your arms accidentally pinning underneath you. You wheeze raggedly, your body pounding in agony. 

“Y/N!” Natasha screams as the Widow drags her out of the room.

Blood leaks out of your mouth as you try to push yourself up, but your body is too weak to cooperate. The three soldiers run up to you, punching and kicking every inch of you they can reach. You curl into a ball as best as you can, humiliated by your inability to fight back. And you’ve lost Natasha. 

“This is for Antonov!” one of the soldiers shouts as he stomps on your head, leaving an imprint of his boot on your cheek. Pain rattles in your head and you can’t even breathe, trying to wait for a break, but they don’t let up.

“You’re a fucking mutant, aren’t you?” Someone grabs your hair and wrenches your head back. You spit a spray of blood and saliva in defense and he leaps back, cursing and kicking. You hear a shotgun reload again, squirming on the floor to free your arms. “Stop moving so I can put you down like the animal you are.” 

You’re not sure how well you’ll take another gunshot at this close range, but you’re about to find out. You close your eyes and brace yourself.

Suddenly, you hear four different screams and feel an immense heat singing the back of your neck. You crack your eyes open to see familiar red laser beams sweep across the room, knocking the soldiers into the walls. Scott stands in the doorway, shoving his glasses back on as he surveys the damage.

“Y/N, are you okay?” You feel Jean’s hands on your back as she helps you up.

“Nat,” you groan. “Where’s Nat?” 

“I thought she was with you,” Scott says.

“No,” you grunt. “They took her.” As you stand, the pain in your gut is more obvious than ever and you almost crumple back to the ground, but Scott comes forward to steady you. 

“We’ll find her,” he says, and despite the differences the two of you have always had, you know you can count on him.

“Go find her,” you say, clutching at your stomach as you feel one of the slugs trying to push its way out of your body. “I’ll catch up.”

“We’re not going to leave you, Y/N,” Jean says.

As frustrating as it is that your teammates won’t leave you, you know they’re coming from a good place. “Okay,” you resign, taking your first unsteady step. “Let’s go.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha feels totally helpless as the Widow drags her away from you. Out in the hall, a group of them swarm her, handcuffing her hands behind her back and forcing her to walk with a hunch, facing the floor as if she doesn’t already know the surroundings. The Widows form a diamond around her, like they would a prisoner, and she wants to laugh at the irony.

“I know none of you have any control over what you’re doing, but please don’t do this–” she starts.

“Shut up, traitor,” a Widow says in Russian, thumping Natasha hard on the back of her head. “Dreykov is waiting at home to kill you himself.”

“After he has some fun with her first,” another one adds and a chuckle spreads through the group as dread turns Natasha’s stomach into knots. 

They force her down a staircase, kicking open a door and dragging her outside. The weather is violent, a complete 180 from how it had been when they had just been watching the students take off in vans. Natasha had been curious how exactly Ororo’s powers worked, but it was obvious they were in full effect now. The wind picked up in great gusts that had the Widows ducking down to their knees, unable to stand at full height without being bowled over. Natasha dropped to her stomach, curling up as the wind spun around them.

“Hey, she’s one of ours!” She hears a man with a Russian accent boom. Fearing a fight will break out between the Widows and the Wolf Spiders, she hunkers into a tight ball and hopes they don’t try tearing her in half. But then she hears the Widows scream and scatter, and peeks up to see Peter, the enormous man she had met previously, his entire body covered in a coating of metal, effortlessly picking up the Widows and throwing them far out into the driveway. Kitty is here too and Natasha swears she’s seeing things when she blinks and Kitty dives through a Widow, turning around and slamming the confused spy onto the ground.

There’s another young man here that Natasha doesn’t immediately recognize. He drops to his knees and splays his hand on the ground, shooting out crackling beams of ice that encase the soldiers’ and stop them in their tracks. 

“We got you, Nat!” Marie is suddenly by Natasha’s side and helps her up. A Widow staggers towards them, but Marie strips off her glove with her teeth and grabs onto the Widow’s exposed hand with her own. The Widow freezes and gasps, tensing up like a board and flopping back onto the ground. “Bobby, over here!”

The boy who could make ice appear out of thin air jogs over and Natasha guesses this must be Marie’s boyfriend. He shadows her and Marie protectively, freezing any of the soldiers that get too close to them.

“Thank you, thank you,” Natasha says, impressed and a little shocked by the powers of these teenagers. Marie and Bobby lead her back into the mansion while Peter and Kitty handle the rest of the Widows. “Have you seen Y/N?” she asks Marie, panic filling her when she thinks about the last time she saw you.

Marie shakes her head. “Don’t worry about Y/N. She’ll be fine. Besides, she told us that we were supposed to protect you at all costs.”

Natasha wants to cry when she hears this. She can’t think of anything she’s done in her life to deserve someone like you. 

Peter and Kitty rush back into the mansion and shut the door. 

“Nat, turn around,” Kitty instructs and Natasha obeys with some confusion. She feels Kitty wrap her hands around the handcuffs and push down; suddenly there is a clatter and Natasha feels her wrists completely freed.

“How did you–”

Kitty waves her off. “All part of being a superhero,”  she says with a wink. 

“We have to move. They’ll find another way in,” Peter says, moving large pieces of furniture in front of the doors.

“Well, they did just get their asses handed to them by a bunch of teenagers, so maybe that’ll make them think twice–” Kitty says.

