#bloody roar 1

[playstationgamemania]

[dailyvideogamecharacters]

Yugo Ogami, Bloody Roar 2 (1999)

[emm-kaede]

Honestly Bloody Roar is a ton of fun and plays really well, though I do kinda suck at it. (I suck at all fighting games tbh)

Also I somehow accidentally activated big head mode lmao??

[duck-a-doodle]

COD IMAGINES

TACTICAL BUDDLE BUG 4/4

Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

TF141!reader x 141

WARNING: Angst, Death, Comfort

A/N: I could not think of any other way for Ghost to accept your hug. I apologise for the trauma in advance. :'-)

Masterlist

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The most serious member of the 141 is secretly a very affectionate person.

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The mission was rough, one that pulled you under and dragged your bloodied knees through dirt and gravel.

It was a ground search and rescue operation which lasted for weeks on end, and one which tested the limits of the human body, bending your sanity to the brink of a clean snap.

The streets were coloured in violence, and the grounds were a tangle of rubble, vehicle parts and severed bodies.

Wherever you stepped, there would lay a limb or a head, of which you could no longer tell if they belonged to an enemy or hostage. It no longer mattered, not when your boots must travel the roads of a thousand stripped souls.

You saved several hostages from the scene, but there was one that you know would haunt you til the end of your days.

It was a little girl. Small, young, with her favourite doll that was caked with remnants of dirt and coagulated blood, the latter of which should never have made its mark upon such a pure soul.

You had to coax her to climb down from the roof, to bring her to safety, and you had failed to realise that you were not the only one to notice the child.

A bullet tore through her chest, and another through her side, bringing her down from the roof, soft and limp into your arms.

Not every hostage can be saved. Not every enemy will be found. Ghost, who buried the young girl you in the aftermath, had watched you ruin every unfriendly sight with a fury unmatched.

He witnessed the angry flames that swallowed up every dead man as you pulled them straight down to hell with you.

Your body had moved blindly when you heard the roaring sound of your captain's orders to return to the plane.

Gaz was adjacent to you, resting quietly while Johnny sat on your other side, watching you carefully; you refused to look at him, knowing that his eyes would look right through you.

The captain said nothing, and Ghost, who propped himself opposite to where you were, was unreadable.

There was no banter, no questions, and only a silent prayer remained.

You cannot remember whose hands have rested on your arms or shoulders in an attempt to calm you; all you recall was the chill and bile that rised from within you. You could not remember the debriefing that felt like seconds but passed like hours.

You could not remember how you got back. Not how you got into your fresh clothes, not how your wounds — once bloody and inflamed — were now patched, and not how you found yourself standing at Ghost's door, waiting.

Why were you there? What were you waiting for? And as soon as the question arose, the answer made itself clear; because of all people, he would know.

As if sensing a presence, the room opened with a click, and Ghost appeared in the doorway, taking a moment to register your presence. He moved to one side. Stepping in silently, the door closed shut behind you, enclosing you in a box of white noise.

He stood before you, saying nothing. He did not need to say anything. In fact, he need not even ask. He simply knew.

"You did what you could."

The reality of his words were a dagger to your beating chest. You lived. You lived, and you were grateful. But you lived at a cost, with the price of blood on your hands.

You took one step. Then another. And Ghost, who did not anticipate what you were about to do, stilled as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.

Fingers tangled tight into the fabric of his shirt, and you press your face deep into his body, seeking — begging — for a reprieve. The darkness was a comfort. He was a comfort.

For once, you want to feel a life that you can hold in your hands, that will not disappear under your touch, that is living and breathing. To hear the heartbeat of a soul, to get rid of the memory of cold, colourless skin that rest unmoving against your arms.

"Breathe, cub."

You could not move. You did not want to move. You cannot bear to move. Not an inch, not away from him who you knew understood better than anybody. His hands were placed on your back. Warm. Alive.

There were no use for words as both of you held each other in silence, resting in the comfort of a feeling near-forgotten.

That was your last memory of that night before you knocked out cold, and in your sleep you dreamt of a hand that wiped the warm corners of your eyes, rough yet gentle.

Unbeknownst to you, a storm in Ghost had calmed when you chose him of all people to seek comfort in, and silently grateful he was for the team to have a most sensitive heart on board.

You were the most affectionate person of the 141, and you cared and loved unconditionally. Those qualities made you the most lethal one of them all, for despite any rankings or titles, you commandeered them all with a piece of your heart — and the day your heart dies is the day they raise hell in your name.

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FOOTNOTE(S):

Ghost likely has only hugged the captain once or twice and Johnny, several times but not of his own volition.

Your heart reminds him of his better days with his brother Tommy and it makes him want to punch you (cuteness aggression), but he will take that knowledge to his grave.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

His Princess - Pt7

fancast!bloody ben x targ!fem!reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: The battle continues at Kings Landing as the dance begins in Harrenhal. When everything seems overwhelming there is a break on the horizon. Rhaenyra sends Y/n and Ben back to Harrenhal after they take Kings Landing to see the outcome. 

Warnings: 18+ battle/war, blades, blood, death, swearing, my version of the battle above gods eye(spoiler for the show bc it’s fr and it’s not cute) - mc but cannon death, beheading, alys spreading info like the gossip she is, after war and gossip oral(f receiving), fingering

Authors Note: hopefully the switching of the povs offers what I wanted it to!!!!, hate cole but i can’t deny he’s a good swordsman and would need at least two ppl to take him in a fight, i tried to keep gods eye minimal bc i can’t stand dragons fighting!!!, also daeron is not apart of this story bc i didn’t want another dragon to be hurt!

Word Count: 5.5k almost half of this is war

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n Pov:

“Find him,” I sob to Vermithor and his growls shake the walls around the city as Silverwing and I give out an earth shattering cry as we circle the host raining fire upon the Greens. 

Vermithor gives out a bone chilling roar and sprays fire along the Gods gate. I’m turning my head searching for any sign of Ben as Silverwing follows close to Vermithor. I take notice of Vermithors wound but it’s more of just a scratch and the bleeding has already ceased much to my relief. My adrenaline rises to match my fear as my heart pounds wildly in my chest as we continue our search for Ben. 

Vermithor circles around where I last saw Ben and begins to fly down to the ground. He sprays the ground in dragon flame before he lands on the burning men as Silverwing lands us in the center of the fire next to him. The warmth licks at my armor as I watch the flames die around me. As the haze clears I see Ben cutting down men around him in a frenzy. 

I sob in relief as I see him still in one piece and quickly slide off of Silverwing. I slip the sword from my back and go to Ben’s side. My blade becomes an extension of myself as my body goes into a killing calm. Everything around me fades away as I face man after man. As I turn to my next victim I can see the burnt scorpion behind the host. 

Cole emerges from the ruins and bodies offering me a bloody smile. Our dragons step closer to me and bare their teeth. Their low growls and chuffs vibrate the ground beneath us. Ben turns to me and sees Cole walking over to me and quickly makes it to my side. 

“You need two dragons and a whores daughter to stand against me?” Cole laughs to Ben bitterly spitting.

“You will still die in the end.” I hum raising my sword.

“We shall see.” he charges forward with his blade in front of him and I quickly fold backwards to avoid his swing. 

Ben comes from behind and strikes with his sword and Cole barely avoids the metal. I rise once again and try to catch Cole from behind but he is quick on his feet. The three of us dance with our blades as the war continues to wage around us. My nerves start to rise as I see our host getting overwhelmed as both of our dragons are grounded with us for the moment. 

This moment of thought has costed me dearly. Pain washes through the side of my face as blood trickles down my neck as Coles sword slices my flesh. I give out a loud cry and Silverwing screams with me. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Harrenhal Pov:

The clouds hang low in the sky as the smell of rain on the horizon washes over the ruined castle. The sky is preparing to weep for the dance that will soon take place. Fog begins to roll in from the forest line casting everything in a gray light.  

“You will die here today.” Alys appears through the foggy gates walking to Daemon and Caraxes.

“As long as I take Aemond with me, I care not.” Daemon pulls his helm on and makes sure everything is secure.

“So eager to die before you meet your grandchild?” Alys tilts her head with a small smile.

“They’ll be better off without me.” he mounts Caraxes and shoots into the sky. 

Daemon has had enough of Alys’ mind games and doesn’t even bat an eye at the insinuation of having grandchildren. He never saw himself living long enough to see his children or wife contented. He knows this is the last thing he will be able to give them and he hopes it’s enough to change the tides of the war. 

Daemon circles around Harrenhal keeping his eyes peeled for Vhagar and her one eyed rider. He’s growing impatient but he can feel the promise of death in the air. Caraxes perches on one of the towers as they await their fate. A low grumble comes from the distance and Vhagar comes into view from the clouds. 

Daemon shoots into the sky and lures them away from the castle. He doesn’t much care for this castle but he knows many Lords will ask Rhaenyra for it so it must remain standing. He leads Aemond over the body of water called Gods Eye.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n Pov:

As I rise to my feet Ben is relentlessly bashing his sword into Coles. The metal song promises death. I try to find an opening to help Ben once more but he has a glazed look over his eyes as he slams repeatedly into Cole. I watch on in shock as I’ve never seen Ben fight like this. Some of his men stop and watch on as this one on one continues. 

Our dragons grumble as some of Coles men stand and watch. It seems as if this part of the wall is on a pause as they wait to see what happens. I rip a piece of my shirt off from under my armor and wipe off the side of my face. The cut seems to start just under my eye and travels down to my jaw. The dirtied cloth stings but it helps staunch the blood. Ben lets out a mighty roar and swings his long sword and I gasp with widened eyes.

“Your Kingmaker.” Ben yells as he raises Coles head into the air. 

He dips down and grabs Coles foot and drags it to Vermithor who grabs his leg in his claws. He returns to me still gripping Coles head in his hands and I look to him as he’s breathing heavily. He turns my face and looks at my cut as his nostrils flare.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers as the men begin to look around unsure if we’re to keep fighting. “To Silverwing.” he nods his head and begins to usher me over before he goes to mount Vermithor. 

Vermithor and Silverwing shoot to the skies and give out victorious growls. I look down at Vermithors claws as Coles headless body is being paraded through the air. He slides low to the Green host and they falter as they take on the body hanging above them. 

“Your Kingmaker is dead and your King dies at Harrenhal.” Ben proclaims as we fly along the walls. 

A loud grumble comes from the clouds and my heart stops as I see a large shadow approaching. As the dragon comes into view I squint my eyes trying to figure out who it is. It’s not Vhagar or any other I’ve ever seen. Silverwing chirps and flies to meet the new dragon. I shake my head thinking I must be delusional from blood loss as I spot Rhaena atop this dragon. 

“I figured I would help in the war!” Rhaena calls out as her dragon gives out a fierce cry and I look below as a sob rips through me as I see a grand host from the Vale and the North seeping through the tree lines running to meet the Greens host.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Harrenhal Pov:

Caraxes and Vhagar circle each other around the body of water and give out low grumbles. The sky begins to cry as the dragons close in on one another. The Blood Wyrm quickly twists around the old fossil as she barely turns in time for the first snap of teeth. Vhagar gives out a loud cry as Caraxes sinks his teeth into her neck. 

Vhagar pulls away from Caraxes and breathes fire upon him and Daemon. Daemon flies through the flame and straight for Vhagars rider. Aemond dips, narrowly avoiding Caraxes maw. They pull back from one another and the dragons circle above the water once more.

“You have lived long enough,” Aemond calls across the skies to Daemon. 

“Something we agree upon,” Daemon chuckles as he begins to unclip from Caraxes. 

The world seems to hold its breath as Daemon unsheathes Dark Sister and points to Aemond and Vhagar. Caraxes flies quick and hard latching onto Vhagar. Daemon jumps from his dragon to Aemond landing on Vhagars head. He sprints down on uneven feet as Aemond struggles to get his weapon or unclip from his saddle. 

“For my Queen,” Daemon roars as he pierces Dark Sisters through Aemonds one eye before everything goes black.

