#and the way it hinted the skull was coming back at the same time she got the necklace is perfect

[gilbertscarrot]

finally, finally finished reading the empty grave and now i don't know what to do with myself

[ozzgin]

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

[pen-and-umbra]

The second episode of the Remake, FF7 Rebirth, has proven to be a terrific experience thus far. SE obviously made a few big decisions here and there.

It is seemingly implied now that Jenova wasn't "brain-dead", and it is hinted that Sephiroth was addled during his breakdown.

It all begins with a strategically placed cut, when Sephiroth touches the door bearing the name Jenova and instructs "Cloud" to close the valve. The scene is merely functional for new fans, yet leaves a vacant space that Crisis Core players will quickly fill in with the inferred arrival of Genesis. Smart move that, leaving the interpretation to the player. Whether Genesis exists inside the Remake's continuity or not, the moment reads differently to each fan. Quite frankly, I was half-expecting “Cloud” to come across a banora apple, rolling on the floor, but I suppose that would be telling.

What's remarkable is that they give Sephiroth almost identical symptoms to those that Cloud has in the remake. Glitches and odd headaches superimpose themselves nicely over the original Crisis Core scene. And, as much as I loathe Tyler Hoechlin's acting in the game, he lends a tangible sense of rage to Sephiroth's disparaging remarks about Hojo and his experiments. You can hear the hatred, a touch of pity, and disgust directed at Hojo's work and the creatures he tortured. In Crisis Core, he refers to the test subjects as ���abominations” with the same touch of bitterness.

Back to the point: glitches, pupil dilations, and headaches are visual cues for Jenovaroth's influence or proximity, as shown in the first part of the Remake. However, at this point, Sephiroth is still sane — cracking, but still himself — so the only agent who can exert influence on him is, well, Jenova.

Now, a widely established fan hypothesis maintained that Jenova was brain-dead or comatose. Bodily functions sustained, but brain activity plateaued. Rebirth, however, strangely suggests otherwise.

When "Cloud" returns to Sephiroth in the manor's basement for the second time, Sephiroth recites an excerpt from a journal purportedly written by Professor Gast: 

“The specimen, found in a strata dating back two thousand years, smiled with what could only be described as 'ethereal grace'… Though the truth eluded me at first, I later determined that she was an Ancient - or a 'steward of the planet', as they are referred to in legend”. 

Remembering the battles with Jenova Dreamweaver and Jenova Emergent, the creature is far from "graceful" or "ethereal". There is nothing graceful about her figure in the tube either, and she is not smiling. The game goes out of its way to lampshade the glaring contradiction by showing the flashes of Jenova’s fanged skull and grotesque body as Sephiroth quotes the passage. So how could Gast perceive her as such?.. The answer is most likely found in Jenova Dreamweaver's description given in Ultimania: the entity has the ability to induce hallucinations in individuals who come into proximity with it, which is further corroborated by Jenova Emergent description.

An ancient lifeform that Shinra Company has kept under strict confidentiality. Those who come into contact can have their conscience interfered as well as see illusions. Professor Hojo has dedicated half of his life to researching Jenova, and within the Shinra Company building's top floors lies a secret research center called the "Dome," where Jenova's cells are injected into lifeforms or machinery to conduct experiments. (Ultimania)

Gast even writes that “the truth eluded him at first”, but LATER he determines the specimen belonged to the race of Ancients, as if that answer was suggested. The implication is chilling: Jenova may have purposefully misled Gast in order to present itself as an Ancient. As Sephiroth later explains in the FF7Rb, Jenova is capable of seeing deep into one's soul and impersonating individuals you fear, love, or hate.

If ShinRA and Gast were determined to unravel the mysteries of Ancients and their Promised Land, it would make sense for Jenova to "scan" Gast and determine the best course of action: disguise itself as an Ancient in order to escape captivity in geological strata jail.

The scene in which Sephiroth reads Gast's notes is possibly the final time he is more or less himself, before Jenova's image intermingles with his for a brief moment. Again, I appreciate Tyler's voice acting in this particular section and the real rage he brought to it. Admittedly, I was concerned that with next-gen visuals, they would take a more gruesome approach, displaying Sephiroth conducting the Nibelheim carnage with sadistic pleasure, but they took a different route. Slow, zombie-like movements, and a glassy expression.

He speared the militiamen as casually as if he were spearing bugs, which is far more frightening from a narrative point. What jumped out was how they emphasized the possessed-like behavior: from snarling and flailing the book like a suffering person to an empty countenance and automaton-like strides, as if he was being beckoned. Which is what "Mother is waiting" implies.

The final segment of the Nibelheim flashback is likely the most essential as well. According to previous developer claims, Sephiroth's will took precedence over Jenova's, and he was in control — whether Jenova was brain-dead or simply of lesser willpower.  However, the Rebirth appears to suggest something different right off the bat. First, "Cloud" shouts, "I believed in you… No… Not you — whoever the hell you are!", highlighting the significant personality change and the resulting lack of recognition. But then "Cloud" sees Jenova's image superimposed over that of Sephiroth in a rapid, glitch-like succession.

In other words, he sees Jenova inhabiting Sephiroth's body as a vehicle to once again escape the confinements. Whatever that means, whether it suggests that Jenova is in control from the start, or whether Sephiroth is literally the greatest functional agglomeration of her cells, and therefore literally “becomes” Jenova. 

If Jenova's original body was severely damaged — either as a result of eons of incarceration or Hojo's tinkering — it stands to reason that, if she wished to carry out her plan, she would need a new body, one capable of moving at the very least. Perhaps Sephiroth, an able-bodied skilled Mako-infused fighter of considerable might, served as a better "vessel" than her original damaged one. 

But the crux of the matter lies elsewhere. The possibility of Jenova being conscious and influencing Gast is very terrifying. With the potential to affect others in close vicinity, she may have influenced the minds of the whole science team behind the Jenova Project, particularly those who had long-term contact with her tissue — Gast and Hojo. It could turn out that the whole idea to revive an “Ancient” was planted by Jenova in order to grow itself a powerful host. In fact, if it could "peer into one's soul," i.e. read minds and memories, it might have easily identified a pressure point to indoctrinate people who could forward her objective. It's one thing to inject tissue samples into an adult body; it's quite another to devise a plan to inject cells into a developing human fetus. Who knows. Perhaps Hojo is such an obsessed Jenova nutcase in large part because he fell under its spell; feelings of inadequacy and being overshadowed by his colleague may have offered a crack in his defenses.

One that Jenova easily took advantage of. After all, as Dirge of Cerberus implies, Hojo ended up implanting himself with alien organic material.

Again, Jenova's power to extract information from an individual when in proximity supports a bleak reading of the events leading up to Nibelheim's ransacking. A person who kept on carrying a photograph of his supposedly late mother and badgered others about his background, as suggested by Ever Crisis episodes, was literally wearing his weakness on a sleeve.

Perhaps the 30-something years of the Jenova Project were supposed to bring Sephiroth there.

Perhaps the chain of events had been nudged in that direction, starting from the very discovery of a derelict non-human lifeform. Nudged by an intelligence both cunning and incomprehensible. And that makes Jenova a much, much scarier presence in the remake than it was ever suggested in OG.

[robinbuckleyluvr]

⊹˚˖⁺ check you out - robin buckley

masterlist | requests

Summary: goodness! imagine robin buckley accidentally says she was checking you out...

Warnings: she/her pronouns used on reader

Notes: this was lowkey hilarious to write

Word count: 698

⸻⊱༺ 

The door opened, the familiar bell signaling the entrance of yet another customer. Robin barely had a second to look up and catch herself from dropping the VHS tapes she carried as she watched a girl come in. Steve was just as dazzled as Robin, he stumbled out his usual “Welcome to Family Video!” line, and Robin just… stared.

Robin and Steve made eye contact, both exclaiming “Dibs!” at the exact same time. 

“She looks like she would be into more intelligent conversation anyway,” Robin raised her eyebrows.

“Uh, rude?” Steve joked, making his way over to the girl before Robin could even respond, “Guess we’ll just have to find out.”

Robin sighed and crossed her arms, scouring her mind to think of an excuse to replace hush Steve away from the girl.

“Hey, uh, need any help around here? What are we browsing for today?” Steve flirted as he approached her.

“Just looking, I don’t have anything in mind,” she responded, a lack of interest filled her words, but it was a hint a guy such as Steve wouldn’t really get.

Robin, clearly amused, watched Steve’s desperate commentary, her mind running faster than ever. Okay, Robin, think! He is totally dumb and will fall for anything. You just have to come up with something that he will actually believe.

“Steve!” Robin exclaimed, “Can you please come help me? The computer is totally jammed again!” 

Steve sighed at Robin’s words as he muttered an apology to the girl, who didn’t really seem to mind as she kept on looking around. 

Robin stepped back as Steve approached the computer, and before he knew it, Robin had approached the girl already. Steve sighed and rolled his eyes as he realized the computer was working perfectly, watching Robin hurry away to speak to the girl instead.

“Hey! Hi, do you need any help?” Robin smiled nervously.

The girl offered a kind smile, “Thanks! I’m just unsure of what to get. Just looking for something to watch over the weekend I suppose.”

“Cool cool cool,” Robin breathed out, “Well, are you a rom-com kind of girl? Or do you like sci-fi movies and stuff?”

“Oh gosh…” She laughed, “Not a rom-com girl I don’t think… I avoid watching them alone. It's saddening, I prefer sci-fi for sure. I love horror, does that help?”

“Understandable! I’m the same,” Robin smiled, “But uh… sci-fi and horror! I can work with that.” She spoke shyly as she scanned the ‘horror’ shelf that stood behind the girl. 

The girl stood there quietly next to Robin as she looked around, Steve stood watching them from afar, having his eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he noticed the girl checked Robin out — something Robin, of course, had completely missed. 

“How about…” Robin spoke as she reached over to grab one of the VHS tapes, “‘The Shining’! A total classic. It’s one of my all-time favorite movies. Have you seen it before?”

“Are you joking? I love that movie. Wouldn’t mind re-watching it, I think.”

Robin’s face lit up as the girl accepted her request. “Alright! You’re all set then! I’ll just get you checked out.” Robin paused, flustered, “I mean, I’ll check you out—Not check you out like that, uh, check out your movie! Not that I wouldn’t, you know, check you out. I mean, wait, that’s not, I mean, get your movie checked. You checked. For the movie that you’re renting! Which… yeah — pay there?” She motioned to the counter and walked off, her voice increasingly getting higher with each word.

As she followed Robin to the counter, the girl shook her head slightly, a shy smile forming as she did so. 

[spookwyrdie]

Divine Flesh

{part 1} {part 2} {part 3}

Priest Jeongin x Demon Fem Reader

summary: After a particularly vivid dream about you, our priest is faced with another test to his pious devotion. But in the dark forest, what if the temptation is too great? /// word count: 3.4k /// genre: smut, angst /// warnings: priest kink, sexual themes, hierophilia, corruption kink, shame and guilt, straight up blasphemy, demons, knifeplay, bondage /// a/n: Still not catholic, still into priests. And guilt. And shame. And demons? if you'd like to be added to the taglist, reply to this post or send me a DM!

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

Come to me.

His feet move through the mists, though it feels like he’s floating. A voice beckons from somewhere in the darkness.

Come to me.

A dim pink orb illuminates, floating about a foot away from where he is. It’s so lovely, he can’t help but follow. This little light will show him the way to whatever calls out for him.

Through the trees .

The voice is stronger now, a hint of desperation tinting it. Is something wrong with the voice? His feet move faster now, thick clouds billowing up from the forest ground. The little pink orb zooms forward as if urging him to pick up the pace.

Jeongin, please!

The trees are thicker here, he nearly stumbles on some of the tangled roots. He has to get to that voice. Something is wrong. He has to help. 

He approaches a clearing in the woods, a stone slab in the middle, raised up on a platform. There’s a heap lying in the middle, the shape of your body wrapped in some sort of sheer cloth. 

Jeongin -!

The world tilts of its axis, throwing him off balance. The desperation in your voice isn’t one of danger, but one filled with lust.

Your body writhes underneath the shroud, your hands restless as they travel your languid form. As your hands brush over your breasts, your back arches off the slab. Jeongin can barely make out any details, the suggestion of your shape is the only thing he can see. 

He tries to run towards you, to unwrap you, but something yanks on his clergy collar, halting him in place. The little pink orb whizzes past his head, fluttering around your form in a frenzy. Whatever it is that holds his collar so tight restricts his breathing, twinkling stars dance at the edge of his vision. He drops to his knees, engulfed in the thick fog on the forest floor.

“Y/n!” he tries to shout, but no sound comes out. He chokes, the last thing he sees is your hips rolling, up and down, searching for friction. A trio of booms, like a large drum, reverberate in the air.