“We can’t hold them off forever, so what do we do now?” Bobby asks.

“You’ve all done enough.” Everyone whips around to see Professor Xavier roll into the hall, closely accompanied by Ororo. “I see the Danger Room training has been of great use,” Professor Xavier notes. “Excellent job, everyone.”

There is a loud crash from the top of the staircase. Natasha’s heart leaps when she sees you again at the top, although Jean’s arm is around your waist to help you down the steps and a feral pulse of jealousy shoots through her. Natasha runs over and takes the stairs two at a time to push Jean out of the way and take her place next to you.

“I’m fine, Nat, I’m fine,” you insist as she surveys you for any injuries. While you’ve mostly recovered, you are secretly enjoying the doting, even though it’s not really the time for it. You let Natasha help you to the bottom of the stairs, feeling Jean’s cold gaze on your backs but for once relishing in her jealousy. 

“Maybe I should just give myself up,” Natasha says suddenly, her fingers tightening in your side.

“No!” you respond. “Absolutely not.” You would fight the Red Room agents until your entire body gave out if you had to. 

“No one is going anywhere,” Professor Xavier says, and you relax a little when he takes control. 

“But Professor–” Scott starts, and you’re going to smack him upside the head if he suggests that Natasha sacrifice herself. 

“One moment. No one move.”

Natasha presses closer to you and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in anticipation. You can smell the blood, sweat, and fear as the Red Room soldiers traverse through the empty halls in search of your group. They’ll be bursting in any minute. 

“Y/N,” Natasha whimpers and you quiet her by holding her closer to your body.

“Watch,” you tell her just in time as everyone hears the clamor of armed men and women run into the foyer. But they all freeze mid-movement, guns raised but trigger fingers straight. You can move freely and you leave Natasha to walk up to one, staring down the barrel of his shotgun with a smirk. “Not so cocky now, are we?” you say, even though you know he can’t hear you. Purely out of spite, you release your claws and slash his gun in half.

“Y/N!” Scott admonishes.

“Sorry, it slipped,” you respond.

Professor Xavier’s eyes are screwed shut, his concentration deep as he holds all the Red Room soldiers still. “You will return where you came from,” he says. “You will tell your leader that Natasha Romanoff was not here. You will look elsewhere and you will forget everything you saw here today.”

Natasha feels like she’s in a trance herself as she listens to the professor’s calm voice wash over her. She sees the glazed looks in the Wolf Spiders’ and Widows’ eyes. What kind of power does the professor have to control them like this? She shudders at the thought of what he could do if he wasn’t on their side.

“Now go.” With Professor Xavier’s final words, the Red Room soldiers snap out of their stupor. 

The soldier holding half a gun stares at it in pure shock, then looks back at your face.

“You heard the man,” you snap and he drops the remainder of his gun, spinning around, frantically searching for an exit. There is a stampede as they funnel out the windows and front door that Peter has wrenched open once more. All of you wait until the last Widow darts across the driveway, retreating to their armored tanks and peeling away.

“Couldn’t have done that from the beginning, Professor?” you comment as all of you crowd in the double doorways to watch them flee. The sky brightens back up courtesy of Storm, the sudden winds and darkness earlier drifting away.

“You were all getting a little too comfortable around here,” Professor Xavier teases. “Now Marie, if you’d be so kind as to get the cleaning supplies from under the kitchen sink, I think Y/N has some curtains to clean–”

“Oh hell,” you mutter, as everyone laughs. 

***********************************************************************

Life at the school quickly returns to normal the following week. Any damage done by the X-Men or the Red Room agents is quickly repaired and the students are none the wiser of the true reason for their impromptu weekend getaway. And once everything is settled and well, you and Natasha can finally pick back up where you had left off.

She has you pinned to the bed, her lips frantic and demanding on yours, as her fingers make quick work of the buttons on your shirt. Your head spins as you’re overwhelmed by her scent and taste, jogging your hips up to show her how desperate you are for her. You’re not usually one to beg, but you absolutely mean it when you say you’ll do anything for Natasha Romanoff.

She yanks open your shirt and flattens her palms on your chest, pushing you down harder into the mattress as she leaves a hot trail of kisses across your face and down your neck. The marks she leaves there heal almost instantly and she grumbles in frustration.

“What’s wrong, Nat?” you ask, squeezing her sides.

“You heal too fast,” she says, her cheeks tinging pink.

“It’s okay. Everyone here knows I’m yours.” You hear her heartbeat pick up when you say this. 

“Mine?” she says.

“All yours, darling.”

Gone is the shy, hesitant demeanor the first time you and her were in bed. Natasha takes the lead with a stunning amount of confidence, removing her own shirt and tossing it somewhere in the corner of your room. You swallow hard when you see her exposed flesh, marred with a few faded scars that you want to trace and kiss. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, so quietly you’re not even sure if you heard correctly or you were imagining it. “You can touch me.”

But you hesitate, reminded of the damage you’ve caused and the lives you’ve taken with your bare hands. Natasha is too pure for you and you’re afraid to ruin her by keeping her in your life. And no matter how much you like her, you don’t know if it’s the right choice to stick around with her.

“Y/N,” Natasha says. “It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” you reply, your hands frozen to where they are on her waist. “Are you sure you want to…be with me?” You hate how nervous you sound, but you’ve never been around someone who’s given you so many butterflies before.