The dragon’s give out a cry and spiral down to the water. The impact could be felt well over a hundred miles. Blood rain falls from the sky as the false King and the Rogue Prince implode to their watery grave. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

3rd person Rhaenyra Pov: 

Addam has been sent to recruit the small folk and hand out armor and weapons for those willing and able. Rhaenyra has slipped into the castle through the tunnels and has made quick work of finding her loyalists. She makes it to the throne room and lets out a breathy laugh. Alicent and Helaena are brought in and kneel before her. 

“Rhaenyra please,” Alicent pleads from her knees as Rhaenyra holds a blade to her throat. 

“You brought this upon yourself.” she looks down to Alicent with contempt. 

“The Kings are dead.” Helaena speaks softly from her place next to Alicent. 

“Which ones?” Rhaenyra turns her head to Helaena lowering the blade from Alicents throat. 

“All of them.” Helaena shakes her head and Rhaenyras blade falls out of her hand. 

“Ring the bells to let-“ 

“Your Grace, another dragon and a host.” Addam bursts through the throne room doors breathing heavily.

“Who?” Rhaenyra looks at him confused. 

“They say Rhaena with a host from the Vale and North.” Addam takes in the scene before him. 

“She’s done it.” Rhaenyra smiles breathing out a sigh of triumph and relief.

“They also say that Ben and Vermithor are flying around Coles headless body above the host. He carries his head on his back.” Alicent lets out a soft sob at his words. 

“Your son’s are dead. Your Kingmaker has been beheaded. You are surrounded. Ring the bells and save your remaining men.” Rhaenyra looks down to Alicent. 

“The common folk will remember this destruction.” Alicent narrows her eyes at Rhaenyra. 

“They fight your host from within the walls. You have lost.” Rhaenyra tugs Alicent up harshly and begins to bring her to the bell tower. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n Pov: 

My head cranes to the city as the bells begin to toll. All of the dragons surround the city and  give out one last cry before they start to the Keep. As we look down the fighting is slowing and swords are being lowered. I’m in awe as we fly through the city at the amount of small folk that are pushing the Greens out of the gates. 

Baela and Jace come into view and tears start sliding down my face as I see them unscathed and safe. Rhaena comes from behind the Keep with Addam trailing close behind her. Our dragons follow Syraxs call and we land perched on the main gates. 

We all dismount and make it down to the main courtyard. We all look to each other and my siblings take in mine and Ben’s appearance. Their eyebrows furrow as they see my cut and look to our blood and dirt covered bodies. I turn to Ben and see Cole’s head bouncing against his back as he approaches me. Vermithor lets out a low growl and flings Cole’s body to the center of the yard. 

“I see burning people wasn’t enough for you both.” Jaces voice drowns out as me and Ben look to each other. 

“Let’s find a witch to bring him back. I want to kill him slower.” his voice rough as he tilts my chin to look at my cut. 

“I’m okay.” I look up to him taking in the death that remains in his eyes. 

“We will find you a maester at once.” he pulls me with him into the castle. 

“Where are you two going?” Baela yells after us. 

I tug him to the throne room thankful he doesn’t know where the maesters chambers are. I must see my mother. I need to know who rang those bells and what it means. As the doors groan under my hands I behold my mother atop the throne with her crown on her brow. 

“Daughter,” Rhaenyra rises taking in my state. “My children,” her voice wavers as the rest of my siblings trail in behind me and Ben. 

“My Queen,” I bow. 

“Call for a maester,” Rhaenyra flicks her head to Jace and he’s out in the hall shouting in seconds. 

I huff as he brings in a maester who sits me on a chair and begins to clean my wound. Ben holds my hand as the maester beings to stitch up my cheek. Rhaenyra is lowly talking to my siblings about how their plans went and she finally turns to me and Ben. 

“I wish to see the head.” Rhaenyras voice travels through the hall. 

“The rest of him is in the courtyard.” Ben rises from my side and pulls the head from his back. He offers her the head holding it by his hair. 

“You’ve done me a great service, Benjicot.” she shakes her head at a loss for words. “What happened to your cheek?” Rhaenyra turns her attention to me. 

“Cole.” I say trying to steady my breathing as the maester pulls the thread in and out of my flesh for his last stitch.

“You fool,” she shakes her head before she leans down and engulfs me in a hug before she turns back to the group of us.

“We’ve done it, gather the remaining Lords so we may start about clearing out the traitors and moving forward.” she turns and nods her head to us. “Ben, Y/n,” she stops us before we exit.

“Yes?” we turn back to her. 

“I have one more immeasurable favor to ask of you both.” she whispers down to us. 

“Say it and it will be done.” I look to her with tired eyes but ready to do what she needs. 

“Go to Harrenhal and see what remains.” her voice barely a murmur as her eyes begin to tear. 

“We will go at once,” I nod my head. 

She walks out of the Keep with us as we take in the dragons and the wall crumbling under their claws. Her head snaps to the rest of Coles body that remains in the center of the courtyard. From beyond the gates we hear shouts and cries of agony from the people who were not as lucky. 

“Fly safe and stay together.” she pulls me and Ben into a tight hug. “Please return to me.” her voice a whisper as she looks to both of us. 

Ben turns to me and we finally have a moment alone to ourselves. I look into his eyes and he seems to be coming down from his adrenaline still. I wrap my arms around him and he holds me tightly against him. I care not of our blood and dirt and pull his lips to mine feverishly.

“I want you to fly with me and Vermithor,” he looks down to me separating our lips. 

“Ben, I’m fine,” I sigh looking up to him.

“I know, but I just want you by me.” his hold on me tightens.

“Then ask Silverwing,” I relent and he pulls away to turn to my dragon as I walk to his.

“You flew valiantly today, my beautiful Silverwing. Will you allow Y/n to fly with me and Vermithor on our next journey?” I turn from Verithors neck and see Silverwing nudge into Ben before he starts towards me.

“Up you go.” he softly tugs me towards his wings and I begin my climb. We quickly settle and take flight. Silverwing flies next to us and they both give out a victorious song to the men below before we coast out on the horizon.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

As we enter the Riverlands we can feel the great loss in the air. The clouds weep, cleaning off some of our blood and dirt as we make our way to the ruined castle. Our dragons give out low grumbles as we approach Harrenhal and begin to make our descent outside the main gates. 

Ben helps me off refusing to let me do anything on my own. He has a hand pressed against me at all times and grabs my hand for his own once we make it the ground. The heaviness in the air is unsettling while the wind sings an eerie song. 

The castle grounds are silent. We saw no dragons on approach and hear nothing as we look around for any sign of a threat. As we turn my heart goes to my throat as Alys appears. 

“Where are they?” I ask pulling the bone knife from its sheath and pointing it at her. 

“I would think you wouldn’t be so quick to show your child more death and violence. Though, you are your father’s child..” she trails off with a smile. 

“My child?” my eyebrows furrow as I raise the knife even higher. 

“The one you’ve been carrying for a moon now.” she nods to me and looks to Ben. I bring my free hand to my abdomen and try to think of any signs that her words are true. “I may have played mind games with your father but I can’t slip through your bond with the child’s father. He’s very protective.” she chuckles to Ben who is now trying to push me behind him. 

“Where is my father?” my voice wavers as my mind already knows the answer. 

“You’ll find him under the Gods Eye.” her skirts swish as she disappears behind the walls once more. 

“Stay with the dragons and I will go.” he looks down to me intensely. 

“You will not start with this overprotective male dominance now.” I huff as I try to walk past him but he grabs my arm to stop me. 

“Y/n,” he looks to me with pleading eyes as his hand travels to my lower abdomen. 

“After I find my father,” I shake my head and pull him along with me. 

We walk silently to the body of water just beyond the crumbling fortress. Our dragons follow behind us the ground shaking at their heavy steps. As we approach my breath catches taking in the blood splattered around the shores. 

Pieces of the once great dragons are jutting through the surface of the water. I can tell it’s both dragons by their coloring and a sob bubbles out of my mouth. My hand slips from Ben’s as I fall to my knees on the shore looking on at the still water. He kneels next to me and hugs me tightly. 

“I have to go find him.” I shake my head as tears begin to slip down my cheeks. 

I rise and start to walk into the once clear water that seems to now be stained a blush pink. Water licks at my thighs until I begin to start my swim. I swim around the masses in the water until I spot Caraxes. As I dip my head under the water to look for him my stitched cut screams in agony. 

I pull up for breath and begin to move around to see if I can find him anywhere else. I’ve been searching around Caraxes and have found nothing so I relent and begin my search around Vhagar. Ben shouts at me from the shore but I can’t abandon this search. 

As I dip down under the surface again my eyes blurry I spot Aemond in Vhagars saddle. I slip above the water to take in a deep breath before I dive down. My eyes bulge as I take in Dark Sister pierced through his remaining eye. I quickly scan the area and my remaining air bubbles out of my mouth as I see Daemon resting on the rocky bottom. I swim to the top and let out a loud sob. 

“Ben, I need you,” I cry and he’s running into the water and at my side in seconds. 

We swim below the surface and I rip Dark Sister from Aemonds head as Ben begins to lift and pull Daemons body to the surface. I grab on and help him carry him to shore. As we finally make it to the sands I sit silently looking down at his blade. 

“I-“ I shake my head as tears begin falling down my face. 

I let out a grief stricken scream and Silverwing quickly approaches the shores and curls near me. Ben holds me to him as my sobs continue to wreck me. My breathing finally settles and he looks up to me with sad eyes while wiping them away with his thumbs. 

“We need to prepare his body to bring back home.” I sniffle before getting to my feet.

“I’ll go see if there’s a maester or someone,” Ben rises wiping the sand off of him. 

“I told him he would die here.” Alys comes from the other side of the shore. 

“Are you just here to mock me and speak in riddles?” I yell exasperated. 

“I’ve brought this for your cheek. It’ll heal it better than those stitches.” she offers me a cup and I look at the foul smelling paste. “I’m also the only maester, if that’s what you want to call me, and I can prepare his body for your travels.” she offers and I cant tell if she’s sincere or not so I turn to Ben hoping he will deal with this situation for me. 

“What is this paste?” he grabs the cup from my hands. 

“Your dragons wouldn’t allow me to poison the mother of your child. Use it or don’t.” she chuckles turning her head to look at our dragons. 

“I want his body treated with respect. Bound and wrapped tastefully befitting a King. All of his armor is to be cleaned and properly packed so we may travel with ease. We will take our old chambers while you finish your work.” Ben pulls me to his side as we begin to walk to the castle once more. 

Our feet drag up the stairs as we stop in front of familiar doors. Ben pushes them open and escorts me to a chair to sit down. I place Dark Sister next to me and let out a shaky sigh. He kneels in front of me and locks his eyes with mine. 

“I’m sorry,” his words soft as he places the cup with the paste next to me and grabs my hands. 

“I had hoped he would make it.” tears still slide down my cheeks as he pulls me down into a hug.

“It seems as if Alys made you a bath. Let me clean you and help you relax.” he hums standing with me. 

He walks me to the bath and begins to remove my stained armor. I peel off my clothes as he starts to take off his armor. When he removes his shirt I can see small cuts littering his skin and I look at him with sad but thankful eyes that he’s still with me. He helps me slide into the bath and takes a seat next to me. 

The warm water lulls my muscles and I lean back resting my head on the lip of the small pool. I feel the water shift and he starts to undo my braids releasing their tension. I sigh in relief and allow my eyes to drift shut. He brings a cloth and soap to begin wiping my skin as I relax further into the water. 

“Do you want to try her paste?” his voice soft as I crack an eye open. 

“Sure, if anything bad happens Silverwing will eat her.” I shrug as he rises out of the bath. 

“I will kill her myself if she causes harm to you.” his voice trails to me from the couch before he returns. 

He applies a generous amount of paste to his fingers and brings his free hand to my jaw to tilt my head. I look up to him expectantly as he lowers his fingers to my cheek. I wince as the cold paste slides down my face and a shiver travels my spine as I feel the wound dispelling the stitches and doing its own work. 

“It’s healed.” his words almost a question as he tilts my head. He brings his hand up and shows me the black thread that was once holding my cheek. “That means she wasn’t lying.” his hand slides from my chin and he places it on my stomach. 