I need you!

The banging gets louder, sharper as he feels the collar tighten,. Thudding against the inside of his skull as he sinks.

Bang! 

Bang! 

BANG!

He gasps awake, his legs tangled in his sheets. His heart is beating inside his throat, his cock half hard from the strange dream. He hears that same banging, a frantic knocking on his door. 

“Father Yang! We need your help!” a masculine voice calls from the other side.

Jeongin curses as he fumbles for the light next to his bed. Every time he’s gone to sleep, he has dreamt of you. This one was the most vivid yet. He was terrified but he was dying to know what would have happened if he had been able to pull that sheer cloth that draped your body. 

As he gets up, he wraps his body in his sheet, shuffling over to the rapping on his door. He opens it to find the distressed face of Felix, one of the parishioners who likes to volunteer his baking skills for fundraisers, looking back at him with wide eyes. 

“What’s going on? It’s the middle of the night,” Jeongin rasps out, voice gravelly from sleep.

“Father Yang, it’s Y/n. She needs you!” Felix’s eyes are full of a shiny worry, his chest heaving with exertion. 

Jeongin’s heart jumps into his throat as a fresh memory of his dream fills his mind. But he doesn’t have time for those thoughts, you need his help. He’s already moving back into his studio, leaving the door open. Grabbing his everyday work clothes, his black button down, slacks, and his collar, he hastily gets dressed. Buttoning the starched collar at the back of his neck, he turns to Felix. 

“Tell me what happened.”

“She’s been acting strange all week - fainting, lashing out, convulsing. Then she started to talk to things that weren’t really there. We had a doctor come and look at her, but she stopped for a while. He told us it was all in her head. But it started up again a few hours after he left.”

Jeongin stops dead in his tracks. “And you’re sure this isn’t something medical?”

“No, it really seems like something is wrong with her spirit. Please, Father! You will know what to do.” Felix grabs his arm, eyes wide with panic. “When she’s had a few moments of clarity in between, she asks for you! She trusts you.”

Jeongin’s chest twinges uncomfortably at that. You’re in a crisis, and you asked for him. He starts gathering up his belongings - a worn leather bible, his rosary, and a small vial of holy water. He couldn’t imagine what is wrong with you, but he’ll be able to assess once he can get his eyes on you. The lust and panic he felt from his dream has settled further into his bones, a sickly wave of unease cresting over him. 

“Where is she now?”

Felix shifts on his feet, a clear sense of urgency in his demeanor. “When she seemed to calm down, we took her out to the woods for some fresh air. She got worse, so we have her… subdued out there.”

“Take me to her.”

“Thank you Father! Follow me!” Felix practically pulls him out the door towards his truck.

The ride out into the woods is longer than Jeongin expected. It was pitch dark, the truck’s headlights being the only source of light. The trees tangled in on themselves quickly once they left the safety of the small town. The air was thick and damp with more fog and the ride got bumpier as the road changed from asphalt to gravel and dirt. He bounces his leg restlessly, icy dread filling his chest.

He can’t even imagine what you’re feeling right now, but his heart is full of fear. Your sweet face and innocent eyes are all he can think about, hoping that version of you is still there when he arrives. He hasn’t seen you all week, avoiding you after that day he gave you communion. He was avoiding you, even skipping out on his priestly duties for a few days so he couldn’t cross paths with you.

It’s difficult for him to believe that you’re truly possessed, even as a priest. But Felix says you were acting strangely and regardless of what’s causing it, Jeongin wants to help. As he sat in the passenger’s seat of this old, dusty truck, he realized he had no idea where they were. 

“Where exactly are we going?” he says, clutching his bible tighter and worrying his lip between his teeth.

“Where we were having the bonfire, a little camping area.” Felix said, not taking his eyes off the road. 

“A bonfire?”

“Yeah, we thought a little nature would help Y/n.”

“Why were you having a bonfire?”

“End of the harvest.” Felix’s voice is oddly monotonous. It strikes Jeongin as strange, given his earlier agitation. He puts the thought out of his head. People don’t act rationally when they’re distressed. 

The road eventually ends deep in the trees and Felix parks his truck. 

“We have to go on foot from here.” He speaks so evenly now.

“Where are the other cars?”

“Hm? Oh…” Felix says. “We… arrived in my truck.”

Jeongin frowns as he gets out of the vehicle. Whatever is happening is putting him on edge, but he needs to get to you right away. 

“Lead the way,” he gestures.

Felix pulls out a flashlight, illuminating a small path that could easily be missed if you didn’t know what to look for. It was only a few inches wide, surrounded by dead leaves and moss. The eerie, swirling fog swallowed up the path after a few feet.

Jeongin wondered if you were frightened like he is. He could picture the little wrinkle in the middle of your brow. He wanted to sooth that wrinkle. He’s pointedly ignoring the pang of pent up lust he’s been hiding. He could put that aside for one of his flock in a time of need. 

The two men walk in silence, only the sound of their feet crunching along the path. The fog is dense, Jeongin is amazed Felix knows where he’s going at all.

“We’re close,” Felix murmurs. At that, a faint, warm glow is visible up ahead. Jeongin feels his chest tighten. He’s almost there, just hang on a few more minutes. He whispers a small prayer for your safety. 

The warm light grows bigger as they approach, barely splitting through the fog. Is he imagining the pink tint to the light? Maybe that’s just a color he associates with you. Maybe he’s going crazy. 

The trees are so dense in this part of the woods, he almost loses Felix as he zigzags between branches. If it weren’t for his flashlight, Jeongin would be lost.

“We’re here,” Felix calls out. 

Jeongin steps around Felix to see what he’s looking at. A different fear floods Jeongin’s veins in this moment. 

He’s been here before - in his dreams. 

The clearing of trees is in an almost perfect ring. The stone slab in the center is raised up. There are hundreds of candles surrounding the slab, creating that soft, flickering glow. The light they give off is that dusty pink that seems to follow him. The whole clearing is thick with the smell of incense - woody, sweet, with a hint of something more primal that he can’t quite place. 

Jeongin’s heart thrums in his rib cage, his collar making him feel claustrophobic. Even though the night air is crisp, he feels his body heating up, sweat beading at his temples. 

“What were you doing out here?” Jeongin turns to Felix.

Felix stares at him, his eyes darkening. 

“Preparing a feast.”

Just then, a pair of strong hands grasp onto Jeongin’s biceps from behind, practically picking him up. He yelps, trying to wiggle out of this iron grip as he’s maneuvered towards the slab.

“You’re so lucky, Father,” a voice murmurs behind him. He cranes his neck to see who holds him so tightly. His eyes met a hooded figure, his face obscured by a wolf mask, the eyes glowing amber in the flickering candle light. 

His back thuds against the stone when he’s dropped in the center, and Felix grabs his wrists. He pulls up a chain and manacle from each side of the rock, closing one around each wrist, shackling him to the stone. Jeongin tries kicking him when he moves down to his ankles, but to no avail. The hooded figure that held him grabs his legs, keeping them still for Felix.

“What is this? Why are you doing this?!” He shouts, pulling against his chains. No luck, the heavy chains are solid with very little give. Jeongin ends up rattling them in frustration, the metal clanking into the quiet night. He’s so exposed, his shirt pulling out of his waistband, riding up to reveal a sliver of his pale, toned stomach. 

“You were requested. She wants to taste you,” the hooded figure says. The voice sounds familiar, but he can’t place it.

Jeongin hears more bodies step out from behind the trees, feet shuffling through the mist. He picks up his head from where he lays supine on the cool stone beneath him. Five more bodies shuffle out of the darkness, all hooded wearing different wooden animal masks - a rabbit, a pig, a dog, a ferret, and… some kind of wallaby? Each of them carries a different item. 

One of them holds matching robes and a different mask, a chicken head. They head over to Felix, who promptly puts on the robe and mask. He falls in line with the rest. 

The other items these figures hold are a pile of folded linen, a bowl of water, an ornate dagger, and a silver ring. The ring is beautifully carved, from what Jeongin can see. It’s a couple of inches in diameter - too large for a finger but too small for a bracelet. These items are placed around Jeongin on the slab, the dagger in particular placed right on his chest, pointing towards his neck.

Jeongin is frozen in fear, eyes darting all around him, trying to find any means for escape. Pulling against his chains once more, he falls back onto the stone. Even if he escaped his chains, he’s not even sure which way they entered the small circle through the trees anymore.

The hooded figures move away from him, standing around the edge of the circle, facing towards the slab. They all stand still as statues, nearly fading into the background. Jeongin is vulnerable, arms and legs stretched out, fully defenseless in this random forest. He feels like he’s going to die.

Jeongin does what any good priest would do in this moment. 

He prays.

Still wrapped in his left hand is his rosary. He clasps it hard, leaving imprints of the beads in his palm as he begins to mutter the prayer to himself. He feels a cold sense of dread swimming in his stomach, nausea makes him gulp through the words. The figures around him start a low hum, melodic, entrancing. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out everything but his words.

God, help me .

“There’s no need for that,” a low voice calls into the night. “Your God can’t hear you.”

Jeongin gasps, his eyes snap open at the voice as his head to the side. He finds you, walking from the edge of the tree line. His head swims as he takes you in - wearing a robe of your own, but made of that sheer cloth from his dream. In the low light, it is iridescent, the colors swirling before his eyes. Even though he has terror settling deep in his chest, he feels his blood warm at the very sight of you.

As you approach, slowly, like a cat sneaking up on prey, Jeongin notices that you look different. Obviously, your modest clothes are gone. The outline of your form glows, the swell of your breast, the curve of your hip, the peak of your nipples subtle yet visible through the translucent robe. There’s a tattoo of a line from your sternum to your sex, strange ornamental vines frame the top and bottom. Looking at you makes his mouth run dry. 

Hot shame trickles into his stomach, he should be fearing for his life, yet his cock twitches in his pants at the sight of you coming towards him, looming over his bound body.

“I missed you at Mass this week, Father,” you murmur with a grin on your face. “Father Kim had to be the one to feed me communion, but it wasn’t the same.”

“Why am I here? What are you going to do to me?”

You circle the slab for a moment, stopping at where his feet are chained. His eyes never leave yours as you climb onto the stone between his legs. He’s breathing fast as you settle your weight next to him, slinging a leg over his. Your thigh is at such an angle to be a scant inch away from his cock.  You prop yourself up with one hand under your head as the other gently lifts the dagger off of his chest, the brush of your fingers is enough to make his skin tingle. You ignore his question, eyes raking down his form as you trail the tip of the dagger down his torso.

“You’ve been having some strange dreams lately, haven’t you, Father?” A slow smile curves on your plump lips. Jeongin can’t stop looking at them, he notices your canine teeth are sharp as your pink tongue runs over the tip of one of them. He feels himself leaning toward you, wanting to feel those lips on his. 

You place the dagger on the slab next to his body and grab his face, pushing him back down. Your long, pointed nails dig into the skin of his face as you force him to look you in the eye. A flash of that dusty pink behind your pupils, like a reflection, stuns him for a moment. He wasn’t imagining that!

“Devil!” He whispers, his heart fluttering in his chest. He can’t tell if it’s from fright or desire. “You’ve cursed me!”

“Oh no, Father,” you chuckle. “I was merely an audience to those dreams. Those came from you .”

“No!”

“Yes!” You giggle. It sounds like music to him as tears gather in the corner of his eyes. You continue tracing small patterns around on the fabric of his shirt with your finger. “You’ve been calling out to me for weeks now. I’ve decided it’s time to respond.”

“I haven’t been calling out to you,” he shouts. A hollow wave of self-reproach crashes over him. “You have been haunting me in my sleep! Demon!”

Your fingers still as you close your eyes, breathing in, a look of pure ecstasy on your face. A breathy whimper leaves your lips as you look back at Jeongin. “Your shame and guilt are delicious , Father.”

You turn his head to the side, licking a long stripe up his neck, tasting the sweat on his skin.

“God! Help me!” He keens as his hips jolt forward at the feeling of your hot tongue on him. 

“I am older than your Jesus, older than your God,” you whisper, trailing kisses up his jaw to his ear. You nibble lightly on his ear lobe before murmuring, “I want to taste those desires that live within you. I want the prayers you whisper while you spill into your hand to be in my name. I want YOU.”

He hates the way his cock twitches at the thought. He hates that it feels so easy to unravel years of devotion to the church. His vows are all crumbling to dust in front of him.

“I-I’m not….” He gulps again, panting under the feeling of your lips on his neck. “I’m not a virgin.”

You lift your head to look at him with a knowing smile. “Oh I can tell, Jeongin. The specificity of your dreams! The flavor, the complexity! A virgin couldn’t dream up half of what you do.”