“Of course.” Natasha grabs onto your hands with hers, interlacing your fingers together. “You’re the first person who showed me I was worthy of being comfortable and safe and…loved.” Your heart beats harder. “I only want to be with you because I trust you and I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Nat…” It takes a lot to get you emotional, and now you feel yourself embarrassingly getting choked up. 

“I love you,” she says, her own voice choking. “And I want to show you how much I love you.”

If you had any doubts before, you don’t now. Both of you remove the remainder of your clothing and you moan when Natasha rests her bare center on your abs and rocks back and forth. The heat against your skin is intoxicating, almost as much as the smell, and you’re tempted to ask her to sit on your face until her legs are shaking. 

But Natasha seems to be taking the lead with some other plans, grabbing your hands again and bringing them to her breasts.

“I said it was okay if you touched me,” she reminds you with a wink. 

“O-Okay,” you stammer, can’t remembering the last time you were this flustered in bed with someone. But the moment is so intimate and exciting, you don’t want to be the one to mess it up. Natasha looks down at you and surveys your body in what you can only describe as lust, and you are secretly thrilled you can make her just as happy as she makes you. You roll your fingers over her nipples until they stiffen and she pants at the attention, her arousal heightening. She holds onto your forearms, squeezing them experimentally as if she can feel your claws housed there, then she leans forward and to grasp onto your biceps. 

An added effect of the metal on your bones meant you were carrying around an additional 200 pounds of weight. While your rapid healing prevented you from completely tearing apart each time you moved, it also kept you in peak physical condition, something Natasha seemed very appreciative of right now. 

Natasha grinds harder on your stomach, the stickiness of her center more apparent than ever, and you can’t deny yourself any longer. You let go of her breasts to put your hands firmly on her hips again. 

“Scoot back, babe. I want to feel you,” you say, delighting in her increased heartbeat. With your hands as guidance, Natasha shimmies her body back until her center is almost above yours. You bend her left leg across your stomach so she can sit at a more comfortable angle. The moment she lowers herself and her heat touches yours, you feel like you’re going to melt into the mattress.

“Oh fuck,” Natasha moans, her arms shaking as she braces herself on your abs and thigh.

“Does that feel good?” you ask, pushing her hips in a gentle rocking motion. You wonder if Natasha can feel the way you’re throbbing against her the way she is against you. The stimulation is so incredible, you’re worried you won’t last much longer and then the moment will be over. 

Natasha can only nod as she tries moving her hips faster, but you force her to slow down and savor the moment.

“F-Fuck, Y/N,” she pants, digging her nails harder into your skin.

“Look at me. Hold my hand,” you demand, offering her one of your own and she squeezes it tightly, shifting her eyes to yours with a little bit of nervousness, but mostly trust and love. “It’s okay,” you assure her. “I got you.”

“Thank you,” she whispers back. You roll your hips to match her rhythm, all your thoughts and worries quietly drifting from your head as you focus on your moment with Natasha. You separate your legs a little wider so she can press her center harder against yours, her wetness and yours creating a slick surface for her to ride on, your entire body buzzing with a rush of adrenaline and endorphins. 

“Just like that,” you guide. “That’s my good girl.” Natasha looks so perfect sitting atop of you, riding you with determination to satisfy you. Your clit throbs when Natasha brushes against it and you can tell she’s close from the way her breathing becomes more and more uneven. But you don’t even care about your own release anymore. You just want her to feel good. 

“I…I think I’m gonna–” But Natasha can’t even get the words out as she cums, in too much ecstasy to even vocalize the pleasure you’ve brought her. You keep moving your hips, so turned on by Natasha’s reaction that it sends you to your own peak. The bliss is so overwhelming you go limp on the bed, and when you finally calm down, you find Natasha curled up on your chest, her face tucked into the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around her, almost crushing her against you and she whispers for you to hold her closer.

***********************************************************************

“This is nice,” Natasha says as the two of you stand on the balcony. A strange game of volleyball is going on with one student duplicating himself to play on both sides, and another with an enormous pair of what she can only describe as angel wings, flies high into the air for a deadly spike. 

“Yeah, it is,” you agree, tightening your arms around her waist from behind. 

“I know they aren’t looking for me, per se, but I know this bubble of safety won’t last forever,” she says.

“Nat, I told you, you’ll always be safe with me.”

“I know.” She turns around in your arms to look at you. “That’s why I want you to come with me.” You tilt your head in confusion. “We’re going to find where the Red Room is, and take them down from the inside.”

“No one knows where the Red Room is,” you say, not realizing how dumb it sounds when you remember the kind of people you have on your side. “I mean, I’m sure the professor could pull some strings and…” You pause. “That’s way too dangerous, Nat.”

“Will you come with me?”

You think it’s a silly idea to track and take down an entire organization infamous for producing deadly spies and soldiers. But you know how important this is to Natasha. Maybe you could even talk some of the others into coming for backup, but you know her mind is already set, whether or not you accompany her.

“Of course I will.” You kiss her in confirmation, loving the way she seems to melt in your arms every time you touch her. “Whenever you’re ready.”

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

AN: A happy ending as promised!

I would absolutely love to continue writing this AU, so maybe I'll come by soon with something. Thanks for reading! Please leave likes, comments, and reblogs! 🥰

Update: I wrote a one-shot sequel to this fic, which you can find here. Happy reading!