“Ben,” his name falls from my mouth as I allow myself to finally think about Alys’ words and the life growing inside me. 

“The mother of my children, my Princess, my wife.” his words filled with devotion as his lips softly press against mine. 

I let his lips wash away the day and all that’s come with it. His hand resting on my lower abdomen slides a little lower and I moan into his mouth as he circles my clit. His lips kiss down my now healed cheek and licks around my pulse. 

“I can’t wait to see you growing with our child.” he whispers in my ear as he dips his fingers into my core. “You’re gunna be even more beautiful.” I rest my head on his shoulder as my hips grind into his hand as my pleasure is already washing through me from my heightened emotions.

“Come let’s get you into bed while I find you some clothes. I’m sure we’ve left some behind.” he helps me out of the tub and walks me over to the bed always keeping a hand placed on me. 

“Ben I’m not going to break, I just fought alongside you in a war.” I huff but still allowing him to pull the covers over my body. 

“Do not remind me.” his rage seeps off of him. 

“Don’t work yourself up again.” I roll my eyes chuckling. “Come to bed, let’s forget today for a little while.” I pout my lips trying to pull him in with me. 

“I must find you clothes and food and a drink. Is there anything else?” he rambles as he begins walking to the doors. 

“Maybe some clothes for yourself? I know Harrenhal is empty but I don’t think the ghosts want you walking around nude.” I shake my head smiling. 

He pulls open the wardrobe and quickly slides on some pants and continues to rifle through what we’ve left. He pulls out wrinkled shirt next and shrugs before putting it on. He finds the shortest slip that’s been made in all of the seven kingdoms apparently and tosses it to me on the bed. 

“Now you have clothes.” he nods to himself before slipping out the door. I sigh and slip the piece of fabric on nonetheless. I pull the blankets closer and allow my eyes to rest while he’s off on his hunt. 

“I found some meat and cake and that’s about it.” Ben pushes the doors open jolting me awake. “And water. I’ve also spoken with Alys.” I stretch out wiping my eyes. 

“Pray tell what more Alys had to say.” I sigh as I hold my hands out expectantly for my water. 

“Just that she’ll have everything prepared for us by the morning. I’ve sent a raven to  Rhaenrya telling her that we will return tomorrow.” he hands me my glass of water and sits on the bed next to me with the tray of food. 

“You didn’t deliver the news of Daemon in that letter, did you?” I pull the cup from my lips. 

“No, she needs to see for herself.” he shakes his head. He starts to cut up the meat on the tray and goes to feed it to me. 

“Benjicot Blackwood,” I scold. “What happened to the man who made me and Silverwing hunt for him and his dragon?” I raise my eyebrows as a smile plays on my lips. 

“Shh, I’ll be the man now.” he tries to hide his smile as I accept the meat from the fork. 

“Then that means no more jumping off of Vermithor into the middle of a war.” I narrow my eyes at him as I accept another mouthful. 

“I was wondering when you would yell at me about that.” he says sheepishly. 

“I was so fucking scared. I thought my heart was going to stop. Never do that again.” I furrow my brows. “You did look incredibly fierce doing it though.” I whisper and his eyes snap to mine. 

“Fierce, hm?” he smiles down to me. 

“And fucking stupid.” I push him back as he chuckles. 

“Well let’s hope our child takes after you.” his smile is soft as he sits up. 

“Do you wish for a boy or a girl?” I hum as he starts to feed me cake. 

“I care not.” his smile widens. 

“I hope for a girl, so I think we’ll have a boy.” I chuckle accepting more of the sweet dessert. 

“Then we’ll have as many until we get a girl.” he discards the tray on the ground to bring his full attention to me. 

“We shall see what the Gods grant us.” I hum pulling him into a kiss. “Did you not bring any food for yourself?” I pull back looking to him. 

“I ate as your food was being prepared. I wanted to have a different kind of dessert.” his eyes darken and he crawls over me kissing me once more. 

My thighs spread as he settles between them. He licks and kisses down my neck before circling his tongue over my covered nipples. I whine as he scrapes his teeth around them before snaking his way lower. He places featherlight kisses down my slit as I sigh, bucking my hips to his face. 

His tongue juts out and offers small licks to my sensitive bud as I softly pant above him. His lips encase me while his tongue lashes against me quickly. My hand goes to his hair as I grind against his mouth and chase my pleasure. His other hand interlocks with my free hand as he continues with his tongue. 

“Ben, fuck,” I cry as I arch off the bed. 

He licks down my center and pushes his tongue into me as I gasp trying to catch my breath. He brings his other hand to circle along my bud as his tongue laps at my wetness. I explode across his face and he continues licking to clean me off. I sigh as my body melts into the bed as he comes to lay at my side. 

“What of you?” I say my eyes barely open as I go to reach for his length. 

“I’m okay, my love. Rest.” he grabs my hand and kisses my forehead as I curl into him allowing my mind to forget all of the bad today and only think of the good. 

We’ve taken Kings Landing. My mother sits the throne. My cheek is healed. I have a life growing inside me. I have a man who is absolutely devoted to me at my side awaiting the day we can marry and I can’t wait to marry him. I drift off contented listening to his heartbeat. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

masterlist 🔌 

Part 8

ik i said 3 more parts 2 parts ago which means only one more after this but that’s just not enough?? and now i want to write abt them being happy and married and with kids wtfff are ppl down for that or do i do a spin off series??? like lmk bc i want more than just an epilogue and a glimpse like no i want to see this man waiting on you hand and foot and being absolutely OBSESSED with you pregnant with his child 

taglist ✍️ 

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @anaviieiraaa @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @zanygot7straykidsbonk

if I missed anyone lmk!

[death---dealer]

koba x reader pls pls he doesn't get enough love compared to caesar

We love 1 ( One ) Bonobo on this Blog. I really hope this is good, I'm the worst with trying to pick apart new characters to write for AAAA.

Title: End Of Day. Fandom: Planet of the Apes. Pairing: ( Slightly, just a tease haha. ) Implied Koba x Reader. Words: 3K+ ( How? I don't know don't ASK ME. ) Rating: T ( Mentions of aggression, animal abuse. ) Summary: Your favorite thing to do? Annoy Koba. ( I am bread crumbing here. Someone eat my bread crumbs and ask for MORE. )

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

Koba was sure to make sure you knew your place. From the moment you stepped into the Colony, with every move you gave, every word you either said or signed, every breath you took was accounted for, almost painstakingly so. It wasn’t your fault you were found by Caesar’s army, half dead and dragged back, nursed to health by some lovely Chimps wearing intricate face masks, that in your heated haze of injury, looked remarkably like medical masks.

It wasn’t your fault that Caesar offered you refuge after you explained the circumstances that left you almost dead; you were turned on by your fellow group of Humans for expressing the opinion that maybe… The Apes were not so bad, maybe they were just trying to survive much like you all were. Bad choice of opinion to have in a group of people who were terrified of the sun. Rather than just letting you out with you opinions, they ended up beating you to a bloody pulp, taking all the things you had scavenged for, and left you in the woods. Fear made Humanity turn against itself, and that was your clear cut example. 

So, that’s how you found yourself where you sat. Perched rather comfortably in front of the fire of the Colony, taking in grace the way that the flames roared in front of you. You could see Caesar and Maurice from your position, signing away without any caution. What were they talking about? You had no idea, the heat from the fire resulted in the warping of the air around you and the signing looked blurred. You had just wrapped dinner up, enjoying the regular assortment of Fall dishes.

Some fish, an Elk caught by Caesar’s hunting party earlier in the day, more nuts than there were berries; just a circumstance of the weather. All things you enjoyed, but not as much as you enjoyed antagonizing your favorite Bonobo. Tilting your head at that thought, you took a moment to glance around the Colony. Speaking of the devil, Koba was nowhere in sight. He usually sat himself along with Caesar and company for meals, taking in some refuge to talk about strategies about the human camps that were too close to the Colony. Koba always suggested just attacking. Caesar always shot him down.

Koba would then look at you like Caesar’s reasoning was solely your fault. You’d stare back at him, unnerved and knowing that if he were to do anything to suggest harm to you, Caesar’s fist would come down on him again. Metaphorically, of course. Apes together are strong, apes do not kill apes. 

If you could record the interactions between Caesar, Koba and yourself, it would make for some good Reality TV. You laughed at that to yourself, knowing that no one else around you was going to understand unless you explained in detail what you were talking about. You had patience for many things, but explaining brain-rotting TV to the Colony was not on your bingo-card, at least this evening.

Shifting your body just a bit, you pulled the sleeves of your shirt down to encase your forearms and let your eyes trail back around so you were looking at Caesar and Maurice again. The Orangutan must have noticed your stare, giving you a slight gesture with the move of his head. Smiling at him, you fell pensively into the flames in front of you and how they moved. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to do when you were by yourself, when Koba wasn’t around. He was seated drama for you, and at least you got the pleasure of communicating verbally when with him, even if it was all aggression and arguments. You recalled in almost vivid detail your first spark of aggression from him. It wasn’t the absolute mad-dog stares he gave you when you finally emerged from the medic portion of the Colony. Or when you sat for the first communal dinner, not sure of the etiquettes. You imagined he complained to Caesar the entire dinner about your mere presence. Oh, no no. He avoided you deviously then, and tried his best to do that going forward. Out of sight, out of mind for Koba though he admittedly found himself a bit obsessed with the hatred he had for you. It was all humans, but now it was streamlined to just you for the time being. 

You were placed in a delicate situation of circumstances. The streamline had to have started when you accidentally mistook him for a Chimpanzee. The absolute animosity as he went off the rails, telling Caesar things like how stupid you were to not know the difference, how you didn't belong there, how you were too human for any of them and needed to know your place and that Caesar needed to do something about you before you tore down the Colony with ignorance. 

It was an honest mistake, you tried to explain in the moment. It wasn’t your fault once again that… Chimpanzees and Bonobos looked remarkably similar. The only times you had seen either were in Zoos when your were a child! Koba did not look too kindly on either and absolutely tore into you in broken English and a few signs at the mention of a Zoo falling from your lips. A place, to him in his resolute mind, that meant nothing but torture and was just a means to keep them in cages, away from actually experiencing life, only getting glimpse from the hands of humans. He hated it, he hated how loosely you had talked about it. He hated you. You were tentative to leave the conversation, more offended than anything at the fact that he got angry at your ignorance and didn't even offer the chance for you to explain yourself or apologize. 

You apologized to Caesar later that night after dinner, who took the apology as sincere and who gave you a bit of insight about Koba as a piece of mind; sensing that maybe you needed the information to make your own judgment about his friend and not just ones based on pretenses. The years he spent in facilities after what happened with his mother and caretaker from the TV stunt he did. He was literally being tortured again and again at the expense of Humanity's gross negligence and sadistic curiosities. Caesar explained his scars - all of them against his arms, legs, his face and his eye. 

With each word the Ape King told you, your heart sank a bit more in empathy. No creature, as nefarious as Koba acted or not, deserved such things and it opened a door for you to be a bit more accepting and understanding that his bias towards Humans, towards you, were rooted in deep fear and alienation. Caesar told you to never take what Koba said to heart, Koba was bred to fear, bred to run from any notion that Humans could be good and nothing you were going to do or say would save him from that. You nodded in quite understanding to Caesar. 

And that’s how you fell into your enjoyment of annoying him. You had tried to be kind to him multiple times with no avail, each time mentally beating yourself up at the fact that Caesar had warned you that goodwill was not going to be reciprocated or appreciated. So, you began to give it back to him just as hard as he gave to you. It was a fun game, most of the time. Koba usually got caught by your bitter remarks towards him and he’d stand down before aggression really bubbled to the surface and he’d do something to garner the wrath of Caesar. Instead, you opted into the enjoyment of staring at each other during breakfast, mid-day meals when they happened, and dinner. You found it mildly endearing the way that he complained to Caesar that things around the Colony were starting to smell like humans. Starting to smell like you. 