“B-b-but, don’t you need a virgin? For whatever this is?”

Your laugh rings out into the night. 

“Virginity has nothing to do with it, my sweet,” you say, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “It’s about the feelings you harbor. The ones you keep locked away. Shame is the most potent, especially when it’s all tied together with lust. And I could just eat you up with the guilty conscience you pump out.”

He cries out in anguish, his cock hardening at the thought. He wants that. No, he needs that. He wants to give you everything and it makes him feel like a failure. He pulls against his chains again, the rosary beads still in a tight grip in his hand. Tears are streaming down his face now.

“So, you’re going to have your way with me then?” 

Your hand cradles his cheek, swiping away some of the tears. “Oh no, darling. Anything we do tonight will be because you ask me. Politely.”

His tear streaked eyes flit back and forth between yours, a different kind of terror filling his chest - the terror of being vulnerable.

“What do you mean?” he whispers.

“What I mean is,” you lean close to his ear once more, breath tickling the fine baby hairs of his neck. “you’ll be the one removing your own white collar tonight.”

You pull back a few inches to look at his horror stricken eyes before you press a small kiss to his lips. 

Jeongin’s mind explodes in waves of pink. He feels like he’s falling and drowning at the same time. A buzzing of his skin makes him feel both numb and overly sensitive. His wrists pull at his chains once more, the clanking filling the air as he tries to lift himself towards you, trying to get as close as he can, chasing your lips when you pull away. A small whine leaves his lips before you descend, giving him a little taste of heaven again.

He wants to inhale you, to consume you, to fall into you. He cries at the way it feels, he shouldn’t like it as much as he does. He wants more and he wants to die from that feeling. 