[the-shifting-long]

Perhaps I'll take some screenshots of Oppo dialogue and flesh my thoughts out on this further later, but for now, get unedited paragraphs of my voice of the opportunist thoughts instead anyways, to me, Opportunist seems like someone who gets genuine joy out of Scheming, and Being Manipulative, even though he demonstrably is pretty bad at it. he's a reflection of a player who enjoys the act of betrayal, or taking advantage of situations-the kind of person like me who saw a funny like [Slay the Princess] prompt unexpected and went "well well well. let's see where this goes." It's an aspect he shares with the Cold-an interest in the Direction of events, and preferably them going Up because of his schemes, moreso than anything else. And, like Cold and Cheated, he is one of the more blatantly meta-voices that reflect a state of mind for a player rather than protagonist or person-I want to see what happens if I do [x], I want to try and "win" the visual novel. He sucks up to authority because, like other manipulative characters who I love and who are a lot better at being manipulative little shits, he's trying to integrate himself with those in-charge just so he can use them, or replace them. This is most obvious in Princess and the Dragon-one moment, he's eagerly talking about killing two birds with one stone, and even as he happily proclaims that you're back and he's not cut out for decision making so you should totally do it instead...he'll stab you and the princess IMMEDIATELY if you find yourself back in her body. Which is part of why I fucking love Princess and the Dragon! When the Opportunist is blatantly attempting to grab power nobody even has, he's a clown, nonthreatening. When he actually has it, and his companions are largely uninterested in stopping him...he recognizes that once you're in the body, you're in control, but that doesn't mean he won't try and prevent you from returning to it as to keep the power he has. Why fixate on power, then? On being at the metaphorical top? It's in part because, like all the voices, it's something of a survival mechanism-we died last time, we won't die if we [x]. We won't die if we actually succeed in outmaneuvering her this time, we won't die if we have more power than she can meaningfully resist. It doesn't work out for Oppy, in part because he generally believes he has more control than he actually does-his attempts at manipulating the situations he's in to His favor are so blatantly obvious and self-serving that it's completely ineffective.

And therein lies the rub with the Opportunist-he genuinely believes himself to be Good at what he does. He genuinely believes he Deserves to be at this Metaphorical Top where he rules everything and nobody can hurt him by tearing him apart with teeth and claws and such anymore. He genuinely believes that none of the people Actually at the top got there through virtues such as hard work, or their intelligence, or strength, but because life is full of shortcuts and they knew it, saw those shortcuts, and took them-and he admires that! His dialogue in Wraith and Princess and the Dragon sell that last point home to me-with the Wraith, he's in love with her drive, her ambition, and her willingness to do whatever it takes moreso than anything else about her, and will gladly submit himself to her since he's fully aware there's no winning. As Wraith says, this is only until he can stab her in the back again-she knows the kind of person he, and by extension, we as a player, are. In Princess and the Dragon, he outright states that everybody worth Something (<- including himself!) doesn't bother with "hard work" so much as the shortcuts! "work smarter, not harder" <- a phrase i so wish he said at some point because it fits him so well. He's also contrasted with the Narrator-the Narrator frequently has dialogue deriding the monarchy, of how seamstresses contribute more value than princesses, praising "Viva la revolucion!" with "that's the spirit!" and just generally reflecting overall leftist political beliefs.

Meanwhile Opportunist is giving lines straight from Linked-In-travelling makes him relatable, he wants a job, he can help with the management, a more capitalist, growth-mindset way of viewing a world that does not even Have politics by virtue of being Two People. And this ties back into the Shortcuts, Being at the Top, and truly, genuinely believing that's where he needs to be, and that he belongs there-the mindset of people who view themselves as temporarily embarrassed millionaires soon to hit the upper class if they just network well enough instead of taking a realistic look at their situation or the bigger picture. The Elon Musks of the world who did not earn their wealth, but reap the rewards again and again. That's the kind of man Opportunist wants to be-the kind who found their way into the upper eschalons of society without having to be anything remarkable at all. He thinks there's a top to get to, in this world that is just the fragmented pieces of You and Her. Meanwhile, there isn't even a constant, or a center.

[skyward-floored]

Volga gets some spotlight for a change (hdw au)

Comes after Volga confronting Cia (and Link on Skyloft, but it’s slightly less necessary to understand this)

...

Volga seeks out and fights the strongest. That is his objective.

He goes where the sorceress tells him, leads monsters into battles as she deems fit. He sees others only as adversaries, evaluating them solely on the threat they pose, the strength they wield.

Nothing else matters.

Only his orders, and strength.

The Hylian army is at their gates, working steadily through the valley, and despite the sorceress increasing Volga’s power, they’re still advancing, calling upon the Great Fairy to aid them. Volga himself is forced to retreat back to Cia’s side, and he stands silently beside her, waiting for her orders.

She’s watching the battle with a look in her eye that grows steadily more enraged, her knuckles whitening on her staff. It isn’t long before she orders him back out, commanding him to find the princess and crush her.

Volga nods, preparing to obey, when the sorceress stops him, a manic look in her eyes.

“This time you will destroy them,” she snarls, and thrusts her hand against his chest.

Power rushes through him, greater than what he had received before, and Volga roars as it fills his veins, turning into a dragon and leaping into the air.

This time he will be the strongest.

Volga glides across the valley, making a beeline towards the army’s leader, the princess’s sword flashing across the battlefield. He lands with a roar, and she quickly turns her attention to him, eyes widening as she leaps out of the way of his first attack.