You chuffed at that and smelled your sleeve. It smelt like the creek you washed it in. You had no idea what that comment was about. You were just as smelly as the rest of them, actually more than you really cared to admit, for your own tastes but that was down to the Simian Flu taking the advantages of showers and soap from you. If he was going to say something mean, he needed to do it about something you had no control over and that’s how you ultimately kept yourself rather level headed in the game you had going with Koba. He took offense to your personal issues without really knowing the deeper meaning, if there even was one.

Every step you took was full of intent to Koba. Every blink you had was full of malice to Koba. Every breath you made was just the worst to Koba. It meant you were still alive. All everyday activities were scrutinized, and you just had to laugh at that. How much he despised you to the point of obsession. You’d joke around with him and imply that maybe he didn't hate you, that maybe he actually really liked you, but that was taking it a bit too far and you wondered if that was going to be the straw to break the camel's back, to get him to actually lurch at you out of defense. The sun had set at least half an hour ago, your back now feeling the chill as the brisk air of the ocean came rolling over the land. Always at the same time of day during the Fall, always right at bed time and you found yourself wrapped in many pelts just to cope. Maybe he got busy, you thought to yourself and began willing your body to get enough energy tohead back to the nest that Caesar was so gracious to offer you for as long as you wanted to stay. A voice absolutely tore you from whatever state of consciousness you were floating around in, reminiscing about when you arrived, thinking longingly about the things you left behind from the Flu… Whatever they said, you made the assumption that they were not talking to you. Why would they? You were just minding your own little--- Ah, the voice spoke again, you noticed the gruff nature, the harshness inflicted into each of the words. Koba. And he was asking you what you were still doing out, sitting by the fire. You really had no excuse and looked over your shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow at wonderment at where he had been for dinner. You had no entertainment.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear what you’re asking me over your loud breathing sounds.” You were referencing the huffing he often had around you, the anger palpable from his body at the release of your comment. He sauntered towards you, your internal primal instinct being that of fear but you just peered up at him when he was right next to you, arms apart in defense, legs holding himself to look larger, more intimidating. It surely worked, the gait he used coming towards you put your heart into a skip and it felt like it was sitting in your throat with realization.

You’d never been alone with Koba- you always had your buffer. Caesar, usually, had the easiest time taking his friend down from the ledge, but Maurice has taken his due diligence, as well as Blue Eyes when Koba said something about you he didn't agree with, who very much like his father, told you not to take anything Koba said about you seriously. “Caesar…” You narrowed your eyes as he began to speak, already aware that his one good eye was more than good enough to see you in impeccable detail despite the only light source being from the bonfire that was slowly dying. “Has you waiting for Koba?” “I’m honored you think I’m waiting for you.” Rolling your eyes at the audacity of his statement, you stood up. He was only an inch or so taller than you when he was bi-pedal, but the fact that he was pure muscle as compared to your very slinky form of human was enough to give you a slight pause as you considered sizing him up teasingly. He’d probably think it was a real threat from you and tear your face off. Quickly, you decided against it and muttered to him, “Move. I want to go to sleep.” He didn't. You sighed, rolling your eyes again and tried to move past him but with every step you took to the side, he followed suit. You didn't have any excuse to wait for him by the fire--- IF!! That was what you were doing, which it definitely was not. You simply lost track of time and didn't move. Good justification, you patted yourself on the back and looked at the Bonobo in front of you.  A part of your heart shifted. You had been close to him plenty of times, usually when he charged at you before Caesar had to tell him to back off. But, now, this close and without any movements, you really got a good look at his face and how… How almost sad he looked. 

The scarring on his face against his natural skin was jarring, so bleak and faded from years, his bad eye was ghosted with white but you swore it was looking right into yours with the intensity of his gaze. The fragment of empathy you always had towards him surfaced. You felt a tiny urge to reach up and lightly trace th--- Oh my GOD what were you thinking? You blinked that thought right out of your mind and stared at him again, focusing on the expression of his face rather than the minute details. It was perpetually as grumpy as ever, his expression. But it was often capsized by a look of anger or annoyance, depending on how he felt that. Anger when you said or did something stupid, annoyance when you were just hanging around for no reason. In this case? A little bit of both, but more annoyance. Swallowing softly, you felt your fingers twitch as Koba’s gaze pierced you like a thousand knives.. “Why are you so late?” You muttered finally, your breath expanding onto his face from the mere proximity. Koba scoffed at you, now returning you the absolute pleasure of having his breath in your face before dropping to all fours and heading to the left to pick some food before bed. Your eyes followed his movements, always mean and hard, but maybe that’s just how he felt he needed to hold himself after what he had been through. “Not… Human business.” That was a fair and valid point, and in most instances, you would leave it alone but you decided to push, having not gotten enough stimulation from him during the day. “Well, we really missed your cheery attitude. I had to eat all by myself, no Koba staring longingly at me.” There was sarcasm leaking through every pore of your being. Koba bit into an apple; his canines shone in the light of the flames of his action. The bite he took was large, chewing just as roughly as he had bitten into the fruit. “Had... things to do.” “Like what? Bring me with you next time so I can start to annoy you on your outings. I get bored here.” Koba growled ever so slightly. He didn't like being questioned by anyone, especially by you. It felt oddly like an interrogation. And the suggestion? He’d rather gouge out his other eye than take you with him, anywhere. Well, not that… He’d take you with him. If it meant he could beat you to an inch of your life, his fists taking relished silence in how they’d crush your ribs, how they’d beat you to submit to him, how he’d bring your face closer by holding your hair and make you admit all your ignorant human mistakes. Submit, submit! That idea lingered in his brain before he forced it back out. No, no. He did not want you to submit like you had submitted to Caesar, a topic of conversation that Koba did not enjoy. A topic of conversation that Caesar denied, being in any sort of advancements with you, being intimate with you. Koba was just making accusations to get you to go away. 

“No.” You tilted your head at his answer, the fact that he didn't give you anything snappy in return like he so often did before he turned, picking a few more pieces of fruit up and trailed away. You watched him in shattered silence. He had to be up to something, you figured as his figure disappeared into the darkness, towards the nest he had made for himself so many years ago. You wanted to follow out of loneliness, now left to your own devices for the rest of the night but you stopped yourself. He’d probably bark at you for following… Tell you to back off, maybe even snarl at you in the typical Koba fashion. But, he wouldn’t do anything, Caesar would make sure of it. He’d sit in petulant aggravation as you bothered him about the details of your day. You thought about that and weighed your options. A few seconds later, your feet were pattering on the ground as you followed him, talking once Koba was in range of your hearing. You could see his shoulder tense, figuring he was out of the woods with your relentless chattering. He never understood that about humans, how absolutely grating the small talk was. In fact, Koba sometimes took solace in the mere idea of ripping your lips off. Then you couldn’t talk back, couldn’t ask him things, couldn’t address him. He liked that idea. He liked that idea a lot. He didn't bother to turn towards you as you trailed next to him, Koba’s feet taking him a few steps ahead of you. He’d refuse to walk side by side with you as he took to leading.

 “Seriously though--- Where were you today?” Koba growled in frustration at the sound of your voice. Yes. Very, very annoying the concept of small talk with humans. With you.

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Pirate King! Jinwoo x Siren! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 033 ✦ ┆・

[ TW: Yandere Jinwoo, Violence , all Shadows Mentioned are in Human Form ]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅ Part 1 || Part 2 ♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

╰┈➤ ❝ [ I'll Bind Myself To You Over and Over ] ¡! ❞

Jinwoo continued to look for another week, but for some weird reason— The sea was incredibly calm.

Too calm.

It was maiing Jinwoo very restless, and his crew could see it. Igris tried to reason with Bellion and Beru to do something, anything to make their captain stop pacing back and forth on the dock. Even Iron couldn't do anything and would only take over the wheel.

No one in the ship knew what to do, even Tusk's famous fish stew wasn't doing it.

...

"Iron." Jinwoo's strict voice suddenly says as he strides towards the wheel.

The man didn't say much and only moved aside as their captain took over and suddenly spun the wheel rapidly.

"Bring down the sails!" He orders, and everyone suddenly scrambled on their feet to prepare the sails.

They didnt know what was on Jinwoo's mind, but they could tell that determined expression on the man's face was deadly.

"Captain, there's one far ahead on the east!" Kaisel reports.

"Get everyone ready, I want that ship." Jinwoo simply said as he had Kaisel take over. "We wont use the cannons.

There was a hammering feeling inside Jinwoo since early morning, and it was bothering him way too much.

His breathing had been erratic since then, he's never been this anxious even when he faced the holy emperor in the palace and had the old bastard bowing on his feet soon after.

But that's a story for another day.

That's not what's important right now, Jinwoo just knew, he needed that damn ship.

His instincts were never wrong, that's why he was crowned as the pirate king. Jinwoo's gut feeling have never failed him.

And for some reason, the direction of the ship is nagging the living hell out of it.

Jinwoo's grey gaze would land on his men who were utterly confused on why he ordered them not to use the cannons.

"There's something on that ship that I need," He simply said

"An illegal ship, sir?" Bellion asks as he handed Jinwoo his gun.

"Yes." Jinwoo confirms. "Whatever the hell is on that ship, I need it."

There were no further questions asked as the rest of the crew brandished their swords and loaded their guns.

The people on the other ship noticed the mother ship approaching and panicked, blaring the sirens— Warning the rest.

Pure chaos.

But soon, their expressions would pale as a rain of ropes suddenly blasted from the air and hooks embedded themselves on the wooden floors.

Thunderous, proud roars would come from the invading shifts as well as maddened cackles resounds. A bunch of wild pirates would come, climbing the ropes while behind them were gunfire— Preventing the defending parties to take time and prepare as bullets flew by and making men collapse here and there as psychopaths invaded the docks and started stabbing strangers; mauling them into pieces.

"...." Jinwoo's gaze was still steadfast, only firing a few bullets as he walked on the rope hurriedly.

His kids can do whatever the hell he wants, he needed to be somewhere else.

"Secure the ship, get the captain on his knees. If he runs, break his legs" Jinwoo commands, shoving a bloodied sword on Igris's chest as he passed by him.

He didnt even think twice to properly open the door and just shot the handle open, as well as gunning down some baffled crewmates inside the rooms.

Jinwoo continued to walk, his steps heavy and fast with purpose. slamming open some doors, unlocking gates before reaching the very end of the ship.

Blood splatters were on his face now, painting a wicked

Right at the very bottom, inside this giant moss-covered aquarium was a hand peeking on the little glass.

"...." He takes a deep breath, placing his palm against the glass were that small hand peeked.

There, a small light would come out as a warm feeling spread through his chest right where his injuries are.

"There you are, my bride" He whispers, jumping on top of the aquarium and hanging on the ledge as he lunged his arm inside the dirty waters where another palm would grasp his.

Jinwoo pulled the figure up, his other arm wrapping around the other's waist as he kissed the side of their head.

He felt as if that a heavy burden finally lifted off of his shoulders. But as much as Jinwoo wanted to just bask in the moment, he noticed the siren's tail was almost bald in some spots— Lacking tose fluorescent scales and instead a few gashes would come into view and his gaze would harden.

Jinwoo shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around his siren before hoisting them out of the filthy aquarium.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Up in the docks, the floorboards was pooled with blood as Beru overlooked his crewmates celebrating their small impromptu ship invasion.

He would beam as he hears the door behind him creak and Jinwoo figure would emerge but his mouth would form a thin line as he sees the glare on Jinwoo's face.

Beru swears, that maybe he saw purple in that hardened gaze.

He knew that look so well, it was the type of face Jinwoo made when he rescued his sister from the clutches of the holy family.

Jinwoo is out for blood.

"A siren..." Igris whispers as he sees the humanoid in Jinwoo's arms wrapped in his coat.

"That captain, the damn bastard" Jinwoo snarls, his tone riddled with venom. "I want him in the dungeon. Have Iron prepare my equipment and station him there until I come there."

He then continues, "Igris, Tusk, with me. Bellion will take over from here and Kaisel will watch the ship."

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

You didnt know what really happened, you were just resting on a rock after hunting for the whole day when there was a sharp pain on the back of your head. The next thing you knew, you were strapped on a bed with your delicate scales being plucked out forcefully as the humans laughed at your display of pain.