The low melodic hum from the robed figures that surround them becomes a chant. As he tries to push himself towards you again, he feels the beads in his grip, leaving marks on his palm from the pressure. His hands unclench, fingers unfurl, and he lets the rosary fall from his hand into the dirt below.

~~~~~

{part 1} {part 3}

💘

taglist: @jeonginsleftcheek @honeyybbuubblleess

[shalomniscient]

[nsft utc] (jane doe x reader)

“c’mon, how ‘bout we try again, sweetheart?”

you lean back in the interrogation chair, one arm on the armrest, the other on her waist. your hand on the armrest has her tail wrapped around your knuckles like a cord, and you have the base of her tip pinched gently between two fingers to prevent her from doing anything naughty like trying to nick you. though, you don’t really think she has quite enough brain capacity for mischief at the moment, stuffed full of your cock as she is.

jane makes a strangled, huffing noise, nails digging into your shoulders through your detective’s coat. her pretty teal eyes are half-lidded, and a delicate flush sits on her pale cheeks. her shorts are discarded somewhere, and you’ve conveniently created a nice hole in her leggings to access her pretty cunt. the fact that jane herself had decided to forgo underwear is a bonus—or maybe something she planned as well.

“don’t know what you mean, detective,” she breathes, rocking her hips again, or at least trying to. you hold her in place with a firm hand, keeping her still, and a petulant noise slips from her lips. you chuckle lightly, then without warning, snap your hips up roughly. jane yelps, then moans, eyes rolling back she she squeezes tight around you.

“sure you do, sweetheart,” you coo, lazily shifting your hips. the sheer size of you ensures that each of your movements hits at least one of her sweet spots every time, creating an almost endlessly pleasurable experience for as long as she sits on your cock. “you wanna stop lyin’ to me?”

she laughs, and the look in her eye turns dangerous, challenging. it makes a thrill run through you, your veins lighting up both with oxytocin and adrenaline. her fingers thread in the hair at the base of your neck, giving a sharp tug to make you look up at her. “what makes you think you deserve the truth?”

“bit of a spitfire today, ain’tcha?” you muse, unbothered by her little display. your hand on her waist shifts a little lower and your thumb brushes her swollen, neglected clit, and she’s nearly immediately folding, muscles in her abdomen jumping and a throaty moan spilling from her lips. you pair it with another slow roll of your hips, and she cries out, her eyes nearly disappearing into her skull. “but ‘s alright, sweetheart. we got a few hours before anyone comes knockin’, and that’s enough time for me to get ya to confess, ain’t it?”

it’s a rhetorical question. she opens her mouth to answer, undoubtedly with some smartass thing, but you fuck up into her before she can and her words break on a squeak of pleasure. and this time, you really get going, one hand holding her down and ensuring she sinks onto your cock all the way each time while your hips ruthlessly piston into her. her thighs tremble from the impact, and you think idly that it’s a shame you don’t have her bent over the interrogation table like last time so you can see the way her cute ass shakes with each thrust. ah, no matter. there’s always next time.

you focus back on railing her absolutely senseless, your thumb toying with her clit as you go. jane’s fingers tighten in your hair, her head thrown back in pleasure, and you take the opportunity to lean forward and seal your lips on her chest, even through the thin fabric of her top. jane whines when your tongue laps at her stiff nipple, coaxing it to hardness through her clothing. her back arches, and she pushes more of her breast into your mouth. you tend to her almost hungrily, giving each tit the same amount of attention until you feel her squeezing even tighter around you. then you draw back with a wet smack, grinning like a cat who got the cream.

“gonna cum, sweetheart? wanna finally be honest with me?”

teal eyes meet yours, and you still see the hint of challenge in them. in response, you slow down ever so slightly, and suddenly they’re widening, defiance giving way to desperation as she rapidly shakes her head, bouncing on your lap to not lose the stimulation. “n-no, please,” she manages, still trying to ride you, “fuck, baby, don’t stop— don’t you dare stop—“

“tell me what i wanna hear, sweetheart, and i’ll let you cum,” you coo, holding her in place, and you know if jane had her tail free she’d probably strangle you. instead she just looks at you with glossy eyes as she rides you, plush bottom lip trembling.

“no one— no one fucks me like you do,” she confesses, burying her head in the crook of your neck. “need you so bad, baby, this fucking assignment— haven’t been fucked in weeks and i need it—“

you soothe her with a kiss to her temple and another hard rut of your hips. “see? wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it? let me take care of you now, darlin’.”

and take care of her you do. you release her tail in favor of gently wrapping your arms around her as you fuck into her, holding her close to you. she’s small, and fits perfectly against your form. jane’s tail slithers down to wrap around your leg, and you chuckle at her unspoken need for closeness. you kiss the side of her face, her neck, her shoulder as you fuck your cock in and out of her dripping cunt, until her teeth sink into your shoulder and she cums with a strangled cry. you grunt as she squeezes you like a vise, eagerly drawing whatever you have to give her. you’d been backed up yourself, and your cum ends up leaking out of the seal her pussy forms around your base.

you sigh and lean back in the chair, carding your fingers through her hair. “you alright, sweetheart? need some water?”

jane shudders, and then her lips press against your pulse point. she shifts a little, making both of you hiss at the slight overstimulation, but then she presses closer against you. you hum and run a hand up and down her back soothingly.

“missed you,” she murmurs, her voice small and raw and honest in a way you know is reserved for you. for as much as jane loves toying with her prey, she isn’t infallible or immune to her own heart. and neither are you��hence why when zhu yuan took her in on the pretext of an interrogation, you’d commandeered it immediately. you deal with CIs anyway, so it was fine.

“missed you too, sweetheart,” you whisper back. “always.”

in about half an hour, you’ll pretend to leave the door unlocked and she’ll pretend to escape, and then you’ll both pretend to not know each other until the day jane brings all her criminals to light, and you’ll be there to cuff every last one of them. but until then, you hold your wife close to your heart, where she should be.

[jackactuallywrites]

Purely Professional

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Medic Reader

Rating: Mature (nothing too explicit but dick is hinted at)

Warnings: Ghost has a boo boo 😔 (blood, facial injury - split cheek and bruising)

Summary: You are the only medic Ghost trusts to treat him. Also you guys are friends with benefits!

Notes: Yes I do always headcanon Ghost with a broken nose. It’s HOT. Also I’m cleaning out the drafts

Word Count: 1,712

ao3 link

“He’s here.”

You didn’t need to ask to know who the other medic was talking about, nodding thanks to the medic as she left, and you quickly finished up with the young woman you were patching up, “You can take ibuprofen as needed, no more than two pills at a time, and space out the dosage to every four hours.” You wrinkle your nose, “I mean, you know how to take ibuprofen, just basic over-the-counter stuff. But come back if there’s any problems.” She nods, “Thanks, Doc.” You weren’t sure how many times you’d specified the difference between a combat medic and a military doctor, but at this point, it wasn’t worth the air, so you just nodded, gesturing for her to take her leave, “Anytime.” She grabbed the pillbox and made her way out of the room, leaving you to clean up the empty wrappings, tossing them into the nearby bin. You tore off the paper that was covering the bed, binning it as well and then rolling out another cover, making sure everything was fresh and clean. When you were satisfied, you walked out of the room into the waiting room, your eyes immediately landing on the one man who didn’t need to be named.

Ghost.

The intensity of his gaze was intimidating, his dark eyes glowering from underneath the skull mask as though he wanted nothing more than to take down every single person who dared to breathe the same air as him. At this point, the other medics had learned that he wouldn’t accept their help, refusing to utter even a single word until you were free. You leaned against the frame of the door that led into the hallway, beckoning him with a jerk of your head. He rose from his seat, seeming to dwarf everyone else around him as he walked through the room toward you, brushing past you without a word and striding straight into the open examination room, the cold silence seeming to emanate off him like a tangible aura, visibly affecting those around him, the other medics shrinking away from him as he passed.

You followed him into the room, closing the door behind you, “So, what can I help you with today, Lieutenant?” He sat down on the bed in the room, resting one forearm on his thigh, gesturing with the other hand to his face, consistently a man of few words. You stepped closer to him, “You’re going to have to give me a little more than that.” He grunted, reaching up to take off his helmet, setting it on the bed beside him, and then unclipping the skull mask, revealing the balaclava underneath. Finally, he pulled off the balaclava, revealing his clipped blond hair, and then his face, bruised and bloody, his cheek split open, blood already dried to his skin. His eyes, thankfully untouched, the black paint surrounding them unmarred, were on you, boring into your face as he watched you.

You didn’t waste time, reaching out to probe his face, your fingers gently holding onto his chin as you turned his head from side to side, inspecting the damage. It looked worse than it was; facial injuries always bled more, and though he tensed when you gently pressed his cheek, there was no sign of anything broken. After taking a moment just to be sure, you drew back from him, walking to the medical cupboard and taking out an antiseptic wipe, talking as you did, “You won’t need stitches.” He grunted, and you took this as permission to begin wiping the blood away from his face.

“So,” you began, always one to make idle chitchat as you worked, “who did you piss off this time?” Ghost watched you, his face solemn, searching your eyes before he responded, his voice barely more than a whisper, “Couple guys.” You smiled as you brushed the wipe over his split skin, “You know if you want to see me, you only have to ask.”

All the tension in his face seemed to ease then, his eyes softening as he looked up at you, “I know.” You took this as permission, gently nudging his legs open so you could stand in between them, closing the distance between you, allowing him to reach out in his own time, and after a brief moment, he did, his hands reaching out to gently rest on your hips, his fingers hesitant, still unused to the intimacy you shared. You cleaned up the rest of the blood on his cheek, giving him time to get used to your close proximity as you brought out a small plaster to cover his wound. In a moment of impulsivity, you pressed a gentle kiss to his damaged cheek, your reward his sharp intake of breath and the tightening of his fingers on your hips, pulling you closer toward him.

“You know,” you began, letting your hands rest on his shoulders, “the other medics are going to think you’re sweet on me.” Ghost let his face rest in the crook of your neck, his voice low, muffled by your shoulder, “I’m not sweet.” You smiled, letting your fingers trace over from his shoulders to the back of his neck, “No? What would you call this?” “Desperate.”

There was no mistaking the longing in his voice, the yearning, the way his fingers pulled you closer to him until your body was pressed against his. Already, his fingers were pulling at your shirt, just like he’d done so many times before, secretive fumbles in whatever vehicle or armoury was nearest, all beginning with some injury he only allowed you to treat, all ending with you wrapped up in his arms. You smiled, shifting one hand to stop his fingers on their insistent path underneath your shirt, “I think they’ll notice if I spend forty minutes in here with you.” Ghost didn’t seem entirely put off by the idea, his face tilting up as his lips began to move over your neck, gently nipping at the skin, his voice husky, “You love this being our dirty little secret, don’t you?”

It was impossible for you to lie to him; after all, he was special forces; no doubt he could sniff out every last secret of yours if he truly wanted to. His hand was already moving from your hip up to your cheek, forcing you to look at him as he pulled away from your neck, his pale eyes searching yours, “Admit it.” Every part of you seemed desperate to touch and be touched by him, and you held back a groan, “Yes. Which is why we can’t do anything in here.” His lips quirked in a smirk, “We wouldn’t want them to think you give this treatment to everyone.” You smiled, “I am supposed to be a professional, after all.” His thumb reached out to brush your cheek, “Couldn’t we both use a little unprofessionalism right now?”

The idea was tempting. Too tempting. You could feel those eyes of his melting away your resolve, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, biting the inside of your cheek, “What exactly did you have in mind?” There was a wicked look in his eyes, luring you into sin, to submit yourself to his will entirely, “What I have in mind would make too much of a mess and needs more time than we have.” You tilted your head to the side, curious, “So what do we do?” He was quiet for a moment, his eyes flicking over every single facet of your face, your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. He leaned into you, his nose bumping against yours, letting you feel that little ridge where it had been broken. His words were a murmur against your skin, softer than he ever seemed capable of, “I’ll be content with a kiss for now.”

It never seemed to make sense that a devil could be so sweet; you knew what he was capable of, you’d patched him up, you’d seen his medical records detailing what he’d been through, yet here he was, asking you for that simplest of intimacies. You obliged his simple request, leaning forward to press your lips against his, feeling the slight stubble on his skin prickle yours, his hand shifting from your cheek to the back of your neck, the one on your hip moving to the small of your back to pull you closer to him, encircling your body, his lips soft against yours, yet insistent, needy. He pulled away before you, leaning his forehead against yours, letting out a strained sigh, his hand moving from your back to his crotch, adjusting his trousers to disguise the growing bulge there. “The things you do to me.” His voice held some frustration, his fingers tightening on the back of your neck but loosening just as quickly, always in complete control of himself.

You could see the Lieutenant return, the way his back straightened, the grim determination returning to his lips. His hands fell away from your body, reaching for the balaclava and mask he’d put to the side, and you knew your time with him was coming to a close. You stepped back from him, tucking in your shirt, allowing him to resume that persona, covering his bruised face with the black balaclava and then finishing with clipping his skull mask back into place, his helmet finishing the transformation. All that remained of him were those soft eyes, out of place, surrounded by blackness. He reached up with one hand to tuck a loose hair back under your beret, his gloved fingers gently stroking against your cheek. “I’ll be seeing you.”

There was no doubt that he would find you to finish what you’d started here, but for now, he was back to business, standing up off the table and straightening out his uniform. You crossed the room to open the door for him, allowing the outside world view into your privacy, not that there was anything for them to see. He stalked past you without a word, yet as he passed, his hand reached out to gently squeeze your arse, sending tingles up your spine as he left you wanting, trying hard not to look like a lovesick dog as you watched him go.

[ddollfface]

There's just something about... a silent yandere, who's constantly overthinking, that gives me an eerie feeling. You never know what they're thinking, but you know that something's brewing in that mind of theirs, and it sure as hell isn't anything good.

They're smart, no doubt, that was clear the moment you met them. The way they hold themselves just gives off an air of natural intelligence, something they were gifted the moment they spoke their first word. And they've kept that same energy throughout their whole life, until they met you, you, you.

The moment they met you, for the first time in their life, they had no idea what they were doing. They had no control over their breathing. Their heart pound through their ribcage in a rhythmic bum, bum, bum. Their palms become sweaty and the hairs on the back of their necks begin to stand, causing their brain to go foggy and all rational thinking to go out the window. No doubt, you were something different, something they'd never encountered before. And they had no idea what to do.

You made them feel weak in the knees, and they couldn't think of a way to stop it. At first, they thought to avoid you at all costs, only to find that an ach in their chest began to form. This feeling in the pit of their stomach opened up their heart, and it burned, searing through their flesh, and they began to cry.