Volga is merciless, using his weapons of both spear and claws, shooting fire and dive bombing with his dragon form. The princess is annoyingly stubborn though, avoiding nearly all of his attacks, parrying blows and dodging flames.

Some distant part of Volga is impressed.

He snarls as she avoids yet another thrust of his spear, and the princess looks at him, something odd flashing in her gaze.

“Volga! Come to your senses!” she suddenly shouts, parrying an attack. “I know you to fight with honor! What glory is there to be found in using dark magic to win all of your battles?”

“Don’t mock me!” Volga snarls, slamming a clawed hand towards her. How dare she?

“Open your eyes!” Zelda shouts as she dodges, still not giving up. “I believed you to be a proud dragon warrior, not a mercenary for darkness!“

Their weapons clash, and Zelda looks up at Volga without fear, her blue eyes bright.

“Think of your family, Volga. Look past the darkness clouding your vision.”

Volga falters just a hair, a snarl dying in his throat. There is certainly no darkness clouding him, merely the extra power the sorceress provided, but Zelda’s words of family carry a spark of something different. Something... important?

Volga shakes his head, frowning.

...What had she said again?

The spark fades, and Volga roars, hitting her backwards with a clawed hand. The princess is thrown to the ground with a cry, but before Volga can press his attack, there’s a flash of blue and green, and the Hero stands in his way, sword raised.

He has a stricken expression on his face, but Volga barely registers it, roaring again as he goes to face the both of them. The princess regains her footing as the hero slams his shield up to block Volga’s spear, and the three of them resume the fight.

Other monsters join the attack, and the hero’s attention is drawn to keeping them away from his princess, mostly leaving her and Volga to fight alone. Volga draws constantly on the sorceress’s power, and it’s soon obvious the princess begins to flag against his brutal attacks.

She fights on though, tenacious as ever. Soon enough Volga finds their weapons locked again, her eyes fixed on his face.

“Knight Volga, I thought you a protector, a dragon of honor,” she says, voice breathless but earnest. Blood drips across her eye but she doesn’t loosen her grip to wipe it away. “This isn’t who you are, drawing on dark power, fighting in wars for a cause you don’t believe in!”

That persistent spark of something comes back in Volga’s mind, flickering in his thoughts, buzzing in his memory. It makes him falter, just a little.

“Please,” Zelda repeats, still straining against his spear. “For Link’s sake.”

The name rings familiar, and Volga stumbles as a face flickers in his mind, blue eyes shining through the murk. Looking at him in trepidation as information spills from hylian lips, scales glittering in places they have no right to be.

What is this memory?

He can’t recall the events that led to it, or what came after, or even where he was when it occurred. In fact... all he can really recall is the sharp urge to fight the strongest, destroy the enemy, do as the sorceress commands.

Who is the boy with scales on his arms, and hair nearly the same color as his own?

“Volga,” the princess speaks again, less strained now, and Volga belatedly realizes he’s stopped fighting. “Fight past this darkness. I know you are more than what Cia is letting you be.”

Cia.

The name is like a clap of thunder in his head, and suddenly the darkness he’d denied was choking him is all too evident, coursing through him alongside his fire, constricting his thoughts and twisting his actions. Its influence is overwhelming, and Volga clutches a hand over his chest, thoughts whirling as memories rush back.

Cia invading his home and forcing him under her service, ignoring his wishes to be left alone. Using her magic to make him fight, starting a war over lust for his son, putting him on the opposite side of his own kin.

Purposely obscuring the fact that he had a son.

Volga snarls, anger rising as flames drip from his lips. Cia used dark power, foisted upon him without his say, using him as nothing but another pawn in her game and his son—

“No... no!” Volga shouts, gripping at his head with both hands. “I won’t be ruled by darkness!”

He won’t remain Cia’s puppet for another second.

Volga lashes out at the darkness coating him, tearing at Cia’s influence in his chest. He can feel her power fight back the moment he pushes against it, darkness reaching up to claw at his mind, but Volga tears back with claws of his own, refusing to succumb to it again.

He pushes back with his own power, not that of the sorceress, fire clashing with darkness.

A roar builds in his throat as he gains a solid foothold, and he pushes it out, Cia’s dark power leaving him all in a rush.

And he is free.

Weakness follows the loss of power, but even as Volga drops to a knee, he feels more clearheaded, more alive, then he has in weeks.

And it’s overwhelmingly refreshing.

Volga curls his fingers into the dirt as he regains his bearings, clutching his spear as he raises himself up off the ground again. The princess stands a few feet away, watching him with a hopeful look on her face, and Volga huffs, looking away.

...right into the eyes of the hero.

His son.

Volga stares, the boy staring back with an uncertain look on his face. The hero’s gaze is interrupted by a monster slashing at him, and Volga shakes himself, then looks around the battlefield, taking in what he’s missed.

His gaze falls on the princess again, and something burns in his chest, a need to finish what he started. Volga raises his spear in challenge, pointing it at her and the hero.

“This time I will duel you properly. I will win this fight under my own power,” he declares.

He has other business, important business even (Cia will pay, he swears it), but his pride insists he finishes this fight. He wants to show the two of them how he really fights, no dark powers, no false strength.

To finish the fight he began in an honorable manner.

The princess hesitates at his request, exchanging a loaded look with her hero. But he nods, and she nods as well, pointing her sword back.