Your shrieks would be ignored as they wore something over their ears while cotinuing to take one scale after another.

The torture was long, you couldn't even count how many have passed as you were in and out of conciousness the whole time.

The humans who captured you didnt even have the heart to give you a proper meal and only tossed some bland seaweed to the poorly kept tank.

You swore, you were about to die— Until a familiar warm hand grasped yours and yanked you out of the dirty waters. Your eyes had been too heavy for you to open, and neither could you make out the sounds around you.

All you knew— Was that you are safe and sound.

The next time you opened your eyes, you are cuddled up in this soft... White things hugging your body, as well as a pair of grey eyes gazing into you.

Initially, you freaked out, thrashing about but the man gently held your shoulders to keep you steady.

"Hey, hey, ssh, it's okay," His voice would register, and your gaze would look up to see him. "Look at me, look at me, do you know who I am? Hmm?"

You can understand him.

Alarmed and curious, you reach your hand out to touch his cheek, and the man only responds by nuzzling your palm and kissing it.

A familiar gesture, a gesture a small human boy did when you were younger.

Jinwoo.

"Remember me?" Jinwoo asks again, and you nod your head.

He lets out a relieved sigh and pulls you in for an embrace.

"I've been looking all over for you, my bride" He whispers so tenderly, kissing your cheek while rubbing your back. "Look at you, my siren, you're so pretty now. But they hurt you so bad, hmm? I'm sorry, I should've come earlier, love. I really am, but it's okay, you're okay. I'm here. I wont leave, I promise."

His gentle voice stirs something in your chest, and you could only respond by nuzzling him further while making soft broken sounds.

"Ssh," Jinwoo hushes you, rubbing your head. "Tusk said that you'll need more rest, sirens heal slower than humans. But since you're bonded to me, it should speed things up"

He pulls back, fixing your hair as you looked down and saw a blanket on top of you, but underneath wasnt a tail.

"It's legs," He chuckles, kissing your cheek. "It must be because you're near me, but don't worry, we can get your tail back. We just... erm... Need to figure it out. We'll do that once you're better, yeah?"

He cooes, peppering your face with more pecks that brought out a giggle in your lips. Jinwoo takes your hand, placing it on his chest where the mark was.

"Go to sleep now, I'll be here in the morning and the day after. Even in the following days" He whispers, gently tucking you back in as he did. "Don't worry about anything else, clear your mind."

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

"Captain, the hostage is awake" Kaisel knocks on the door gently. "Your equipment has also been brandished."

"Good," Jinwoo hums, running his hand on your hair before getting up. "Watch over my siren. Should the pretty thing wake up while I'm in the dungeon, call me immediately."

He continues, "After this, I'll host a party for all of you."

Kaisel simply nods, smiling as he watches the captain got out of the quarters.

His gaze would turn cold in an instant, Jinwoo marched down to the dungeon area of the ship with his fists tightly closed.

That bastard dared to actually hurt you, your injuries were so extensive that your tail was almost grey from the abuse. When it turned into legs— Anyone would have vomit at the sight of cuts and peeled skin. It took so much willpower for Jinwoo not to have broke down as Igris, Tusk and Beru worked together in patching your injuries.

"I wonder what kind of scalpel you used" Jinwoo hums, running his hand along the neatly arranged set of daggers on the table as Iron dragged the bastard on the floor in front of his captain. "Scalpels are too delicate, making them very useless on the field."

He then picks up pliers, making the man squirm and sob on his gag as he attempts to crawl away but Iron kept him steady.

"Easy there, buddy" Jinwoo chuckles, his grey orbs turning into monarch purple. "I haven't even started yet,"

He then sits down on the chair prepared for him.

"For every scale you plucked out of my bride's tail, for every single day you kept that pretty doll captive, for every second you spent making them writhe in pain— I will make sure you experience all of it tenfold if not a hundred."

꒰ A/N: Mentally so exhausted I think I'm on writer's block wheeze. I should write for another character for the meantime until I get my creative juices on Jinwoo back. Tysm to you @sylusjinwoon for this request uueeeee. I hope u like it bestie<33!!! Anyway, next fic is either gonna be a Baek Dohwa Fic or a Dr. Zayne fic. ꒱

ʚ(੭´�� ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[thegnomelord]

Nobody can convince me otherwise that Price wouldn't cry if he was proposed to/proposing

He gives off similar vibes to my dad and he cried at his wedding cause he was so happy

Okay, 1) Ur dad sounds super sweet lol. 2) Price so would and have a surprise ficlet.

Would you?

CW: SFW, Price X GN reader fluff, proposals, crying

The thought of marriage strikes him as you two lay in bed one night. It's not a particularly special night; he's not fresh from the battlefield or hardening his heart to go back to it. It's just a regular Tuesday night — your arms around him, your legs a tangle of limbs in the sheets, your head resting over his chest so you can be lulled to sleep by the sound of his heart — when he thinks. . . Wouldn't it be nice to be buried under your name?

That maybe, just maybe, he'll have you to keep him from a pauper's grave. That your and his bones will be able to mix when time erodes flesh, wood, and earth between you two. That the only thing that will remain will be those gold rings.

He starts planning that morning, approaching the proposal like he would a suicide mission; he calculates every variable, scours his brilliantly sharp mind for every little detail he's catalogued about you, making plans upon plans for how it could go both wrong and right. Writing sessions of what he wants to say to you stretch long into sleepless nights, he cracks open that old dusty book of family recipes and scribbles little exclamation marks next to the dishes you enjoy, secretly taking your ring measurement so he can confidently go ring shopping.

His wallet is fat from his work, yet he picks up side jobs in the private security sector on his off time — He's happy to babysit overgrown brats if it means he can buy you a ring without blood money. He wants this to be something pure and free of the violence shrouding his life. He doesn't do it often, but some times he fantasizes of what will come next; he'd hate to wear a stuffy suit like he does his military blues to those posh military dinners, but for you, it wouldn't feel like a labour nor a penance. He's sure it wouldn't take much for Kate to get her officient license, and whenever he starts thinking of that Price finds himself smiling like a loon at the thought of you on your wedding day, bright eyed and with a big smile with his ring on your finger.

A simple question — what if you refuse? — always brings him back down to the ground and drags his heart to the pit of his stomach. He tries not to think about it (he thinks too much about it, the bloody fool)

He decides to propose on your anniversary.

He wakes up long before you, having barely slept a wink the night before with last minute thoughts running through his head. Breakfast is ready for you by the time you stumble out of bed, his beard scratching your chin as he gives you a goodbye kiss before you set out to work. He spends the rest of the day making sure the house is spotless, getting you flowers, picking out the nicest clothes you two have and then goes to make dinner.

And of course, the things out of his control go wrong on the one day he needs it to be perfect. He only notices the oven is busted when the roast he's making in it starts smoking enough to set off the fire alarm. He scrambles to salvage it but it's too late and he's left scurrying around the kitchen trying to figure out something else.

Price doesn't notice when you get home, the locking of the door and your tired footsteps betting lost in the sound of clattering pots and pans. He nearly tosses the pan he's holding when you sneak up and wrap your arms around him, pulling him back from the roaring fire of the stove to press your chest to his back.

You rest your head on his shoulder, lips brushing his neck. "Relax," You say, both an admonishment and a suggestion.

"Bloody git". Price grumbles to himself under his breath but relaxes into you, nuzzling his head against yours. "M' sorry love, the bloody oven broke and-" he clams up just as he's starting to explain, already rethinking the proposal as a whole because Christ, how can he be a good husband when he can't even make you dinner properly?

"Hey," You begin and kiss his temple, rubbing soothing circles into his side. "How about we dress up and I'll order take out huh?" You say, letting go of him and taking charge by calling both of your favourite takeout place before he even has a chance to refuse.

Price knows this proposal is dead in the water. He's seen far too many proposal videos on that TokTik app — the ones with extravagant locations and massive diamond rings gifted to the brides to be via doves — to know such a simple proposal would fly.

But he still goes along with your plan; At the very least he can enjoy the sight of you done up in nice clothes, in the knowledge you do it for him. And he's sure you love how he looks in his suit too, his beard can't hide how pink his cheeks get when you call him dashing or handsome as you fix his tie. He gets you back though, cupping your cheek when you're done with his tie so he can pull you in for a long and slow kiss. He wants to press further, proposal plans already at the back of his mind, but he's interrupted by the delivery guy. He's especially not pleased when you stick your tongue out at him like a child and scamper away to get your takeout.

After plating the food, you sit down to eat, and Price remembers to light the special candles he'd bought. The food is good even if it's not what he'd wanted, but it's easy to forget about this shortcoming of his when you're laughing and telling him about some thing that happened to you today. He listens intently, remembering why he loves you when you speak so passionately about your hobby.

Price decides this is it.

He had a speech prepared, written and rewritten a dozen times until it was perfect, the one he'd practiced all day until his throat was raw. But the words dissapear like a mirage in his mind, and even if he did remember them, it would feel too out of place. So he simply stands up, cutting your talk short. His back aches as he gets to one knee, hands shaking a bit and fumbling with the box before he presents the golden ring to you. "Do you. . ." He hesitates, takes a deep breath, "Do you want to spend the rest of our lives together?"

Your eyes flicker between him and the ring, staring, bewildered. The pit in his stomach grows with every passing second, only to swallow up his heart when you open your mouth and say "Are you serious?"

This is it, Price thinks, he's mistaken what you two had together for something it was not. He's already thinking of ways to backtrack, fat tears building at the corners of his eyes that he desperately tries to blink away.

He's caught unaware when you kneel down in front of him. There's a sheepish look on your face as you bring out your own little box. Inside is a simple golden ring, your and his initials carved into it.

You give him a wry little smile, "Surprise."

Price stares at the ring. A second passes. Then another. A third one is well on it's way before his mind finally realises what this is and a childish laugh bubbles from his chest. "You-" He reaches out and pulls you into a bear hug. "-bloody Muppet almost made my heart give out." He grouches but absolutely melts into your body as you return the hug. You feel his mighty shoulders shake and chest rumble as his laughter gets out of control, pulling you into laughing with him.

He buries his face into your neck, trying to say something but his hiccups turn the words into meaningless happy noise. He doesn't even notice when he starts to cry, but it's a good type of crying — the one where you just don't know how to express the light airy feeling gripping your chest. Price feels like his ribcage is stuffed with dandelion fluff, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I love you." He says into your skin, low and quiet, voice still raw as he nuzzles his beard into your neck. His hands grip you tightly, afraid to let go.

"I love you too." You say, kissing him with nothing but love and care and tenderness in your actions.

Price is running high on the buzz of getting engaged when you two settle on the couch, back in comfortable pyjamas and wrapped up in blankets and each others arms, your takeout on the table as you settle to watch a movie. Your hand finds his, two golden rings clicking together beneath the sheets, and Price feels fresh tears roll down his cheeks before you kiss them away.

Being buried under your name would be nice, but living under your name is much better.

[wikitpowers]

just in case ya'll didn't notice -> in the newest official kitty art ty has a love rune on his neck. let me repeat that - A FUCKING LOVE RUNE! [ROARS]

i remember bloody screeching when @theamazingwhizzo made this mindblowing discovery bc like actually what the hell is this??!!?1//?

[cognacdelights]

play wicked games, win wicked prizes [1]

gif by @spacedean.

my supernatural masterlist

summary: she craves male validation. he's the best high she's ever gotten. now they're both stuck in a sick and twisted game of foreplay that neither are willing to lose.

warnings: daddy issues — daddy issues galore. self-esteem issues. i am well aware that this is not a healthy relationship and is for entertainment purposes only. sexual content and themes. swearing. alcohol use. religious undertones. small age gap romance.

author's note: this will be in two parts as it's looking like it's going to be around 15k words in total. second part will be released soon. minors have been warned. do not interact.

It was hard to define her relationship with The Winchester Brothers.

There was Sam; and he was just Sam. He was a year older than her, and the epitome of the dorky, older brother that she never had. He played board games with her and helped her with her Calculus homework. They shared book recommendations and did research together. She forced him to play Princesses with her and hold tea parties against his will.