What the hell have you done to them, Goddamnit! All rationality wasn't found and was replaced with an insufferable need to talk to you, to touch you, and to consume you. They wanted to know everything about you; why you don't you like math? What's your favorite color? Do you want kids, they sure want your babies, if only she had a dick...

What?

What the hell is wrong with them? They must've gone mad... but they're far too gone to rationalize what they're feeling, so they decided to follow along with their heart, ignoring the impending feeling in their head, telling them to run away.

As each day passes, they grow closer, and closer to you, finding more reasons to stay near. They found that they like you, everything about you. And now, instead of wanting to run away, she wants to be as close as possible. She wants to be your best friend, the person you turn to when shit hits the fan, she wants to be your girlfriend...

If only you'd wake up and realize that your friend in fact does not want to go on a date with Javier. That she is in fact not interested in Daniel, or Owen, or Chuy, or Carlos- Goddammit! Can't you get it through your thick skull!? She wants you, you idiot!

Who knew someone so smart could be so dumb. She surely didn't because sitting here, listening to you talk, she's realized that you're utterly oblivious. For the past seven years, she's been giving you hints as to her sexuality, but instead of taking the hint and waking the hell up, you've decided that she's unlucky in love... Yeah, right... You've taken her love life into your hands and have made the decision to set her up on multiple, and I mean multiple, blind dates with far too many men to count. Each and every time the topic comes up, she tries to divert it away from her barren, and honestly sad, love life towards something far more interesting like the haircut you got last week, or the recent Kardashian drama. But nope, you don't want to hear it, instead babbling on and on about some new guy you've met, who would be the "perfect" fit for her. If only you knew... Maybe there's something about the way you seem too enthusiastic about setting her up, or the way you know so much about these men, that gets her riled up to the point where her knuckles turn white and her smile becomes taught. You're completely oblivious to the storm that's brewing, going on and on as you take a sip of your warm beverage, sitting right next to her. Her eyes drift down to your lips, which haven't stopped moving since the two of you walked into the cafe. And, without thinking, she grabs your chin, smashing your lips together, nibbling at your bottom lip. Her tongue piercing rubbing against your upper lip, asking for an entrance. And at that moment- oh You get it now.

[renren-006]

Savior | Daryl Dixion x fem reader

plot: Daryl saved you, and you want to kiss your savoir warning: slight mentions of almost taken advantage of, violence word count: 1518 a/n: I just had to write this idea!

taglist: @rosecentury

Back when the world had just ended, and things were still unknown, you were wounded around Atlanta's wooded, less populated areas. You had run from your car that got overrun, remembering the screams of your parents and the harsh pain in your ankle after you fell from the car watching them. You still struggled on your ankle; hisses escaped your lips as you walked. You had not stopped long through the days to heal or to rest, not knowing where the next undead would come for your flesh. Your jeans were worn and dirty, your red shirt now had holes, and you desperately wanted a bath. 

The day Daryl came to your rescue was the first day you had fallen asleep next to a tree with the fire embers still cooling in the morning rays. You heard the crunch and woke with a startle; there were three men watching you, all eyeing your body like a prise. 

"Well, lookie here, boys, some fresh meat for us," one of them said, toying with his belt to hide the painfully evident erection there. All three of them had one. You didn't know what to do, had nowhere to go, and knew you wouldn't make it far with your ankle.

"Please don't," you said, your voice coming out louder than you intended, maybe preying someone would hear you. 

"Aw, look at her. She's begging. I want her first," the second man said, and the others shook their heads. 

"no way she's mine," The third said, pushing his friend back before strutting twords you.

"No, No!" you said, shouting; maybe even the undead would save you. "Please!" he came to you, and you struggled to push him off. The others were smiling, ribbing their pants, and wanting their turn. 

"Hurry up, man", the first man said. Wanting the man who was trying to get your belt off to rush. That was when an arrow went through the man's skull, making his body thud against the forest floor, and then the second man went down with a knife in the head. The man on top of you looked back and gave you just enough room for you to knee his body off you. The man looked angry as you went back further, your pants even more ruined from the mud. Thankfully, your belt was still on, and your pants only ripped slightly from his strength. The man went down soon after, and two men peered around the trees twords you. 

"Hey there, girlie?" one of them asked, the same face the men had before they died. The shorter one pushed him back, walking over to you, bending down by the man, and pushing him away so you couldn't see his dead eyes. 

"We ain't goin' to hurt ya," he said, his voice soothing you from wanting to leave. "We got ya know."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," the taller one said. 

"He ain't going to hurt you either. hands off, Merle," the man sad

"I got it", Merle said, getting the hint that I wasn't to be touched by him at all. 

"I'm Daryl, that ma brother Merle. He won't get his hands on ya," Daryl said to you, holding out a hand; this seemed to be the first act of kindness this man had shown anyone in a while, and his face read it all too well.

"You don't save many people, do you?" you asked him. He shook his head, lagging slightly.

"Nah, normally we don't run into people. ya needed help, coulden't leave" Daryl told you, gripping your hand in his as he lifted you up. "You aint got no weapons on you?"

You told him, "No… I didn't prepare for the world to end." He nodded his head. Merle looked around, noticing a few of the undead heading your way.

"We gotta move." 

That started your journey with the brothers for a few months. It was just you two. They trained you on how to hunt and how to fight, and most importantly, how to piss Merle off, so he left you alone. Daryl also made sure your ankle was looked after, and in no time, it was better. Merlemeantt, no harm to you; he was just desperate for action you never wanted to give him. Daryl became your savior and bodyguard, making sure Merle understood that would NEVER happen. 

The three of you traveled until you met others who welcomed you into their small, little mountain-top community. It was you, the brothers, some sisters, and a man named Dale for a bit. Soon, the group grew and grew, but you only hung with Daryl and cursed off Merle. 

However, the time with him on the mountain made you aware of your attraction twords Daryl, the want you craved when you were near him. You were late in your 20's20s, having experienced college before traveling home to your parents just before the world ended. In those times before Daryl, you felt like you were younger, but now you feel your age, you feel strong. For the time being, you felt strong until your group had to pack up and leave because of a walker outbreak. 

Months later, you were entering the farm, your hands wrapped around Daryl as he rode into the grounds. You were mesmerized by how quiet and large it was here. While the others were setting up, you glanced over at Daryl, who was setting his tent up a bit away from them but not so far that he was secluded. 

"You got a tent?" Carol asked. You looked back at the woman. You didn't know what you were going to do. For the past months, you had slept by Daryl and Merle, but now, you were not sure what you would do.

"She with me," Daryl said, coming over to you. You looked beside you at the man who had apparently finished setting up and had walked over. "That good?"

"Of course," you told him, smiling; he nodded and walked over to Rick and the others.

"You both need to talk about your feelings for one another," Carol told you. "I can see it clear as day."

"Carol!" you said to the woman who had become a mother of sorts to you over the months. “I…cant”

"I think you can. I think you should," she told you, patting your back and going over to the others, leaving you thinking about how exactly you could even begin to explain to Daryl how Head becomes the soul man you wanted to be with for the rest of this apocalyptic world. 

It took you weeks and weeks to gain the courage, and only after he got shot did you tell him. He was lying in that recovery bed, not able to move a lot. You came in and sat beside him. 

"Whatcha doing in 'ere," He asked you as you sat down in the chair by his bed. 

"I…needed to tell you something…" You said to him, referring to the breakfast you had only a few hours earlier, which was being eaten away by the nerves. 

"What? Ya hurt?" he asked, concern spreading fast across his face.

"No, no," you told him, "I…god, I don't think I can tell you."

"Tell me what?" he asked, his southern accent so strong inside that room that it made your head spin.

"How you've been making me feel," you started, "I just didn't. I don't want to lose you, and after you got shot, I figured I might as well tell you before you died, and I never did."

"What are ya going on about?"

"I love you, Daryl. I've loved you since you saved me, and God, I love you even more since you've shown me how to be strong in this world", you rambled to the man in the bed beside you. Your hands were in your lap, and your eyes were glued to them. 

"Y/N," Daryl said in a soft tone you had never heard from him. 

"I know I should have told you you were the man who saved me, and you probably think I'm some kid to you", you said. Worry eating at you again.

"I don't think you're some kid." he told you, "I think you're a lot more than that."

"You do? You asked, eyebrows scrunched together. 

"That first night you spent with us, I didn't sleep cause I couldn't keep my eyes off ya," he told you, "I thought you were…blessed by a god or somethin'" he told you, holding your stare; there were tears in your eyes now 

"I don't think I ever heard you talk like that," you said, smiling through the slight tears brimming your eyes. 

"Ya won't again," he told you, pulling you down to him and kissing your lips so deeply. The door behind you opened, and then the person proceeded to fall into the door.

"Finally," Carol screeched. Smiles stretched over her face, as well as Ricks', who came to check on Daryl. Finally, you got to kiss your savor after all these months.

[abiteofhoney]

The Vampire and The Devilspawn

Hello!! I won’t do intros/notes in the beginning like this every time, but for the first time, I have a few things to say! First off, thank you to everyone that reads this story and takes this fun journey with me <3 thank you and i appreciate and cherish you all :) Secondly, I hope you can have a bit of patience with me as this progresses and I figure things out. As of posting this, I am 16 chapters in at roughly 50k. I am a proudly proclaimed pantser, so while I have a general direction for this story to take, most of it forms along the way. We're just having fun here, anyway! Third, this is, of course, a vampire story with some romance, and will come with the usual content warnings: blood, violence, biting, angst. All the fun stuff :) It follows both Magdalena and Anzurin's third person POVs.

Alright, enough of me. Here we go :)

4,889 words

Chapter 1 - Magdalena

She sits on her knees, slouching and weak, held up only by the fist gripping the back of her shirt, with only two thoughts tumbling around in her broken head. 

The first being her name. Magdalena Pierce. She knows that. There isn’t much else that she knows, but she knows that much, at least. 

The second is that she’s hungry beyond comprehension. The ache screams alive in her stomach, an empty hole unable to be filled, even though she’s tried. Blood still coats the front of her, having run in waves down her chin and throat and chest as she fed, and she thinks that she might have spilled more than she drank. 

They didn’t allow her to clean up before they attacked her, chained her wrists and ankles behind her back like she’s some type of animal. And Maggie just really doesn’t understand. The black-eyed woman told her to feed, so she did. She fed, and fed, and fed, and she’s still hungry. Starving. 

She tries to tell that to the man holding her, only getting out, “So hun-” before he slaps the back of her head with vicious force. Her teeth snap together, her fangs poking into her lip and drawing a bead of blood that she quickly licks up, then she looks up at the man that slapped her and gives him a throaty growl, baring her blood-coated teeth at him. 

“Should be stuffed, the way you fed. Now keep your mouth shut,” he snaps at her. Something about his empty black eyes and ruby red skin make her want to rip his sharp horns off of his skull. 

Maybe he’s right and she should be full, but the hunger gnaws at her stomach, an empty pit that cannot be satiated. Her fangs ache in her gums. Her eyes burn with frustrated tears. 

“Is he coming or what?” the same man barks at the two others standing across the room. 

They’re smart to keep their distance. Their sweat smells so tempting, even from this far. The blood from these black-eyed devilspawn tastes so delicious, and she yearns to taste it again. It was so sweet on her tongue with a hint of smoke. It settled in her stomach so nicely, and she wants more. 

“Anzurin should be here any minute,” one of the two answers. 

Magdalena peers at the man holding the back of her shirt. His corrupted heart beats heavily in his chest, a nervous thrum behind his ribs, which would be so easy to break. She got through the last one’s ribs with ease – but that’s also what has landed her here. 

She’s not really sure where here is. Where the lost causes go to get one more chance before they’re put down, the man holding her had said while they were transporting her, and she figured that sounds right. She did just drain a woman of all of her blood, and attack a few others that tried to stop her. Herra was the woman’s name, and Maggie only knows that because they wouldn’t stop yelling it at her. 

Why’d you kill Herra?

She’d like to kill them, too. She’d like to drink their blood until they’re empty, carve through their red flesh with her teeth. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” the man holding her barks, and the venom in his tone sets Magdalena on edge. It’s not her fault she’s hungry. It’s not her fault she’s like this. 

She’s not sure whose fault it is, but she is almost certain it’s not hers. 

Maybe it’s his. 

Magdalena lunges for him, fangs bared as she lurches for his leg. He yanks back just fast enough that all she gets is a mouthful of denim. She releases a growl from between her clenched teeth, a vicious one that comes from deep in her chest, but it’s quickly cut off by a kick to her ribs. 

A cry of pain falls from her as she tumbles to the floor, hands and feet still bound so that she can’t brace herself. Her shoulders and hips protest when she tries to curl in on herself, pain throbbing through her ribs. 

“You little shit!” the devilspawn shouts, giving her another kick. His leather boot slams into her hard enough to send her sliding backwards a few inches, only stopped by the wall behind her, and it feels like the second kick to her ribs cracks something. “Anzurin had better get here, now, and take this worthless leech off of my hands. I’m not -” 

He’s cut off by the door opening, somewhere near Magdalena’s feet as it shoves into them. “Hells below, Velur, have some patience,” a new voice drones. “I do have an entire coven to run, you see.”

Magdalena tries to move out of the way, scooting as much as she can but still crying through the pain in her ribs when the man kicks her again, not as hard this time but enough to move her out of the way of the door. She tries to bite the man’s leg even though she gets nowhere close. 

The newcomer laughs. “Well, what’s going on here?” 

“Fucking fledgling pain in my ass! She just tried to fucking bite me, and she’s already killed another devilspawn. Herra. Thought maybe you should knock some sense into her, but now I’m thinking that we ought to just put her down.” 

Another chuckle, and then he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Covered in blood, the poor thing. Hers or someone else's? She looks positively hungry.”

The man scoffs, and a wet glob of spit lands on Maggie’s forehead. “Some of it’s hers. Most of its Herra’s, her mentors. Drained her dead. If the bitch is still hungry after that, then something’s wrong with her.” 

Magdalena bucks at the insult, trying to break the chains around her wrists. If she could just use her hands again, she could sink her teeth into the black-eyed bastard’s neck before he could stop her. She snaps and snarls, throwing out hissed threats. 

He stares at her with those wide and empty eyes, mouth hanging open in shock before his entire face twists up in rage. His leg rears back, and Maggie welcomes it, knowing that if he really goes for it, she might actually be able to get a bite in if he gets close enough. 

But he doesn’t have the chance to send the kick when a voice cuts through the room. “Kick her, Velur, and you’ll be seen to.” It’s said so calmly, so casually that it doesn’t even sound like the threat it is. 