And they start the fight anew, dragon, princess, and hero.

The fight is invigorating, to say the least. Volga’s very scales seem to buzz with excitement as he battles the two, the old fire coming back to his blood. They’re an incredible team, truly powerful, and fighting them helps immensely with continuing to wake him up, forcing any remnant of Cia’s power from his bones.

They weave in and out in tandem, one of them striking, and then darting out as the other attacks. Despite the remaining weakness from the loss of darkness, Volga matches them blow for blow, his blood singing as he duels the two.

He hasn’t had a fight this challenging in years, and it reminds him of older days, of other duels.

A smile on a tanned face, ruby-red eyes, hair the color of new-fallen snow...

Volga promptly pushes that image aside. He needs to focus on the here and now, and his strength is fading, the hero and princess still pressing their attack.

As much as he hates to admit it, Cia’s actions have left him low on strength, and as enjoyable as this fight is... he’s fading. Rather fast.

And suddenly, he finds himself on his knees, a sword pointing at his neck.

Volga looks at Zelda, then over at his son, both of them breathing hard. An odd feeling of pride runs through him as he looks at the boy, and he almost smiles. Only one other person has ever been able to truly best him in battle, and it’s clear both of them learned from her.

Impa taught them well.

...It was no wonder Cia wanted one dead and the other her captive.

Anger courses through him at the reminder of the sorceress’s treachery, but his energy is spent. Too spent for him to reasonably mount a successful attack on her.

His vengeance will have to wait.

The princess opens her mouth to speak, but Volga beats her to it, closing his eyes as blood runs from a cut over one of them. “I accept my defeat with honor. I lose, but I do so without regrets.”

He exhaled and looks up at the two of them, and his son meets his eyes again, blood and dirt smeared on his face.

Volga gives him a singular nod, then despite his weariness, turns into his dragon form and takes off into the skies. He needs to rest, and recover from his wounds before figuring out what to do next.

And... process the ramifications of having a son.

Impa...

Link and Zelda watch him go in silence, Volga’s wings bright as a comet as he glides away. They’re both breathing heavily from the battle, small injuries bleeding, burns stinging. Zelda is smiling though, and there’s a hesitant sort of hope in Link’s eyes as they watch the dragon grow smaller in the distance.

Zelda squeezes Link’s shoulder as Volga finally disappears from their sight, but they don’t have time to dwell on what just occurred.

Cia still needs to be taken care of. But then...

Link supposes they’ll figure it out.

[fox-guardian]

How do each of the zombies behave in the au? Also the fact that Swansea basically killed himself because of Daisuke getting infected is so sad.

Yeah, swansea and daisuke didn't start out in a good spot either. They discovered both their families dead/infected (the dog is fine, just missing) soooo daisuke was all swansea had left so it uh. Hit a little harder <3

I have some thoughts on zombie behavior. Not many but a few.

The infected are still people with (mostly) functioning brains and their own thoughts and feelings. Most of those feelings are fear, pain, and desperation. All of this combined with the chaos of the world's reaction to the infected and how quickly it spread, means that the infected seem a bit. Erratic.

Pain in various areas leads to "odd" movements and mannerisms, lack of speech leads to "odd" sounds, and the desperation leads them to seek out people who can help a little Too intensely.

The infected tend to end up near other if only out of a deep human desire for connection. Sympathy in their pain. When someone uninfected comes by, they approach. Hissing and wheezing air out as loud as possible, attempting to form words with rotted lips and tongues to little avail.

If someone doesn't help, or actively harms, they get upset. They claw and pull, trying to scream or explain. Maybe rob them of supplies their uncoordinated hands could somehow use. Maybe they approach hoping for a headshot, an end to their pain. If they bite, it's not out of hunger, but rather hate. Maybe some want to share their pain with the uninfected. Bring them down with them.

Specifically for the crew though?

Daisuke wants to get back to the truck. He wants to rejoin the group. Get Anya's help for his injuries, tell them about Jimmy's betrayal. See swansea again. He's badly hurt, but he powers through the pain, finds some rollerskates, and Knows What He Must Do. He doesn't know what's come after, but there's no time to think about that. He needs to catch up to the truck.

Swansea had had the idea of either going out completely because fuck everyone else, or maybe joining Daisuke. He wakes up, busted in the middle of the road, and gets his second wish. The desire becomes revenge as they skate onwards. He hopes he has enough function in his rotting hands to take Daisuke's old bat and bash Jimmy's head in.

Anya rots slowly. It burns within her veins. She can't think much beyond walking and hoping that it all ends soon. Then hope arrives on rollerskates and she gets a second wind. Maybe they can still find a cure. If they can do this, maybe there's still time for them. For Curly. She hopes. And she hopes she can still speak when she sees Jimmy again. She's starting planning a speech, you see.

Curly is mostly at the mercy of the others over the course of the story. He doesn't have much desire beyond the pain stopping, and he trusts that Anya will do her best to keep that pain to a minimum. He doesn't move much, as he doesn't have to, staying mostly bedridden. It isn't until shit hits the fan that a new desire forms. Protect the others. He had led the group before his infection, it was his truck they were in, he had a responsibility, and he'd thrown it away with his infection. It's this that causes him to stubbornly attempt to steal the truck while jimmy is outside. Jimmy is the problem, and if they can get away from him, he and Anya will be safe. It doesn't work. After Jimmy kicks out Anya, his thoughts change. He failed. He couldn't protect them, not really. He starts to wonder if it's the infection talking, making him feel more violent than he ever had in his life. Is this when it takes over? Where he finally becomes a monster? He's slumped in the passenger seat. Jimmy is driving. It would be so easy.