But most importantly he was a friend. She’d never had a friend before. Not until the day that rusted, old Impala pulled up outside Bobby’s shop and John Winchester had all but begged Bobby to take his boys in for just a couple of nights. She remembered it like it was just yesterday — hiding behind the over stacked bookshelf, listening as the two older men argued back and forth. Bobby eventually gave in, as Bobby always did, and waved John off with a stern look and a handful of colourful curse words.

Up until that day, it had always been just her. And Bobby. Bobby did the best that he could, but he wasn’t her father, and he never got a break from the job. There was always a phone going off here, then a bloodied and injured hunter turning up at the door there, or the local Sherrif Department snooping around here, there, and everywhere.

Sam was shy at first. Quiet and introverted. He always had his head stuck in a book. She quickly learned that wasn’t entirely the case, he just took a little while to warm up to you. But once that match was lit, there was no stopping the fully-fledged campfire that burned. They were friends. Best friends, even, at times. They understood each other and found solace in knowing that they weren’t alone anymore. They were two peas in a pod.

Her relationship with Dean was far more complex.

He was older; five years older than her to be precise.

Dean didn’t pay her any attention at first. In fact, he barely even acknowledged her presence. He was hyper focused on Sam; always making sure that he ate his breakfast and brushed his teeth before bed. He was more of a parental figure to Sam than Bobby was. Between looking after Sam and helping Bobby research cases, he didn’t seem to have much time for her at all.

It wasn’t until the day of her eighth birthday that she really seemed to turn a corner with Dean. She spent the day sat on the windowsill, peering longingly out and waiting for her father to arrive. She was dressed head to toe in her best outfit; a white, frilly dress with a matching silk ribbon, tied around her plaited ponytail. Her perfectly polished shoes swung back and forth in anticipation as her chestnut eyes lit up with a hopeful glint at every swoosh of the trees and roar of an engine. She was so damned sure that he would come. Why wouldn’t he? He was her father. It was her birthday.

Dean knew that he wasn’t coming. He’d been around the block enough times to know how this played out, and it was never a happy ending. When the sky began to darken, he eventually sat beside her on the old, flattened cushions — a slice of cherry pie, topped with a singular lit candle, in his hand. He caught the saddened look that dimmed her eyes as the realisation began to set in.

Her father didn’t come that day, or the next day, or even the day after that. There wasn’t even so much as a phone call. He pulled up six weeks later with a broken arm and unrecognisable letters etched into a torn and bloodied piece of paper. The only reason Andrew Lawson had returned was to seek out Bobby’s help in translating the words. There was no big, shiny make-up gift, no birthday card, no apology. Just yet another rejection; he shooed her away so the adults could talk.

Dean, once again, saw the flash of hurt that glazed over her eyes. It pained him, because he saw so much of himself in her. He too had forgotten birthdays, and excitedly watched out of windows for his father to never arrive and had been banished from rooms so that the adults could talk. He too had been shoved to the very bottom of the priority list, and the knew the weight of the anguish that came along with that. He knew what that did to a child’s self-esteem.

As they grew older, they became closer.

Dean was a big part of her life. He taught her how to play soccer, including all the dirty plays to win the ball without the referee noticing. He taught her how to fight, and how to shoot a gun. He taught her how to drive — albeit illegally in a stolen, clapped-out banger that they joy rode around the backroads of Souix Falls. He gave the Lawson girl her first cigarette when she was just fifteen, much to Bobby’s dismay. He smoked up her first joint with her on the hood of The Impala. He bought her a four-pack of beer to take to her first high school party and drove her home, so she was safe. He took her to her first bar. He took her on her first hunt. He patched up her wounds. He bailed her out of jail after her first arrest.

They fought like cat and dog, and as only they could. Over anything and everything; the TV remote, supernatural lore, the rules of Monopoly. Whether she was ready for The Hunt. They used to drive Bobby insane with their bickering — with all the door slamming, and flipping off, and the countless “Son of a Bitch” curses that would echo through the house.

As she’d reached her twenties, they’d become the epitome of comfortable with each other. Perhaps too comfortable at times. They’d shared beds together and slept beside each other in the backseat of The Impala. She’d wear his clothes — his flannel shirts as jackets to keep herself warm, or his old, logo-printed t-shirts to bed. She was open about her sex life, as he was too. She’d brush her teeth whilst he was in the shower, and vice versa. She’d flitter through their motel rooms in nothing but a skimpy towel. She’d sit in his lap if there wasn’t a seat, or sometimes even if there was, and lay her head on his shoulder when she needed some soft, human contact. He’d run his fingers through her hair. He’d tug her jeans up by the belt loops, over the strings of her thong, and pull the hem of her skirt down as she drifted past him.

Somewhere — somehow — along the line, they had found themselves locked in this sick and twisted game of foreplay. Teasing. Taunting. Toying. It never went further than some light touching, but their mouths were nasty, and their thoughts were downright vulgar. They got a perverse kick out of it, especially her. In all the rejection from her father, she had turned to seeking out male validation to fill the void and Dean Winchester was the ultimate high; the random, slick-jawed man at a bar would give her a five-minute high at most before the shame would set in, but Dean would have her orbital for days. One look, one touch, one quick-witted comment would have her floating amongst the constellations.

And then, he died. Well, so she had assumed. Sam had explained that he was gone. Just gone. Nobody knew where, or how. He was just: gone.

Her world turned upside down. There were no more Orion-level highs, just five-minute boosts to her ego before the guilt-ridden shame would drag her back down into a pit of self-loathing. She swept her way through The South — hitting bar after bar, bedding man after man, destroying monster after monster. She drank and she smoked until she didn’t even recognise herself in the mirror anymore.

Until her phone rang — a number that had once been disconnected flashing across the screen. Sam Winchester.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Maggie May’s Flower Shop. How may we help you today?” she put on her best Southern Belle accent. Even though she knew damned well who was on the other end of the phone, she still turned out her spiel. She would be damned to the darkest corners of Hell if she didn’t put him through the ringer after almost a year of no contact.

“Maggie—” a timid voice sounded throughout the speaker, “—it’s Sam.” He waited anxiously for her to respond but when she remained silent, he was forced to continue. “We need your help.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know a Sam. Have you placed an order with us?” Maggie shot back with a sickly sweetness to her tone.

There was a heavy breath on the opposite end of the phone. “Come on, Mags. We’re working a case, and we could really use your help… It’s rough out here.”

“May I suggest our apology bouquets,” she continued, standing her ground, “they’re just divine. Will smooth over almost any of your wrongdoings.”

“Apology bouquets—” a deeper, gruffer voice chuckled, “—what did you do?”

Maggie instantly dropped the Southern Belle façade. “Dean?” she questioned, voice dripping with surprise.

An uncouth melody of noises permeated from the phone. A whack. A loud groan. A grumble of curse words. “You didn’t tell her, Dumbass?”. Followed by rustling and shuffling. Then mumbling. They were arguing. Maggie couldn’t comprehend exactly what they were arguing over — the line was too crackly, and she was too hungover to concentrate — but they were most certainly at each other’s throats.

“Hello?” she huffed impatiently.

“Maggie May,” Dean’s husky voice filled her ears, “how you been?”

“Uh—” she didn’t know how to answer that question. The honest answer was far too much more than she was willing to give away to anyone, but to say that she had been just peachy would have been a downright lie. Both Dean and Sam would have seen right through it. “I’ve been more Sober in my life—” she bit her lip, despite the two brothers being unable to see, “—and I don’t remember getting back to my motel room. But I’m alone, so I think that counts for something.”

“How quickly can you get to Stillwater, Oklahoma? We’re working a job and could use you right about now.”

She rolled herself over under the quilted comforter until she teetered on the very edge of the bed, her dark locks falling into her face. “I don’t think I should be driving right now,” she admitted, vision blurry as she peeled herself out of the warmth and stumbled her way towards the bathroom. She pulled on the string for the light and was immediately met with harsh, white lighting. Her head throbbed as she let out an involuntary groan.

“Jesus, girl, how much did you drink?” he asked — his face scrunching up at the lethargic pads of her feet and the uncomfortable groans that echoed through the speaker.

“Enough to drown a fish,” Maggie mumbled back.

She stared at herself in the mirror; her eyes were bloodshot, and a dark, mauve bruise painted her cheek an unsightly manner. She hissed quietly as she ever so gently reached her fingers up to touch it. Bad idea. It pulsed with pain. On further inspection, she had a busted lip — dried blood coating the thin cut.

“Atta girl, I suppose.”

“I can be in Oklahoma in a day—” she answered, running the tap, “—but you’re gonna have to give me a few hours before the single vision kicks back in.” She splashed the cool water over her face and instantly regretted it. “What’s the case?” she asked.

“Two deaths at an all-girls Catholic boarding school,” Sam cut in.

“We can’t get close enough to figure out what’s going on,” Dean added.

“I guess I’ll start practicing my Hail Marys then.” Swiping the towel over her freckled features, she left the phone balancing on the edge of the porcelain sink.

“No amount of Hail Marys are gonna save you.”

She spat a response, “bite me, Winchester.”

“I’m sure you’d love that, sweetheart—” Dean chuckled, “—but we’ve got a couple of civvy deaths to deal with first.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

It had been a long twelve hours on the road, and by the time Maggie’s old, beat-up pick-up truck pulled into the motel parking lot it was pushing midnight. The red, neon light of the sign cast down onto the black asphalt, dimly lighting up a path to the several motel room doors, and the few wall lamps flickered every couple of seconds. The walls were peeling their beige paint — as if shedding all their unspoken sins away — and rusted, metal chairs lined the tiled walkway. It couldn’t have looked any shadier if it had tried.

Maggie killed the engine, watching as the warm lamps of her headlights faded into the darkness. She stepped out, the thick soles of her boots hitting solid ground for the first time in what felt like forever. The midnight air ran bitter, but it was a welcomed reprieve from the humid temperatures of New Orleans. A chill crept along her spine like two gentle fingertips — however, not a patch on Dean’s. She tugged the sleeves of her over-sized flannel over her fingers and proceeded down the walkway, leather duffle bag in hand.

If she hadn’t had it drilled into her that you always pick the motel room closest to the exit — in case the need for a quick getaway ever arose — the sleek, black Chevrolet Impala parked outside would have given which room they were staying in away. Well, that and the gruff sounds of their arguing. The curtains were pushed closed, but there was a light on in the room; two tall silhouettes appeared in front of the window as what she could only assume was the TV flashed advertisement after advertisement in the background.

“I’m not a child anymore, Dean—” Sam’s husky tone echoed through the courtyard, “—you don’t get to make decisions for me. If I say I’m good, then I’m good.”

Maggie stuffed a hand into the pocket of her flannel and retrieved a credit card; it was and old one in an alias that she no longer went by — most likely maxed out and with a red flag marked against it on the system.

“No, you don’t get to make these kinds of decisions when you take a year out,” Dean shot back. His voice was deep and gravelly, a sure sign that he’d been drinking. “You’re out of practice.”

She slid the credit card between the mouldy, wooden door and its frame and pressed her weight against it.

“This isn’t about me being ‘out of practice’,” Sam deduced — his words turning more accusatory than defensive, “why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Get it all out in the damn open.”

It was a tough lock, which was surprising for such a run-down, old motel; they were usually a lot easier than this to crack open. Maggie persevered, forcing the credit card into the gap with a masterful wiggle.

Dean argued back, “you’re slow, and you’re weak, and you’re not thinking ten steps ahead. You’re a freaking liability right now and I don’t have the time to be playing search and rescue every time something goes down.”

She found the sweet spot, and with a glorious click, the motel room door opened. She stepped inside, a satisfied grin curling the corners of her full lips upwards. Who needed a key card?

Within a matter of milliseconds, Maggie was staring down the barrels of two handguns — locked and loaded with two ring-cladded fingers hovering over the triggers. Two mean glares stared her down. Sam and Dean. She merely cocked her head to the side as a lopsided smirk swept across her fair features. She teased, “don’t you boys know it’s rude to point your gun at a lady?”

“Yeah?” Dean shot back with a surly attitude, “let me know when you find one.” He stood down, easily slipping the gun back into the waistband of his scuffed-up jeans.