The one named Velur sneers down at Maggie, spits on her once more, and snaps, “She’s your problem now,” before storming out of the room. 

She tries to get him as he walks by, kicking his own legs out to trip him up, but it only yanks on her wrists. He gets away without a scratch, much to her dismay. Something about that man makes her just want to tear into his flesh, more than anyone else’s. 

When Maggie looks around, the two horned men are still standing across the room, but the new one stands much closer, arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at her. He’s much like the others – red-toned skin and horns sharper than her fangs – only his eyes are slightly different. The rest of them just have empty black eyes, and his are mostly the same, but he also has glowing red irises that gaze at her, giving his eyes more life. 

“Oh, dear, what are we to do with her?” the man murmurs to the two others.

“I don’t know, sir. She seems quite wild, yes? Maybe Velur was right and she’s just not made for the fledgling life. Perhaps death is the only thing that will fix her.” 

The man moves in a flash over to the one that just spoke, and Maggie giggles softly when he reaches out and smacks the back of the man’s head. “Look at her. She’s just hungry. Shall I kill you the next time you get hungry, Brem? Go take her chains off.” 

“You’re kidding. She just tried to bite Velur - more than once.” 

“Are you frightened by a little fledgling, Brem? Take those chains off of her. I won’t ask a third time.” 

Magdalena snarls at Brem as he dares closer, feeding off of the fear in his eyes and the shake in his hands. “Hells, please don’t attack me,” he whispers once he’s within reach. He grabs the chains around her ankles and moves her across the floor so he can reach the restraints behind her. 

She jerks away from his touch. She wants to be unbound, but she also wants to rip into the next person that touches her. She tries to kick at him, spit flying as she growls and snarls and gnashes her teeth at him.

But that red-eyed man flashes across the room again, and in an instant, he’s kneeling over her, a hand at the base of her throat to pin her to the ground. “Knock it off,” he commands sternly. His striking eyes bounce back and forth between her own, black eyebrows bunched together as he studies her face, but her gaze is only on his neck, the pulsing veins under his garnet flesh. 

She’s so, so, so hungry. 

“We’re going to take the restraints off of you, but you have to behave yourself fledgling. Can you do that?” 

Breathing heavily, Magdalena shakes her head. She truly doesn’t feel like she can control herself, not even a little bit. She doesn’t want to. 

“Oh, I think you can. Brem, let’s go,” he says to the other red-skinned creature, and then instructs the third in the room to, “Catch Velur before he leaves and get him back in here. I have questions.” He hasn’t taken his eyes from Maggie, nor has she taken her stare from his throat. “My name is Anzurin, and we’re going to make sure you’re taken care of here. What’s your name?” 

She doesn’t answer him, even though it’s probably the only time she will know the answer to anything. She grits her teeth together and runs her tongue over her fangs. They feel out of place in her mouth, new, even though she can’t remember a time without them. She can’t remember… much of anything.

All she knows is her name and her hunger, that she has fangs in her mouth and a need for blood. A hunger for red flesh. Thinking about sinking her fangs into the man above her sets her to wriggling again. 

Still pinning her to the ground, he smooths his hand over her blood-caked hair, brushing it out of her face. When she snaps for his wrist, he chuckles softly and holds his arm out of the reach of her teeth. “You’re just starved, aren’t you?” 

Once her chains are off, she’s going to bite him. She will. He smells so sweet, so tempting, she won’t be able to stop herself. 

The man rolls her on her side so that the other – Brem – can undo the chains behind her. He doesn’t yet release her wrists or ankles, but at least detaches them from each other so she can stretch out. 

“I’m going to sit you up, but you’re going to behave,” Anzurin says softly, but it’s not a question. It’s not a request. 

Not promising anything, Maggie pushes against his hand on her shoulder, sitting herself up, and she sighs in relief when she can put her legs out in front of her. The jeans she’s wearing are covered in blood, especially at the knees, as if she’d knelt in it, and maybe she did. She can’t really remember anything more than the feeling of her fangs in flesh. 

She tries to reach for the chains around her ankles without thinking about it, only to yank at the chains around her wrists still behind her back, her shoulders jerking painfully. An angry growl rips from her throat, wishing that she could rip the chains with her teeth like she so easily ripped through skin. She yanks on them again, this time on purpose, thinking just maybe she might be strong enough to break them. 

But they don’t budge. 

Brem kneels in front of her feet, eyeing her cautiously as he removes the chains from around her ankles. Her hungry gaze follows his every move, watching his wrists, his neck, salivating to think about the blood underneath. She bristles excitedly once her ankles are free and holds her wrists out to him, beyond ready to have use of her hands again. Saliva pools in her mouth as he slowly inches towards her side, nervousness radiating off of him. His black eyes shift to Anzurin. 

“I’ve never seen one like this,” Brem murmurs. “What’s wrong with her?” 

Anzurin grasps Magdalena’s chin, forcing her attention away from Brem. He searches her face for something – Maggie doesn’t really care what, because she’s stuck on his throat, unable to look away from it, unable to think about anything else except for how good it felt to flood her throat with that devilspawn’s blood. She bets his would taste just as good. 

“Nothing’s wrong with you, is there, fledgling? You’re just hungrier than normal,” Anzurin coos to her. He lifts her chin, trying to get her to look at him, but she doesn’t. She can’t. 

“So hungry,” she rasps. It’s a never ending hole inside of her, begging for more and more and more, a thirst unable to be quenched. 

“I thought as much. Come on, we’ll get you fed.” 

He hauls her to her feet, keeping a secure hold on her, but he makes no move against her, even when she tries to reach for his wrist, even when she bares her fangs at him. He only chuckles and guides her to the plush sofa against the opposite wall. Anzurin sits down first, then pulls her to sit at his side. He doesn’t have to guide her too much, as she easily follows his neck and wrists wherever they lead her. 

Once she’s settled next to him, pressed close against his side, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and places his wrist just in front of her mouth. Instinct tells her to chomp her teeth into his skin, gnaw until she’s full and his wrist is nothing but bone, but she gets distracted by the heavy pounding in her left ear. 

The noise comes from his throat, just inches from her face when she turns towards it. Wrists are dainty. So little would come out of it, compared to what would flow from his neck. She begins to lean in, but he jerks back and grabs the hair at the back of her head to keep her teeth off of his neck. “The wrist, fledgling, or nothing.”

He places it in front of her mouth once more and she can’t deny it a second time. She sinks her teeth into his rose-colored wrist with a starved fervor, fangs piercing him easily. Her mouth pools with delicious blood that tastes even better than Herra’s did. She was too sweet, almost like having dessert before dinner, but this… Anzurin… He’s a hearty meal. Savory and delicious. 

She digs in further, ripping through his flesh with her sharp, sharp fangs, biting down as hard as she can. She drinks from him with greed, unable to take a lot at a time but taking as much as he will give her. She’s so entranced by his blood that she doesn’t even open her eyes when the door opens once more and someone says, “I have Velur.” 

“Bring him in,” Anzurin drones. Maggie expects him to take his arm away any moment now, but he lets her keep feeding from him. 

“Stupid to let her loose,” Velur snaps, “and even more stupid to let her bite you. Don’t close that door, Brem – we’re going to want an escape when she’s down gnawing his arm.” 

“So dramatic.” Anzurin hums and brushes Maggie’s dirty hair off of her forehead with his free hand. “Sure, she’s a little rough with the teeth, but she’s starving. Insatiable, this one. Tell me about her.” 

“She can tell you whatever you wanna know if she doesn’t kill you.” 

“I think she’s a bit too distracted to answer any questions. I tried to ask her name, but she wouldn’t say.” 

“Weird, since it was the only thing she’d say earlier,” Velur scoffs. “Magdalena Pierce.” 

The hatred in his voice when he spits her name gets Maggie to open her eyes. Every time he speaks, she just wants to tear him into little pieces, so she tries. She shoves Anzurin’s arm away and lunges for Velur. She makes it off of the couch and across the small table, sending papers and items clattering to the floor. She reaches out for Velur, trying to grab him, scratch him, rip him apart with her teeth, anything she can do to hurt him like he’s hurt her. He’s the one that chained her up after she fed, and he smacked her and kicked her many times. She’s sure that his blood would be bitter, but she wants to taste it anyway. 

But she doesn’t get to, ripped away by Anzurin’s arms closing around her waist at the last second, yanking her back against himself. He puts his wrist back to her mouth, saying, “Right here – feed,” but she pays it no mind, too wrapped up in her seething anger directed at Velur. She fights and kicks and scratches and bites to no avail. 

“See what I mean?” Velur snaps. “She’s fucked! Just do us all a favor and put her down, Anzurin, before she kills another.” 

Anzurin struggles to keep Maggie restrained, but manages to sit back down on the sofa with her. “I’ll be honest, Velur, I’m not sure she’s the problem here. I think you are.” He smears his blood across her lips, going as far as to grip her chin to force her mouth open to drip blood on her tongue, but she continues to fight against his hold to get to Velur. “Doesn’t even care. I think she just wants you dead.” 

Velur scoffs. “Or you just don’t taste as good as you think you do, big shot.” 

“So, what’d you do to her?” Anzurin asks and then brings his lips to Maggie’s ear to whisper, “I know you’re still hungry. Drink.”

And she is very, very hungry, so she gives up her fight - for now- and sinks her teeth into his arm once more, marking more of a mess of the already mangled flesh. 

“Gentler,” he hisses through his teeth, and she hisses right back at him. If he were as hungry as she is, he wouldn’t want to be gentle either. She wants to rip and tear and gorge herself on both flesh and blood. 

“She killed Herra,” Velur says incredulously. “It took multiple men to drag her off of Herra’s corpse, and a few of them even got bit in the process!” 

Anzurin strokes her hair as she quits fighting and settles once more. “And?” 

“Wh - And?! She killed one of our own! Do you not care?” 

“Not so much,” he says with a shrug. “That’s the risk we take. She’s a fledgling, Velur. It’s her very nature to feed. To kill. Why would you punish her for it? Every part of her screams for blood and she shouldn’t be denied; she just needs to learn a little control, that’s all. How long ago was she changed?” 

“Hells, I don’t know! Didn’t even know the bitch existed until she had to be ripped off of Herra’s neck today.” 

At the insult that leaves his lips, Maggie lets out a growl and cuts a glare at him, but she doesn’t lift her mouth from Anzurin’s wrist. Her hunger never ends. 

Anzurin laughs heartily. “Oh, she definitely just hates you. When’d she come into the coven?” 

“I don’t know,” he says again. “I don’t usually handle the fledglings.” 

“Find who does and bring them to me. I want to know where she came from.” He trails his touch down the side of Maggie’s face. He’s not even holding onto her anymore; she’s just happily drinking from him and not even trying to get away anymore. Her hunger is outweighing her instinct to fight, but only by a fraction. “She acts as though she’s gone weeks without feeding. And if that’s the case, I’m not at all surprised that she drained Herra. And she’s still going.” 

“She -” 

“I said to find who knows where she came from. Now. Not later.” 

Velur grumbles angrily, but jumps at the chance to leave the room. 

Once the door shuts behind him, a moment passes in which the only sound is Maggie drinking greedily and desperately from Anzurin’s wrist, but he soon says, “That’s enough for now.” 

She doesn’t listen. Magdalena holds onto his arm tighter, taking bigger gulps. Her nails dig into his skin just as her teeth do, drawing even more blood. She just wants more, more, more, and it’s still not enough. 

But then Anzurin fists the hair at the back of her skull and yanks. Her teeth rip from his arm, tearing flesh as he jerks her head back. 

Magdalena snarls and tries to twist and bite the hand grabbing her, but Anzurin keeps his grip and stares down at her. Gently, but sternly, he says, “That’s enough, Magdalena. We need to go get you cleaned up and looked over so we know what we’re dealing with here. You have to control yourself.” 

She whines, low in her throat. “But I’m so –” 

“Hungry, I know,” he coos. He looks to Brem across the room. “Get me three bags from the fridge, please. Open one of them.” 

Brem does as told, and all Magdalena can do is watch with Anzurin’s grip still in her hair, her head angled backwards. Brem goes over to a small black fridge in the corner, opening to the door to reveal two shelves stuffed full of bags of blood, but Magdalena hardly cares about that when the fresh taste of Anzurin’s blood is still stuck to her teeth. He grabs three of them as asked and brings them to Anzurin, who stuffs the first two in the pockets of his black coat while Brem opens the plastic spout of the third. 

A small bubble of blood pools out of the top as the pressure is released, spilling onto Brem’s finger, and he freezes in place while his fearful black eyes flick to Magdalena. 

“You know,” Anzurin murmurs as he takes the open bag, “she probably loves that you’re so scared right now. You know they don’t just feed on blood, Brem.” He waves the packaged blood under Magdalena’s nose, but the cold scent of it nearly makes her gag. She wants the fresh stuff, and tries to look for Anzurin’s bitten arm. 

He jerks her hair. “No, drink this.”

The stinging in the back of her head is what makes her snap. Magdalena yanks her head out of his grip, leaving chunks of hair between his fingers. She claws his face and her fangs go straight for his neck. He tries to grab her hair again, but she’s faster, and slams it to the wall above his head. 

On her feet, crouching next to him on the sofa, she uses her foot to pin his other hand to the sofa cushion, and that leaves a hand free to hold his head to the side so she can sink her teeth into his neck. She rips and tears, getting flesh stuck between her teeth, but filling her screaming stomach with his delicious blood. 

But as her stomach fills, so does the room with shouts and yells and screams. Something wraps around her waist and pulls, but she claws back at it and it goes away, but then something cold is wrapped around her throat, and the chains that once bound her yank her back. 

Magdalena loses her balance and falls to her back on the floor, but quickly turns on the one that pulled her off: Brem, backing away with large black eyes. Her rage swells into something unmanageable and she lunges for him, biting anything she can get her teeth in, which happens to be his upper arm, biting through cloth to tear at the rosy skin underneath. 

His blood is sharper than the others, only a fraction of the sweetness, and Maggie doesn’t like it as much, but it softens the edges of her hunger, so she pins his arms to his side and gulps as much as she can. As she knew she would be, she’s yanked back seconds later, turned by her shoulder and slammed back against the wall with a large devilspawn body in front of her and his forearm across her chest. Something else wraps around her ankles, and she kicks at what she assumes is the chains, but looks down to see a red tail curling tightly around her leg. 

“Stop it,” Anzurin growls at her, red eyes blazing. “Control yourself, fledgling, or I will do it for you.”

She tries to shove him off to no avail without the element of surprise on her side this time. He stays put, holding her down. Breathing heavily, she stares at his torn neck, his blood running down his throat and chest, soaking into his tan shirt. After a few moments of futile fighting, she relents and lies perfectly still to glare up at him. 

Anzurin breathes just as heavily, touching his fingers to his bleeding neck with a sharp inhale through his teeth. “I’d like to be able to let you go, but I need to be able to trust that you’re not going to attack one of us again. Can we do that?” 

In a jerking motion, Maggie shakes her head back and forth. She’s only stopped fighting for now because she knows it's a waste of energy to fight against him. As soon as he gives her even an inch, she’ll take it, but she’s saving her energy for that. 

“Now, Magdalena,” he says with a tsk. “Do you understand what’s going to happen to you if you can’t control yourself?” 

She spits a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva at him, which lands on his chin. 