[vixstarria]

The Witching Hour

This fic is an autumn exchange gift for my friend and wonderful writer @tragedybunny ❤

Sera belongs to tragedybunny - check out her works to read more about her. The prompt I used was 'graveyards'

Astarion x named f!Tav

Hurt/comfort, light angst, love, vampire stuff and Astarion talking more about his past. And it's spoooooky.

Astarion and Serafina find themselves at a graveyard once again. What brought them there and why does Astarion refuse to leave?

Approximately 2k words

Read on AO3

“What’s on your mind?” Astarion’s voice broke the quiet of the night, making Serafina blink in surprise - she had, indeed, been lost in thought.

A pointless question, uttered only for the sake of breathing a hint of life into the dead silence that had hung, thick and suffocating, in the air.

The night would have been serene and beautiful, if not for the circumstances which brought them to the graveyard. Fog, illuminated by silver moonlight, drifted and swirled, gently, urged by a gentle breeze. Ordinarily, Serafina would have considered the sight ethereal - but that night, the way it covered the ground reminded her of a funeral shroud.

She didn’t want to answer - any words would only serve to further muddy the waters they had found themselves in, but Astarion looked at her, expectantly, from where he sat on someone’s decrepit tombstone. Perhaps he sought to probe whether she wanted to discuss what she knew was on both of their minds. Perhaps that’s what he wanted. Perhaps, she thought, she should give him the option, this was all her fault after all...

She decided to edge around the proverbial elephant.

“I was thinking about what it must have been like, when you were turned,” she said. “Do you remember much about it..?”

“It’s one of the few things I do remember like it was yesterday,” he said. “I’ve told you about it before.”

“You’ve told me about the pain… But what was it like? What was going through your mind? When did you know what had happened to you? And… all the finer details. I can barely wrap my mind around it.”

“I knew what was going to happen when I lay dying and Cazador approached me with his ‘offer’. He didn’t exactly hide his intentions,” Astarion said, wearily. “…Do you really want to know more about all that..?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You asked what was on my mind. I simply don’t want to make wrongful assumptions.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Ask away.”

“For instance… Were you buried in a coffin?”

“Of course I was buried in a coffin,” he said, his irritation coming through. “My death was on official record, did you think they would just toss my body into a hole in the ground?”

“How did you get out..?”

Such a simple question, with such a simple answer, yet she often found herself fixated on the image of Astarion, her Astarion, digging and crawling through six feet of dirt, and her mind refused to comprehend and accept that notion.

“I punched through it,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes, I understand that,” Sera said, “but also… How?! I keep trying to imagine it: the darkness, the claustrophobia, the sheer desperation one must feel… I would never have been able to do it,” she shuddered. “I would have stayed frozen in that casket forever, unless someone dug me out of it.”

“You would have done it too,” Astarion said, softly. “And as to the details…” He paused, perhaps considering whether to go on, before continuing. “There is no darkness, at least not once your body has finished warping. You open your eyes, and you see where you are. That’s the moment you know you are different, irreversibly so.” He paused again, letting Sera consider that thought. “After that, immediately, instincts - new instincts, ones you’ve never had before - kick in and guide you. Your body is still powered with remnants of your own mortal blood then, to give you the strength you need. And so you punch, claw and tear through the coffin. Splinters lodge themselves in your hands, but you pay them no mind. Your nails are torn off in the process and are immediately replaced by claws. Dirt seeps through the cracks and holes you make, until it all collapses. It ends up everywhere. Your eyes, mouth, nose… It’s suffocating. But that’s when you realise that you no longer need to breathe. It’s an alien feeling. You panic, but you continue to claw, thrash and slither like a worm through the dirt, until you’ve reached the surface. And once you’re above ground at last, there he is. Your ‘master’. And that’s when the horrors truly begin.”

Sera hadn’t realised that she had nearly stopped breathing herself, listening to Astarion’s description.

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” she whispered, discovering that her throat had turned dry as parchment.

“Oh don’t look so stricken,” Astarion said with a false cheer. “Waking up to find myself to be a vampire wasn’t all terror and anguish. I don’t recall what it’s like to have a mortal’s senses anymore, but I do remember being astonished, stunned even, by how much my sight, hearing and sense of smell had improved,” he said. “…Alas, many of the things I’ve seen, heard or smelt since then have been less than pleasant, but… beggars, choosers…” he added as an afterthought, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“What about blood?” Sera asked. “Were you repulsed by it, the first time you had to drink it?”

Astarion frowned thoughtfully, rifling through his memories.

“Cazador had actually shown me a small measure of kindness, in that the first blood I sampled was from a rat that was still living. …I had to catch it myself, of course. That’s when I realised how fast I had become.” He released a little bitter laugh at that. “The rat repulsed me, yes, but the blood did not. I simply thought of it as nourishment. One there was never enough of.”

The conversation lulled there, Sera’s thoughts once again latching on to their surroundings and all the implications around them.

“Gods…” she said. “You must loathe being here.”

“What makes you say that..?” Astarion looked up in surprise.

“Your ‘unlife’ began at a graveyard. Two centuries of torment, and it all started at a place like this. How could you not hate it?”