She pouted playfully in response.

“Maggie,” Sam addressed her. His voice was significantly softer, almost breath-like, as he raked over her with guilt-ridden eyes. He followed suit and stood down. He nonchalantly threw his loaded weapon onto the half-made bed before looking back at the petite brunette before him. Sam wasn’t sure what else to say; in fact, he wasn’t sure that there was anything he could say to make the tension dissipate. Maggie May was going to hold a grudge for as long as Maggie May pleased.

“Sam.” Her chestnut eyes scoured over him in return. They started at the very top — taking in his long, mahogany locks. They were longer, but more kempt. He was wearing a new flannel shirt; she’d never seen him in a flannel of that colour. He still wore the worn, leather watch that his dad had given him, but it was set ever so slightly fast. The jeans were new too. There were no scuffs or rips, but the boots were worn in and old. She returned her gaze upwards and met his eyes for a brief second.

Then, she looked away. Her eyes caught the elder Winchester brother and immediately illuminated with a spark of relief. She let go of the leather handles and let her duffle bag drop to the floor with a soft thud. She took a step towards him, and then another, before wrapping her arms around his neck. Maggie held him tight, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck as she stood on the tips of her toes.

“Dean.” His name was quiet and mumbled, almost as if she didn’t quite believe that he was there. She took a long breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his deep amber cologne. God, she had missed that smell.

A reticent laugh slipped from between his chapped lips. He placed a gentle kiss into her messy wisps and mumbled — the words quiet, as if they were ever only meant for her to hear, “Maggie Mayhem.” His burly arms wrapped around her slender figure and held her into his body just as tight. The palm of his hand laid flat against the bottom of her back, slipped beneath the hem of her leather jacket, and the pad of his thumb carefully stroked back and forth.

Realising the vulnerability that had clouded her voice, she steeled herself and mocked, “when are you finally going to stay dead? This is what— the third time now? Obituaries are expensive, you know.”

“I’ll write you a cheque for your losses,” another husky chuckle rumbled through his chest, unphased by her teasing.

Maggie felt Dean’s grip loosen around her and him begin to pull away. She wasn’t quite ready to let him go just yet, and instinctively held him tighter. She’d missed him — she’d missed that orbital high that came with his attention, his touch; and her damaged soul most definitely needed the recharge. It had been a long, emotional rollercoaster of a year without him. A few more seconds wouldn’t hurt. “Not yet,” she told him.

Dean simply relaxed — resting his chin atop her head and allowing her to melt into the warmth of their embrace. His hand dropped to her hip and leisurely hooked itself into the beltloop of her fitted jeans. He gave it a tender tug, covering the black string of her thong. He felt the tickling brushes of her eyelashes against his neck as she rolled her eyes in typical Maggie May fashion.

Sam merely watched on awkwardly. Him and Maggie were as close as two best friends could be, but they never quite reached the level that Maggie and Dean had; they were something different. What, he had no idea. It wasn’t his business, and neither of them were vulnerable enough to divulge anything like that to him. He’d never expected to receive the same greeting as Dean, but the frost-like look and the forced out of the weird uncomfortableness that hung over their friendship half-smiles made him feel a thousand miles away. He felt defeated, and tired.

Eventually, she retreated from his embrace feeling suitably secure. She left a small gap between their bodies and peered up at him, taking him in. His features were ever so slightly more weathered — framed by a dark but well-kept stubble. His lips were still full but dehydrated and his eyebrows untamed.

Dean frowned as he finally noticed the bruise that painted her cheek an unsightly shade of plum. “What happened to your face?” he questioned — his finger propping her chin upwards for him to gage a better look, and his thumb securing her in place.

Maggie rolled her eyes once more at the protective undertones, pulling out of his grip and turning her back to him. “It was just some stupid girl whose boyfriend couldn’t control his wandering eye, that’s all,” she shrugged her shoulders at the half-truth and retrieved her duffle bag from the floor, “she caught me off guard.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in response — not entirely believing her; Maggie May had a knack for finding trouble.

“So, uh—” Sam shoved a hand into the depths of his jean pockets, “—the case?”

Maggie stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, her chestnut eyes settling on her bare features. Her eyes were tired and heavy after the long drive to Oklahoma, and surrounded by two cushions of dark circles. Her skin was dull and fair, more than likely from the lack of natural sunlight that she had seen in the last God-knows-how-many months of crawling through bars and spending her days sleeping off hangovers in shady motel rooms. The mauve bruise that tarnished her cheek looked angry and painful — deepening as the blood settled and the tissue began to repair. Her busted lip was sore, aggravated by every slight movement she made. She looked like a ghost — physically and metaphorically; her vessel was very much present but there was no light behind her eyes, and no spark in her soul.

She continued to stare into her own reflection, meeting her own gaze in an intense battle under the harsh bathroom light; she was a mess, in every sense of the word. If she were to stand before her younger self, she wouldn’t have the slightest indication of who she was. Hell, she wouldn’t even recognise herself if she bumped into her from a year ago. All the years of being on the road, all the losses that she had felt, and all the rejection that she had faced had finally caught up to her — and it wasn’t a pretty sight, to say the least.

There came the ever-familiar waves of no self-worth again, hitting the solitude rocks of her self-esteem at full force.

She pulled a tube of antiseptic cream from the makeshift first aid kit. Squeezing a small dot onto her finger, she then dabbed it against the crusty cut on her lip, careful and tender with her touches. A quiet hiss involuntarily slipped between her lips as her dark eyebrows furrowed into a frown. The ointment burned as it seeped deeper into the cut.

Maggie turned her head and peered out of the open bathroom door. Dean was sat in the leather armchair — jean-clad legs manspread, a police report in one hand and a freshly-cracked bottle of beer in the other.  There was a pensive aura that surrounded him. His fingers gripped the beer bottle with a tightened grasp, and his jaw had locked, almost as if it was holding back a barrage of thoughts. He stared intently at the words printed on the page, yet never turned to the next. There was something on his mind.

She saw it as an in. A reason. An excuse.

Letting the half-used tube of ointment fall into the sink, Maggie wandered back into the bedroom space. She was quiet and soft in her movements — almost timid — until she reached Dean. His eyes remained fixed on the police report, and a pang of upset coursed through her; Maggie was used to commanding his attention — his heavy-lidded eyes falling naturally on her and feeling the heat of his stare.

Her bare knees fell either side of his body as she straddled his lap, the hem of the over-sized t-shirt exposing the glorious lengths of her thighs. With one swift motion, she’d stolen the freshly cracked bottle of beer from his grasp. Her lips twitched upwards into a smug, but angelic, smile as Dean raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. The bottle ghosted her full lips — the very tip of her tongue tracing the rim in an enticing circle as her chestnut eyes locked with his, before taking a long swing.

Dean watched attentively as Maggie had her fun, his eyes glued to her. She was so effortlessly seductive; everything about her — from the way her delectable thighs spread open in his lap, to the way her tongue ever so slowly traced around the bottle rim, and the way the thin fabric settled over her taut nipples and the piercing bars — exuded lust. Piercings? That was new.

His tongue dragged along his bottom lip in an effort to quench the thirst that had been awakened in him. Although, it barely scratched the surface. It had been a hell of a long time since his engines had been roaring, nevertheless had been taken for a test drive; he’d spent the last year wandering purgatory in survival mode, where he rarely ever found a second to breathe. Maggie May was well and truly testing his patience in that moment. And boy, did she know it…

He reached for the bottle, but it was promptly moved from his grasp.

Maggie stretched upwards, holding the half-empty bottle above her head, and peered down at him with a taunting glint in her eye. He reached once more — shifting himself into the most compromising position. He reached upwards once more, unintentionally pushing his crotch further against Maggie. Big mistake. She rolled her hips in a flirtatious retaliation, arching her back and pressing her clothed pussy against his lap.

It took every ounce of strength not to give in to her, but he did it. Dean remained steeled — the deep, husky groans that begged to be released begrudgingly shoved down into the very pit of his stomach, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He was semi-hard beneath her, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, as he placed his firm hand on her thigh. It was a gentle but commanding hold as his ring-cladded fingers slipped beneath the over-sized t-shirt and gripped the skin, his thumb rubbing tender back and forth patterns against the inside of her thigh.

“Maggie May,” he warned.

“Yes?” she cocked her head to the side innocently.

“Don’t start something we can’t finish.”

“Aw, cute—” she taunted with another leisurely roll of her hips, “—you don’t think you can make me cum.”

A fervent groan slipped from between his lips as his dick grew harder against the constraints of his jeans. His jaw tightened as his fingernails pressed crescent shapes into her skin, forcing her to be still. Choosing to ignore her teasing, he sent her a deathly glare — one that dared her to try that move again; it appeared to have worked as she relaxed her posture, sitting herself innocently on his erection and keeping still.

Placing the police report down on the wooden table, he gestured with his finger for her to return his beer.

Reluctantly, she handed it back, but not before she took another large gulp.

Dean took a swig of the now half-empty beer and allowed his fingertips to wander. His hand moved further up her thigh, his fingers catching and tangling themselves in the string of her thong. His thumb dragged ever so tenderly over the crease in her hips where legs bent, tracing back and forth motions. It was so instinctual, as though his hand gravitated towards there — like the soft dips in her skin were made for the palms of his hands.

Maggie stared down at him with sensual, umber eyes. Heavy-lidded and burning with a heat fuelled by the dopamine that coursed through her veins. This was it. This was Maggie in her element; enriched by the power of holding every last drop of his attention, alive and awakened by the electricity of his touch, and riding a high so orbital that her soul was one with the solar flares of the sun. She felt like herself again — full of confidence, and full of life.

“You finally got ‘em pierced then?” Dean mused with a questioning raise of his eyebrows and his gaze trained on her taut nipples. They pressed against the thin fabric of her over-sized t-shirt, practically on show for the whole world to see.

For a brief second, her eyes dropped to her breasts — following his. Then, she responded with an audacious smirk. “I sure did,” a low laugh slipped from between her lips, “wanna see?”

Dean tilted his head backwards as he repositioned himself in the chair. His hips shifted forwards and his shoulders slouched into the cushioned back of his chair. He tipped the bottle downwards and emptied it’s remaining contents in a slow and tactical swig. Of course he wanted to see. He was steeling himself; it truly had been a long time since he’d had any sexual gratification and the immediate flashes of her naked body above him — pierced tits bouncing playfully as she rode him under the warm, orange glows of the motel sconces — had sent him into an oblivion. Maggie May was becoming harder and harder to resist.

He somehow managed to remain calm, dowsing the fire in the pit of his stomach with his beer and plastering an unfaltering poker face across his features. That was until he felt his dick harden and strain against his zipper, giving him away.

Maggie felt it too and responded with another leisurely roll of her hips. A devilish glint occupied her eyes as her smirk grew wider. Damn, that girl would be the death of him one way or another.

“Those daddy issues got you well and good, haven’t they?” Dean retorted. He placed the empty beer bottle on the table.

“Uh huh—” she agreed with a sardonic grit to her words, “—my daddy didn’t love me enough so now I need men twice my age to tell me how good my tits look to get me through the day.” She leant forwards, back arched, and pouted her full lips. “Either tell me how good my tits look or take it up with Andrew. If you can find him.”

Hooking his finger beneath the hem of her shirt, his beer-soaked breath fanned against her face. “You’re every therapist’s wet dream.”

“Glass houses, Winchester.” She paused for a second as the pad of her finger traced his jawline. The coarse hairs of his stubble sent a shiver running down her spine. “I’ll book a couples session—” she dropped her hand, “—and we can both hash out our Daddy demons. Maybe then we’ll finally stop playing this silly, little game with each other and fuck for real.”

She wasn’t far wrong. In fact, she’d hit the nail flat on its head. Whilst Maggie’s father was an absentee who had rejected her in every possible way that he could find, Dean’s father had placed unrealistic expectations and responsibilities on him from a young age. Both carried the burdens of their father’s parenting styles, or lack thereof; both would very much benefit from a professional listening ear and some advice on how to form healthy adult relationships. But, alas, they were here.