Besides clenching his jaw, he shows no other reaction and uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his chin. “You’re going to have to be put down if you can’t behave,” he tells her. “I do not tolerate this kind of behavior in my coven, and you are too wild to go anywhere else. If you can’t control yourself, then you will be controlled. Is that what you want to happen? Do you want us to have to kill you?” 

She doesn’t answer, unsure that she has an answer at all. Does she want to be killed? No, not particularly. But does she want to keep living? Maybe not, if this is the pain and treatment she has to endure. Her hunger is insatiable, fueling a need to rip and tear. She even thinks about biting her own flesh just for a taste of blood. 

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Anzurin murmurs in her silence, keeping his voice gentle and comforting. “We’ll feed you and make sure you’re taken care of, but you have to behave with us. With me, at the very least. I’m the one that will decide what happens to you, so I suggest you behave.” 

Magdalena only grumbles unhappily and tries uselessly to wriggle out from under him, but his arm holds her shoulders against the wall, his tail around her ankle keeping her from kicking. 

“Okay, you can’t keep denying that there’s something wrong here,” Brem says from where he stands nearby, chains still in his hands. “This isn’t normal for a fledgling.” 

Brows creased, Anzurin studies her quizzically. “There’s something wrong with the situation, definitely. Something’s been done to her. Someone else did this to her.” 

Brem dares a step closer. “What do you mean?” 

“She’s starved, Brem. Her fangs are sharper than a new fledgling's should be. Hazarding a guess, I’d say that she’s a few months old, and I’m thinking that today is the first time she’s drank since she was changed. Am I right about that?” he asks her. 

Maggie can’t remember anything before today, but she’s certainly older than just a few months. She’s a grown woman. But she does also feel like she hasn’t eaten or drank anything in quite a while. Maybe ever. 

With his free hand, Anzurin brushes Magdalena’s hair out of her face. He then orders Brem to hand him the bag of blood that she’d turned her nose up at before. “You can’t keep drinking from me right now - I don’t have that much blood to spare - but you can drink these bags. I know they’re not as good, not as fresh, but it’s what you’re going to get right now. I’ll give you as many as you want – but only if you promise to try to control yourself.” 

Against every fighting instinct, Magdalena nods. 

—

Ending notes won't happen all the time either, but just a thing or two more to tack on.

I will make a chapter navigation post and link that here, to make accessing all chapters easier, and after this chapter, that link will go at the beginning of each post.

And my lovely taglist!! Thank you to everyone that has joined and shown interest in this story! I wouldn't have decided to post this at all if it weren't for all of you cheering me on, so thank you, and here's to you!!

@pizzamanstan @leahnardo-da-veggie @swollenkiln @dyrewrites @trippingpossum

@possiblyeldritch @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @jgc-comeundermybridge @shortcircuitthegreat @seastarblue

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@written-among-stars @lofiyaketyblr @quill-main @bellascarousel @alexanderflowerbird

@lead-to-code @annothersummerofsleep @tragedycoded @saecarnell @albatris

If you aren't already on the taglist but wish to be, interact with this linked post right here, which has a little more information for you. If you are on it and want off, just let me know, no questions asked!

I think I've yapped enough for the first post, so this is the end lol. Thank you <3

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Blue Moon

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (movies) Ship/Pairing: Eomer x Reader (one mention of reader wearing a dress) Trope: Noble x Humble worker Note: IT’S SOTWK’s FAULT. We talked about Eomer’s hands and here we are. The title « Blue Moon » is a reference to the song « Blue Moon », my favourite rendition being sung by Ella Fitzgerald. Warnings: Horses? Word count: 1 595 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

There was something hypnotising about his hands.

The way his palm moved along the planes of the horse’s back. They were delicate. Deliberate in their care for the animal. Several times today, you had caught your gaze lingering a little too long on his slender fingers and their dexterity. Several times you had wondered what they’d feel like against your skin, in your hair weaving braids during a quiet evening. Those were fairy tales. You did not dwell on them, even when it kept you up at night; heat clinging to your skin, the chilly wind doing nothing to help your wandering mind.

It seemed to appease his uneasy nature to come here. He would go in the early hours of the day, only to come back in the middle of the morning. To the outside world, he was a leader. Someone they could trust and follow into depths unknown. Here, he was only Eomer. You considered yourself lucky to have witnessed both.

Others were concerned by his willingness to spend so much more time with you instead of them. You had dismissed them easily enough, but the thought had lingered. Why was he only asking you to help him? A bucket, water, hay, a brush for the horse’s mane. You were not willing to fathom an answer, especially if it was the wrong one. Seeing him like this it made you happy enough. You were content with this, whatever this was.

From time to time, he would ask about your day and you would always answer the same things. Fine and good. Excellent, perfect or grand. Never would you have said what you wanted to say. That it was him who made those days fine, and good and excellent and perfect and grand. Until meeting him, working with horses had been your life’s dream, and you were fulfilled by it. When he was there, you weren’t so sure anymore. It felt as if all of him was completing what you had and did not know you were missing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Barely above a whisper, his question lingered in the air between the two of you, almost as if he had not meant to ask it aloud. He was still working his fingers through the hair, looking beyond the horse’s back, away from you. If he had looked at you, you could have traced a lingering hint of a pinkish hue on his cheeks.

A chilly breeze rose, and you had to tighten the cloth around your shoulder, crossing your arms close to your chest.

“Nothing important, Sire.”

A laugh echoed through the wooden box around you.

“Then why are you boring a hole in my skull with your staring?”

Your cheek felt warmer than they had been moments ago.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, sire. If you need me to go, I… — No. Stay.”

Eomer had not meant for his voice to grow this loud. Nor to turn around so abruptly. The nerves in him, electrified by your eyes, led him to act so.

It had grown almost suddenly, this affection he had for you. First, you were something to behold. Once he discovered your face, your features, the way you moved and talked, he only ever wanted you to be near him when the mask fell off. When he could be himself and not who he was supposed to be. Second, you never pressured him into talking, going silent for hours on end, just being there with him and Lia. She was not his usual horse. He preferred not to overexert Firefoot, especially after the events he had seen on the battlefields. You were the one to care for her when he could not, even before he started mounting her. The mare had a gentler temper, dark robe and larger body. She adored you and if instincts served him right, animals were always the true tellers of someone’s nature. Thirdly, and lastly, your presence calmed him like no one else could. Except when you were threatening to leave. Or when you were looking at him, behind his back. He never wanted you to stop looking at him like that. When your eyes were observing and kind on him, his weary body and his weary mind, he felt that he could take on another thousand wars just to find you here again, safe and sound, watching him. He only hoped you could say the same about him.

“As you wish, Sire.”

The goosebumps on your arms and the way you protected yourself from the cold struck him then. With the winds of winter approaching, the weather had gone incredibly cold, and you were only wearing a thin linen above your usual dress and robes. He stepped out of the box, coming closer to you as he’d ever been. He grabbed for a cover lying around. Those were used for the horses but they’d have to do. He wrapped it around you, as tight as he could. It smelled of the stables and hay. A hint of pink shattered across his cheekbones in the morning lights. Your breaths were leaving your lips in hot clouds between you. The way he settled his palms on your shoulders, securing the cloth around you, drove a whole different kind of shiver down your spine. You could feel his fingers over the fabric, his overexerted hands catching some threads, before he took them off you, gently. You could not help the sharp inhale you took when he did.

“Would not want you freezing to death on my account.”

His smile did not reach his eyes, but you felt the warmth it procured you down to your toes. At a loss for words, you smiled in return, trying to hide your face. Your arms were still secured against your chest but your heart was not as protected as you had hoped it would be.

In a thoughtless step, Eomer leaned down and brought his lips to your cheek. He could feel the burn of them under his skin. The way you looked up at him, bewildered and hopeful, brows knitted together in confusion, only made his mouth ache for more. Still, he would not do it unless you said so. He had already overstepped and behaved un-gallantly enough. Hence his surprise when he found your hands gripping at his lapel, obviously not willing to let him go. A soft curve graced his mouth, a pleasant feeling growing in him.

“Can I…?”

Your vigorous nodding let him know exactly what he wanted. Only then did he pull you closer, his hands drawing you in, the warmth you felt from his lips and the tenderness with which his fingers nestled against your jaw below your ears, enough to make you forget about the world around. Delicately, his mouth danced with yours, eager to please and swift to do so. Soon, his wide hand drew you in, pulling you at the waist. Your fingers met his heart through cloth and flesh and bones, beating in a rhythm only known to you both.

“I…”

You bit your lip while you could see him observing you through hooded eyes, his fingertips sending shivers down your arms. He was tracing the hollow of your cheek with his knuckles, leaving you breathless once more. He looked as if he had seen the most marvellous creature in the entire world. You could not believe it was you on the other end of that fantasy.

“I… do not know what to say… I… — Then you don’t need to say anything.”

His fingers found their way down the length of your throat. He looked positively charmed, yet you pulled back, hesitant. What if this had been… just a fling? Just something he could do, just because he wanted to. No other reason. No feelings involved. What if he was playing with you?

“I will. — What?”

He chuckled at your incredulous expression.

“I will say something. — Oh.”

He brought you back to him again, kissing your cheek.

“I…” He kissed your nose. “…will never…” your other cheek. “…ever…” Your fingertips now. “…let you…” This was getting on your nerves and he knew it, smirking behind your hand. “…be seen by anyone else but me, in this state.”

The last words murmured against your cheek, to the shell of your ear, elicited a burning anticipation deep in your bones.

“My King, I would never ever let anyone but me see you in this state. — I don’t think anyone had ever really seen me before you.”

His candid answer surprised you. In a tender caress, he stroked your back through the fabrics of your clothes, not thick enough to keep his touch at bay. A thumb ventured below your breast, too close to be accidental. You inhaled sharply.

“And I will never let anyone else see me like this. If you’ll have me, of course.”

His declaration hit your heart at an arrow’s speed.

“You really mean that? I’m not just a… — You’re not just anything. You are the world and beyond. You are everything. I hope to be everything to…”

Before he could finish, you pulled him down for another kiss. This one arousing and passionate; desires trapped, finally meeting in the middle.

“I will. I absolutely will.”

A heartbeat passed in his arms, trying to keep your hands to yourselves.

“You were asking me to… — … court and eventually marry you? Yes. And you said yes, you cannot take it back now.”

Your laughter rang through him as it rang through the stables, enlightening the new day ahead.

[sunrayram]

im super interested in alastor’s and niffty’s dynamic in this au!! im not really sure how to word this question but do you have anything youve been thinking about with them, outside of him just being very protective/possessive over her, and her still being fairly loyal to him? any headcanons or ideas you have for the two of them?

Alastor has two whole friends before the events of canon, Mimzy and Nifty. Even though he'll never admit it, he desperately needs both of them.

I've gone into his relationship with Mimzy before, but she basically acts as the only person Alastor can really let loose around. Alastor only really has some genuine fun when Mimzy's around.

When it comes to Nifty, she's the closest thing Alastor has to family on this side of the mortal plane. Nifty is the first soul Alastor owned, and it was honestly a pretty painless affair. At the time, Nifty's ex-husband had still been alive in hell, and Alastor promised to keep her safe in exchange for her soul. The ex-husband has long since been dealt with, but Nifty has no complaints about Alastor still holding her soul. She once jokingly told him that it was likely in safer hands now.

here's some fun stuff about these two!

Alastor cooks, and Nifty bakes. Nifty is the only one who's allowed to go in and out of the kitchen with no complaints from Alastor, and they can spend hours there together, singing along to classic jazz from the radio.

Alastor is not allowed to just say whatever he wants on his radio show, since it's now a part of the Jackpot Casino. That means he has a lot of opinions built up that he's not allowed to share. If he's not yelling these opinions at Husk, he's passionately sharing them with Nifty. She thinks they're funny. Sometimes, she'll bargain with him. He'll be allowed to rant for an hour, and then she'll get an hour to read her latest fanfiction out loud. Only her sfw stuff tho, obviously. (She reads him found family fic as a not-so-subtle-hint of how she feels about him. It goes right over his head.)

Nifty and Alastor play a weird version of fuck/marry/kill when they have the same shifts at the casino. Nifty points out the people she'd fuck/marry, and Alastor points out the people he'd kill. It's fun, I guess.

Nifty really really wants them to get a pet. Alastor banned any discussion of dogs, and Nifty's slightly allergic to cats. She has a list she's been secretly making of animals she thinks Alastor would like. It goes as follows:

Possum: eats bugs. Frog: no fur, not dirty (?) eats bugs. Alligator: Alastor has an alligator skull. Might like them. Bat: eats bugs. Con: Might have rabies? Deer: Maybe some form of kinship. Pig: Actually pretty clean. Makes funny noises. Anteater: eats bugs.

Alastor loves collecting trinkets, which actually annoys Nifty to no end bc it means his room isn't clean/organized. He apologizes by bringing back little gifts whenever he goes out. He also keeps his collections away from areas Nifty frequents so it doesn't bother her as much.

Alastor has banned Nifty from gambling at the casino. The one time she tried, she lost almot 500,000 dollars in one night. Even Husk was horrified.

They're both a bit mad, but they like it that way. Nifty's one of the only people around who doesn't want Alastor to change. Whether or not that's a good thing ... ehhh who knows. But it's priceless to him.

[mamayan]

★彡CRINGE☆彡

Shit I think the KNY Hashira do or have done— this is for fun only, don’t come for me if these doesn’t perfectly align with you~

tw: none!

Water Hashira! Giyuu Tomioka

He talks to himself, like long inner monologues spoken only to like, a wall. It doesn’t make sense half the time. He’s working it out.

Laundry sniffer, he isn’t sure it’s clean until he smells it, and even then he’s confused because is it clean? He’ll rewash clothes because they might smell clean but he can’t remember if he wore it or not.

Tries to pet dogs that absolutely will bite him.

Sound Hashira! Tengen Uzui

Will lose his jewelry and act like someone hid it on purpose from him. Acts similar to a 19 year old who lost their vape at someone’s house.

He’s stained multiple tatami mats/futons with his nail polish because he didn’t let them dry before messing around.

Makes scary faces at children to scare them and then laughs afterward.

Fire Hashira! Kyojuro Rengoku

He will repeat aloud the thing you whisper to him so loudly it defeats the purpose of whispering in his ear.

Will shed everywhere and not clean up after himself. The equivalent of smacking the hair on the shower wall after washing but it’s his whole house. Sorry Senjuro—

Believes tickling is fun and everyone loves it, even when the person being tickled is on the verge of passing out/pissing their pants.

Execute children without trial—

Stone Hashira! Gyomei Himejima

Forgets your height, asks for things that are impossible to get because he put it up way the hell up there.

His head pats are more painful than they are cute, it’s like he’s hammering your skull into your neck.

Will get ink stains on his robes/desk/etc. because he never puts away his stationary properly.

Wind Hashira! Sanemi Shinazugawa