“Darling, when I think of graveyards, the first thing that comes to mind is the image of you bent over, holding on to my gravestone for dear life,” he smirked. “Such a beautiful sight. A wonder the gravestone didn’t end up toppling over…”

Sera blushed, her own mind being flooded by memories of their night together after Cazador’s defeat.

It was so soon after the encounter, and so soon after a failed attempt at intimacy, that she had had half a mind to tell him not to rush, and would have, had she not seen the desire, the need in his eyes.

The rest of the night was a flurry. She remembered wondering how it was that she once again found herself making love to this man on the bare earth. And thinking about the stark difference between their very first time, out in the clearing, which was so, so perfect in every aspect aside from Astarion’s aloofness - something she had only realised and reflected on much later - and the sloppy, needy kisses and erratic thrusts that took place on top of his grave, as well as the sheer love and joy they both felt and expressed there.

Sera raised her eyes to meet Astarion’s gaze. He smiled, warmly.

“That’s what I associate with graveyards. Rebirth. Love. You.” A few heartbeats passed before he continued. “…Your ass with my muddy handprint on it. How did we even find mud that night, it hadn’t rained for weeks…” He snickered and dodged a glove which she threw at him in mock-anger.

Their mirth didn’t last long as they once again fell back into silence soon after.

The moon had shifted lower towards the horizon by the time anyone spoke again.

“Dawn is approaching. It’s been long enough, we should go,” said Sera.

“We can give it a while longer,” Astarion said absentmindedly, continuing to stare at the fresh grave before him.

“How long were you buried before you rose from your grave..?”

“I was probably buried at daytime, and rose that very same night. Likely around midnight.”

“We’ve spent all night here. If anything was to rise from that grave, it would have done so already,” she argued.

“We don’t know that,” Astarion said stubbornly.

Sera sighed and approached him.

“Astarion, my sweet, look at me.” She took his face into her hands and tilted it so he would meet her gaze. “No one will rise from that grave,” she whispered. “You’re a spawn, you don’t have that kind of power. And that’s fine!”

He only scowled and twisted away from her.

“Outside of my instincts, everything I know about being a vampire - I know from Cazador, or from musty tomes that all contradict one another,” he sneered. “And Cazador had every reason to lie, about everything. Did you know, he lied about spawn not being able to turn into mist for centuries, until he finally revealed it to my siblings when he needed them to hunt me down. What else did he lie about? Should I be able to turn into a bat? Should I be able to charm others, turning them into marionettes, crushing their will?” He visibly shuddered at that thought. “Well, I will find this out for myself. Tonight.”

“What will you even do, if you really did end up turning that man into your spawn?” Sera persevered.

“I… I don’t know,” Astarion’s voice faltered, the flame of his anger scuffing out for some moments, before reigniting. “Flay him, stake him, and leave him out for the sun, I suppose. He deserves no less,” he spat.

“No one deserves that,” Sera protested.

“He attacked you, knocked you out, and tried to drag you into an alley. What do you think would have happened to you if I hadn’t been near?!”

Sera flinched. It was true. Her night had been… eventful, although she didn’t remember a chunk of it.

What had been intended as a quick trip to the night markets ended with her suddenly coming to with a splitting headache, her head in Astarion’s lap in an alley. She was going to go to the markets alone. He had told her he was going to stay home, but decided to accompany her at the last minute. Hurrying to catch up, he rounded a corner just in time to witness her being attacked.

“There’s my girl… You’re okay, I knew you would be okay,” he slurred, as though drunk.

He reached to stroke her cheek, and though the gesture was gentle, for a moment it terrified her with its wrongness. It took a few moments before she realised what was awry.

His hand was warm. Fever-hot, almost. She'd only ever felt him be this warm once, before, after he drained an entire adult bear.

“Darling?” he lowered his voice to whisper to her conspiratorially. “Darling, I need you to help me bury a corpse.” He let out a nervous giggle. “For science.”

“Yes, but if only I hadn’t been so careless-”

She was interrupted by Astarion’s incredulous laughter. 

“Only you would blame yourself for getting assaulted…” he said, shaking his head.

Sera sighed again.

“Fine. He deserved punishment. Perhaps even death - if he’s tried to do this to me, he’s likely done it to others. But what you’re talking about… You’re better than that.”

Astarion looked up at her. He said nothing, but the pain in his eyes made her heart clench.

“You’ve said it yourself - you’re so much more than what Cazador made you. Holding on to these… disgusting fantasies. This isn’t you. And nothing will come of this anyway. Can we please just go home..?”

Astarion released a shuddering breath and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice resigned and tinged with exhaustion, as he finally got up from the tombstone on which he had been keeping his vigil. “It’s all wishful thinking. And unhealthy wishful thinking, at that. Let’s get out of here… I’m sorry I dragged you here, I should have just taken you home. I don’t know what I was thinking…”

They walked off into the night, hand in hand, visibly drained but cooing apologies and reassurances to one another.

Behind their backs, something stirred in the night. It could have been a mole or some other vermin or critter, but the soil at the top of the grave shifted with a slow, deliberate movement. Whatever had caused the disturbance retreated back down into the depths of the earth, having tested, or perhaps tasted, the air at the surface. Whether the burrowing creature would emerge again or continue to lurk beneath the surface - only time would tell.

~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed, and thank you for letting me play with Sera, Bunny! ^_^ It was fun getting to write something with her.

AO3