Will threaten you within an inch of your life for one small accident (papercut) but will become enraged if you level him with the same treatment after he’s nearly killed himself with training.

Will mother hen you in the weirdest ways, like wiping your face with his spit to get the dirt off.

Won’t tell you something is wrong with your appearance in public, but will stare you down to give you the hint something is. He thinks it’s a universal sign. No one knows what the hell it means except him and maybe Genya.

Snake Hashira! Obanai Iguro

He comes up with some of the most clever and insidious jokes but tells them at the wrong time. Way too late or too early for anyone to catch it and then it’s not funny anymore.

Will let Kaburamaru shed wherever and will leave the skin. Unless it’s Mitsuri standing right there, he will not be cleaning it up. Has scared multiple Kakushi who thought they stepped on Kaburamaru and killed him.

Doesn’t take his shoes off when entering homes, etc. even if there’s no tatami mats. He only shows respect to Ubuyashiki and Mitsuri’s estates.

Mist Hashira! Muichiro Tokito

He bathes as needed, which in his opinion, doesn’t need to be all that often. Teenage boys are gross no matter how pretty they look. Natural body odor isn’t all that bad though, so he gets away with it.

He will hear you speak words and interpret them entirely however he wants. He will confuse himself because he swore he heard you tell him to go take a nap. You didn’t—

Will send the food back at a restaurant if even the tiniest thing is wrong.

Love Hashira! Mitsuri Kanroji

She will create full and detailed stories in her mind of people around her, and confuse herself because she can’t remember if she thought it for them or if they did it. Me too girl—

Cuteness is justice mentality: The cuter she finds you, the less wrong you can do in her eyes. Obanai

Like Kyojuro, sheds everywhere, 100% the hair on the shower wall sort of girl. She does clean up after herself much better than Kyojuro.

Poison Hashira! Shinobu Kocho my wife

She does no wrong.

Petty as hell and will absolutely make your stay at her estate miserable if you piss her off. You won’t know what you did, but you’ll find your food and living conditions plummet.

Can’t sleep if her pillow doesn’t smell like her, no sleep overs for this girl unless she brings her own bedding.

If she finds out you have a pet peeve, she will lay into it with passion and grit. Tengen loses his shit when he hears people sucking their teeth… Shinobu is happy to recondition him. It’s her way of showing she cares♡!

[90sbee]

I was dead, and then you came (back).

Leon S. Kennedy x Gn!reader. 0.7k words. Also on a03

There is no way you’re just human, though. No normal person would let him come back. No normal person would choose to act with such kindness, with this tremendous and fervent love.

Leon learned his lesson. You're willing to return to him. He can't help thinking about what a miracle that is.

So, I've been writing so much about this man it is about time I start posting all the delusions. You can blame @navstuffs for this mess since she was the one that encouraged me to keep on writing and start posting. Her fault, tbh.

Content: Fluff, basically him yearning under the excuse of a morning after. Mostly his pov. No use of y/n, some sprinkles of size kink I guess. It's just them being dumb for each other. I guess any older Leon works, though I had Vendetta Leon in mind (but you do you).

Warnings: Leon's mental struggles; some suggestive lines; rough sex mentioned but no smut. STILL, minors do not interact. +18 only. Also I'm not a native English speaker so, apologies for any mistakes.

Leon looks at you in awe. How could he look at you differently? With soft steps you traverse the distance between the bed and the kitchen moving calmly, delicate figure enchanting him.

He licks his lips, amused. He sits on the bed, stretching his arms as he keeps his gaze on you.

“What is it?” you ask once you return to his side, a cup of tea in your hands.

“… You’re breathtaking,” Leon muses, a smirk decorating his mouth.

The cup shakes slightly, obvious signal as to how you feel.

“Always the charmer, Kennedy.”

“No, I mean it,” he replies, piercing blue gaze as tender as a summer sky.

“If you say so,” you sip on your tea, sitting closer to him and he presses his face against your shoulder, eyes closed.

The agent is aware that this is a privilege: a man like him is not bound for the whole spectrum of pleasure, both the carnal dance of two bodies as well as the warm company that now brightens his morning.

You smell sweet still. Even after he spit in your mouth, even after he forced pretty tears from your eyes. No trace of the sweaty musk that should surround you both after such exhausting physical activities from the night before.

You’re magical. More than human, Leon thinks.

When he opens his eyes, he is greeted by the sight of a pinkish love bite on your neck. He fixes his eyes on it, on the oval shape it draws on your skin. Could he do it again? He wants to. Hell, he would beg to mark you like that again. Every mark, every bruise, every trace of tears as evidence that he was there. That he is still here, with you. You’re real. And most importantly, he is there to experience it. To reverence your existence and praise you as you deserve.

The affection in his thoughts must be too loud, as you look at him, a hint of comprehension in your tone.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Leon shakes his head, body moving forward, as if caught on the spot.

“I just… would like to do it again. I mean, like last night. But also maybe not just… sex. If you’re… okay with that,” he explains, trying to sound casual, as if his heart isn’t attempting to break free from his chest, destroying bones and lungs on its way out. As if he wouldn’t fight the biggest horrors in this world with just his bare fists for just the chance of a lifetime with you.

Leon pushed you away once. He won’t make that same mistake twice.

You smile at him, scrunched up nose and the gentlest glimmer in your eyes. No reply comes out of your mouth, but the kiss you offer him is more than enough of an answer for him.

He kisses you again then, trying to process this still. The notion that even after his fears had overcome his whole life, terrorizing his thoughts and destroying his most precious bonds, you’re still willing to try again. To forgive him, to help him build himself up from deep, deep into the ground.

If the soil had buried him and drilled pain deep into his skull, so be it. There was still hope now. He wasn’t a dead man. Not yet. Not as long as he had you.

You chuckle when you both pull apart after the kiss, your bubbly energy making his grey bedroom light up.

Leon wants to add something else. But when he looks into your eyes again, he senses that you understand. And when you cup his cheek, caressing his stubble with heavenly devotion, the teacup long abandoned on the night table, he is more than certain that you know.

There is no way you’re just human, though. No normal person would let him come back. No normal person would choose to act with such kindness, with this tremendous and fervent love.

You look at him in awe, chest burning with yearning. Gaze tasting his pink lips, savouring the pretty eyelashes and the early wrinkles around his eyes.  The display of your feelings must be too strong, since he chuckles, taking your wrist in his hand, kissing your palm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he teases you.

And when you laugh, his stomach jumping with happiness after so long without being greeted with that divine sound, Leon is finally convinced: there is an angel in front of him.

If you've made it to the end, thank you. You're now legally required to tell me your thoughts (or not, I'm not a cop) 💜

[thesecretwriter]

more than just friends (part 4) – steve roger

pairing: Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings: angst – steve has a nightmare, fluff – sweet sweet floof and a little kiss from steve.

summary: It’s the middle of the night and you’re awoken by the screams of Steve. Making your way to him without hesitation is your first instinct. The small display of care lead things in a direction which assures a good outcome. Steve had always found comfort in you, even when it was something mundane.

word count: 1.2k

a/n: here’s part 4! hope you like it. more to come in part 5 – would you guys wants smut in that part? genuinely curious bc i feel like i haven’t emphasised the tension between steve and the reader.

minors/ageless blogs dni.

Masterlists

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Steve finds himself in a room that resembled a 1940’s infirmary.

A nurse walks in with a clipboard claiming that she needs conduct a routine check-up.

Something’s not right…

He wakes from the bed and pushes past the nurse as the screams and shouts of the howling commanders echo from the door the nurse walked through. He needs to find them; he needs to help them. He ran out the very same door the nurse came from.

“Captain Rogers, wait!” the nurse’s voice fades as Steve finds himself now walking on the battlefield alongside Bucky – who looks like his usual 40’s self.

“I knew you always had it in you, punk” Bucky said as they marched across the battlefield together. Steve smiled at Bucky, knowing his friend was safe and at his side.

When Steve moved his gaze straight ahead of him, his surroundings changed.

He was now stood in front of a mirror with his post-serum self staring back at him.

“The great Captain America, God’s righteous man,” a menacing voice said behind him.

He turned around to find the source of the voice, however no one was there. When he looked back to the mirror, the red skull was looking at him in his reflection.

“Changing your appearance with that serum did nothing but show me how weak you are. How it took such a modification for people to actually listen to you,” The red skull mocked him.

Steve diverted his gaze from the reflection and clenched his fists to retain his anger, but a choked sob made his return his gaze.

There the red skull stood, with his hand around your neck causing your feet to barely touch the ground.

“Steve,” the broken tone in your voice made his heart stop.

Without hesitation, he began to run towards you. However, the ground beneath him seemed to move on its own, preventing him from reaching you.

The ominous laugh of the red skull along with the choked sobs coming from you was pure torture to Steve. He watched as a final squeeze caused all colour to drain from your face, and then the red skull let you go. You lay limb on the ground.

Steve woke up with a loud ‘NO’ leaving his lips and a thin layer of sweat coating him. As he took deep breaths in to calm himself, his room door opened to reveal you.

Even with concern etched on your face, Steve was relieved to see that you’re okay.

“I heard screaming,” you made your way beside him and sat on the bed.

It took a moment for Steve to say something, and you observed the way his hands were shaking, and his breaths were laboured.

“I-I had a nightmare,” his words were broken, and his tone held a hint of fear in them as he tried to maintain a tough exterior.

This wasn’t the first time you had come to Steve’s aid in the dead of night when he awoke from a nightmare, but it was definitely the first time in a long time since its happened.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask him, knowing that this has worked in the past, however when Steve shook his head in reply you knew it was a bad one.

He reached out for your hand.

“Can I hold you, please? Like I use to?” he looked so vulnerable in that moment.

“Of course,” you replied and moved the blanket to lay beside him. His big hands tucked you alongside him, holding you close as if you’d disappear before his very eyes.

The room was silent as you both stared up at his ceiling, which was still decorated with the glow in the dark stickers you got him. The familiarity of being in his arms brought about the feelings you were trying to forget. Being with him like this felt normal, it felt like this is where you belonged.

After his confession of his love for you, things had been somewhat normal. Only this time you knew how he felt about you, but you and him knew he needed to overcome things before moving forward.

“I think… the more I talk to my therapist about my trauma, the more it subconsciously plagues my mind,” he explained.

You moved your gaze to look at him.

“Has it been helping you? Talking about everything?” you ask curiously.

He nodded his head in reply.

“Its putting life into perspective for me, making me realise all the rights and wrongs…” he trailed off as though he had more to say, the conflicting look in his eyes confirmed this.

You moved closer to him and let your hand cup his face, so he was now looking at you.

“Y’know you can talk to me, right? Even if its something about therapy or mundane things,”

“I know,” he said with a sigh and let his eyes move from your eyes to your lips.

“I saw something that reminded me of you today,” you changed the topic to ease his mind.

“Yeah? What was it?” he was curious.

“A golden retriever,”

Steve raised a brow at your words and even in the dimly lit room, he could see the smile on your face.

“I was at the park, and he ran over to me, completely knocked the air out of me. Then there was this little black cat. And you’d assume the dog wouldn’t like the cat or vice versa, but the cat warmed up to the dog and he proceeded to play with the cat, in such a gentle manner,”

Steve loved when you rambled on about everything and anything. It brought ease into his mind.

“So, you think I’m gentle?” is what Steve was getting from what you were saying.

“Pretty much, it reminded me about how you are with me… or any of us. You’re a good leader with a strong will to do the right thing, but you’re also the gentlest giant. When I get hurt on a mission, you make sure to handle me with care,” your hands draw patterns on his clothed chest as you distractedly complete your sentence.

“Is that how you see me? Even after…” he trails.

“Yes, even after everything. What I’m trying to say is despite everything you’ve been through, you’re still a good person. You’ve been a good person from the start,”

His chest vibrated in laughter.

“This started off with me reminding you of a golden retriever and ended with you saying the sweetest thing about me,” he leaned over you and kissed your forehead.

“Just trying to fulfill the part of my being your…” you stopped yourself short, not thinking before speaking.

He smiled at your words and looked into your eyes, seeing the panic.

“By being more than just a friend,” he completed your sentence.

And ever so gently, he brought his lips to yours. Capturing them in a sweet kiss which spoke and expressed every emotion the two of you shared for each other.

tagging those who reblogged/commented:

@paarthurnax59 @terry2227 @sweater-bee @niffala @superforgottensoul @haruvalentine4321 @steve-language-rogers @slxttyro @themrsrogers @smhnxdiii @loumaaria-blog @buckywifey @themrsrogers @moonstruckbirdie @nana1000night @borkybawnes

[xoxoalette]

"I didn't mean to kill her, but after that first scream...there was no stopping me from it." For Diva please

Accepting writing prompt asks, see list here !! X

Cw: manipulation, minor character death

"I didn't mean to kill her, but after that first scream...there was no stopping me from it."

You wish those words were a joke— that this whole thing was just some sick prank. But with the body of your ex sprawled across the kitchen floor, between Diva’s dirtied sneakers. Her eyes just barely open but you could still see the vacant stare, not a hint of life remaining in the woman you used to know, to love.

Your relationship with your ex was complicated, was harmful— she was confrontational and short tempered, a poor combination. She had no issue coming to your house despite leaving it just a few weeks ago, working up a storm that she’d get her things back whenever while cursing you out with every name under the sun.

And today was the day she returned— the same day Diva was hanging out with you. Apparently spending time with your friend didn’t sit well with your ex, because the moment her eyes landed on Diva, she was pointing fingers and raising her voice.

Diva took it like a champ, but you knew she was able to handle herself. That didn’t stop the gut feeling of protectiveness swirl in you when your ex threw insults her way. Diva barely reacted— not until your ex started directing her anger and jealousy towards you— getting in your face and shoving at you.

It was her comment about you being easy that had Diva finally react. Your sweet friend always had your back, so it was no surprise she’d step in to defend you. You just wished it wouldn’t have gotten so drastic.

A vase to the side of your ex’s head, one swing wasn’t enough, not even as your ex’s yelling turned to pleas. The two topple to the floor as the base breaks over over the woman’s skull— Diva only holding a shard of the glass now as she raises up and swings back down repeatedly.

Blood— blood everywhere. Soon, your ex’s cries still, and so does her body.

Now you’re here, Diva tossing the glass to the ground, palm cut from gripping on it like a lifeline.

“I just… I just couldn’t bear seeing her yell at you and touch you like that—“ Diva justifies, slowly approaching you like she would to a frightened animal. You were frightened, very— falling back into your ass, the color draining from your face as you try to avoid looking at the mess.

“I’d never let anyone treat you so poorly,” you should move, get up and run to the phone to call the police, anything— but your body stays frozen as Diva drops down to her knees in front of you, cupping your face with bloodied hands.

“You forgive me right?” You just had to, right? After all, she did this just for you, even if she got carried away.