“Now, hold up—” Dean’s tone was thick and gravelly as he began lifting the hem of her shirt with his finger, “—let’s not fix what ain’t broke. Show me them pretty, pierced titties.”

Maggie pulled her t-shirt up, holding it in place and revealing her bare breasts. Her nipples were a delicious rose colour and tightened into little buds as the silver bars pierced between them.

He dragged his tongue along the length of his bottom lip again, admiring the sight before him. And what a sight she was. His finger ran slowly underneath the waistband of her baby pink thong. Yes, baby pink thong with a sweet, satin bow in the very middle of the waistband. That had surprised him; Dean had never pinned her down as being a pink and frilly bows type of woman. He’d always thought of her as red and black lace. Nevertheless, the way the fabric fit her body so perfectly still made his skin burn and his mouth run dry.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the string up over her hipbone and let it sit. He then traced her skin upwards — lackadaisical with his movements. The calloused pad of his finger brushed over a scar that tainted her stomach. An old, healed over stab wound. His touch was tender as he sketched the outline of her silhouette, until eventually landing on her breasts. He cupped her boob with his warm palm and allowed his thumb to ghost over her poised nipple.

She let out a jagged breath at the contact.

Dean found his rhythm, circling his thumb over her sensitive bud and rolling it between his fingers.

“Ohhhh.” Maggie let out a breathy moan as she rolled her head backwards. It was an involuntary reaction that she couldn’t stop even when channelling every ounce of might that she had; it was carnal and deep-rooted within her. As was rocking her hips back and forth in a slow and salacious cadence. She was acting on pure instinct and throwing absolute caution to the wind — acutely aware that neither had dared to venture this far with one another.

Dean sat forwards, his now moist lips almost instantly finding her other nipple. His tongue traced a slow circuit around her sensitive bud before his teeth nibbled ever so gently. He sucked, and licked, and nipped to his heart’s content — spurred on by the lustful whines and breathy moans that spilled, one after the other, from between her lips.

She reached her hands between them, her voluptuous hips coming to a gradual stop, and fiddled with the button of his jeans. It was hard to undo them one-handed — the angle was awkward and the old, metal button was stiff — but she managed. Her dainty fingers slipped inside, palming his erection through his boxers until his rugged breaths didn’t send shivers jolting down her spine. She wanted more; she wanted to hear the strangled, husky moans that crawled from the very depths of his throat as they made skin on skin contact.

Maggie pulled his hardened dick from the constraints of his boxers and curled her fingers around his length. She pumped him up and down, revelling in his grunts and groans. They vibrated against her delicate skin and sent shockwaves of electricity through her body — right down to the very tips of her fingers and toes. This was it. This was Maggie at the very peak of her orbital high; she was sat atop the world, spinning aimlessly with the constellations and soaking in the vibrant solar flares of the sun. She was as high as she had ever been, and she wasn’t sure she was ever going to come down from this point. She was lost to the cosmos.

She peeled back the fabric of her damp thong and positioned herself above him. The tip of his dick leaked with pre-cum as it ghosted over her folds — coating himself in her slick.

Then, as he found her entrance, the unmistakable roar of his 1967 Chevy Impala engine sounded throughout the motel room. Maggie whipped her head towards the window — the blaring headlights blinding her, even through the old, dust-covered curtains. It was Sam. With almighty impeccable timing.

She swiftly turned back to face Dean, who had begrudgingly detached himself from her breasts, and looked down at him. A pained expression contorted her blush-tinged features as she let her panties go and stood from the chair. She took a step backwards, then another, and another, until she found the cheap quilt of the bed. She sat down and clamped her thighs together — eyes dazed and her core utterly aching for the man before her.

Dean stood from the chair and tucked himself back into his boxers. His jeans remained unbuttoned and loose around his hips. He dragged a hand through his dishevelled hair as his chest heaved up and down. “I’m gonna…” he nodded towards the bathroom as his words fizzled out, his sentence incomplete.

All Maggie could do was nod in understanding and watch as he disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing swiftly behind him. Her breaths remained heavy as she struggled to calm herself down — her cheeks still stained vermillion and her temperature almost feverous. The sound of the water running flooded the motel room.

Shit. There came that rapid descent back down to Earth.

[lookforsomeoneelse]

sahsrau and the ways in which the game’s story changes pt. 1: Sigonia-IV

aventurine’s story made me sad. maybe this is my way of coping. got aventurine’s sister’s name from someone who talked about her on this app. also i’m making a lot of assumptions about how it went down, but there were roughly 10,000 avgins that were involved. also apparently the avgins are based on romani culture and I have no idea about that either soooooooooo cw for blood and severed limbs. and maybe gore. and definitely mentions of death. and probably my ignorance too.

Ecclesiastes 4:1-3

Again I looked and saw all the oppression that was taking place under the sun: I saw the tears of the oppressed-- and they have no comforter; power was on the side of their oppressors-- and they have no comforter. And I declared that the dead, who had already died, are happier than the living, who are still alive. But better than both is he who has not yet been, who has not seen the evil that is done under the sun.

Kezia knew she was going to die. It wasn’t the greatest way to go down at the hands of the bloodthirsty Katicans, but what was honorable about it was that she would meet her end in the rain.

“Kakavasha must have escaped by now,” she thought to herself, “and he will survive.” Kezia held faith in her brother and in the Mother Goddess, Gaiathra Triclops, the one whom she served.

It was now time for the festival- and so she tossed her Knot into the bonfire as a sort of goodbye to this cruel life she had lived in, and lamented on her brother’s fate- he will go through many hardships and sufferings, but she knows that the blessing of Fenge Biyos will remain with him all throughout his journey.

It was a shame she’ll never get to see him again.

She regrets not saying more before their departure.

She had heard that some of the other bastard clans had made a deal with the Interastral Peace Corporation- the people who had promised to protect them on this very day- to make sure that they were all wiped out.

She held her makeshift club in her shaky hands. She didn’t want to die. Not like this. She had wanted to get married and have a family of her own.

And, for the first time in her life, her faith cracked like a shattered mirror.

The Mother Goddess had always let her down-

When Dad fell into the quicksand,

When Mother was caught and slaughtered like an animal,

And now, while she was facing down death.

She remembers one of the workers that came during that first day- praising the Aeon of Guidance and all their works-

And so, under her breath, unsure of how to do it, she prayed for her safety, she prayed for her survival, and most of all, she prayed for the opportunity to see her dearest brother once again.

As the sky wept for the fate of her people, the Katicans arrived, howling laughter emerging from within the storm.

do not worry child

Finding the sudden strength within her, she let out a roar.

i shall be forever with you

Her club slammed into the skull of a Katican, pulverizing it into a bloody mess.

i shall give you strength

Another near her tried to avenge his fallen comrade, and she cratered their face, producing a sickening squelch.

and when you are trapped in the darkness

She didn’t count. How many had fallen at her hands? 100? 500? 1,000? 5,000? All she knew was that the sky wept blood.

i shall bring you into the light

All around her there were the corpses of Katicans, Not a drop of her blood was shed, and nothing to threaten her in her vicinity. She looked down at her hands. Red. Her hands were red, stained with the crimson of those who had tried to end her life.

Kezia wept tears of joy.

“The Avgin always return back their blood debts,” she had remembered saying to her little brother.

It looks like they had a new debt to pay.

(A/N: I have no idea what the hell I just made. I have no beta reader, so there’s that I guess. I don’t have a structure either. I just made stuff up and used the wiki for reference.)

[aajjks]

The Conqueror (XXII)

Synopsis: He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.

Pairings: Yandere!King Jungkook x Commoner!servant Reader (FT. Cha Eunwoo From ASTRO.)

warnings: yàndèrè thèmès, blóód, únhèálthy pôsèssïvènèss, öbsëssïön.

note. I guess I will meet you in my inbox. ;)

taglist: @mageprincess7 @starsggukk @koremis @minshookie29 @sana-b @oonaaurora @jeonsweetpea @sugaslittlekookies @outro-kook @kthyg @lunaashes @debicaptain-saturn @laurynne5 @captainsjoongs @myblackconfessions @namjooncrabs @natalie-rdr @angelicasdre @mermaidtea @foulnightharmony @ungodlyjoon @quechulitaaa @telepathytae @j3alous-ang3l @bunzom @1-in-abillion @breadgeniedope @jiminie-08 @artgukk @lovesthetword @bunijmin @pinkcherrybombs @afangirllikeme-blog @twilight-love-nochu-main @wedarkacademia @hollxe1 @bighitfics @darkuni63 @golden-thv @investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @koocreampie

series masterlist.

Jungkook loves getting his hands all bloody, killing is like a serotonin boost for him, especially when he kills to get rid of any obstacles in his way of getting you.

It’s been a year since you arrived in the Palace.

Yet, the improvement you two have made in a year is, rather embarrassingly close to none currently.

Jungkook walks with heavy steps to see who is it this time, he’s going to get his hands all bloody once more, before your wedding which is soon. “PREPARE FOR ATTACK ON HIM IMMEDIATELY.”

The King along with his guardsmen make their way to the palaces gate, Jungkook feels rage course through his veins. “What is his name?!” He spits, voice full of anger as his steps echo on the ground.

The palace is so big, but they’re almost at the gate.

“Y-Your majesty we don’t know- but- he’s young, brown hair.” The guard replies, only fueling jungkooks jealousy.

Soon they’re all the gate and Jungkooks grip on his sword tightens, he wields his sword and walks straight through the gate.

People around the palace’s boundary are confused but they immediately lower their heads in respect, it’s dark outside, Jungkook looks for the man.

“BRING HIM TO ME!” He orders, eyes frantically moving all around the roads, and that’s when he catches a glimpse of the man.

“YOU FUCKER.” Jungkook runs to him and growls.

Jaehyun is definitely caught by surprise, his eyes wide like a ball, Jungkook begins to attack on him and Jaehyun tries to save himself, but the king manages to give the brown haired male a big cut on his arm.

Jaehyun can’t help but scream in agony as he sees the blood pour out of the cut, it hurts so much that his eyes are now full of tears, Jungkook smirks, the drops of blood quenching his burning thirst.

“Y-YOUR MAJESTY PLEASE DON’T KILL ME! I’M NOT HERE TO TAKE HER!” Jaehyun tries to clarify. Jungkook rolls his eyes, “shut up boy. Do you think that you can fool me?” He grits his teeth.

Jaehyun grunts in pain, holding onto his bloody arm as he tries to make the bleeding stop. “Y-Your majesty please! I-I’m here for someone else.” He pants.

Jungkook raises his eyebrow, the guards grab Jaehyuns body as they hold him. “Who?” Jungkook questions.

The whole place fills with silence, occasional grunts from Jaehyun and his heavy breathing are the only sounds that can be heard.

He’s gathering his breath, Jungkook bites his inner cheek in annoyance.

“HURRY UP.”

“L/n Doyun.” He whispers and Jungkooks heart stops.

“TAKE HIM INTO THE DUNGEONS!” Jungkook roars in anger, his veins popping out as he screams.

Jaehyun looks into Jungkooks eyes.

“YN WILL FIND OUT EVENTUALLY! PLEASE FREE HIM!” His screams get quieter and quieter as the guards drag him away.

Jungkook lets out a growl in return.

No, you cannot find out. Not until you’re married to him and that’s when he will truly have his revenge and he will have you with him forever..

This needs to pass by really fast.

And he’s not worried about about the man finding Doyun because he’s being held captive right below this palace. And no one knows except for Jungkook and Dongmin.

Who is at the verge of death due to starvation.

Jungkook lets out a frustrated sigh and makes his way back into the palace.

Looks like he will have to pay L/N Doyun a little visit tonight.

You have no choice.

Your fate was already decided the day you caught Jungkooks eye.

 the whole palace looks regal to say the least, you have no words to describe the beauty of the palace, everyone is preparing for the grand wedding of the king.

It’s all so bright and magnificent.

You are being pampered against your will.

Right now, they are taking your measurements for your dress and undergarments for your wedding night like the older woman keeps telling you.

“M-Mrs Lee.. please.” You whimper, the measuring tape taking the size of your breasts, two court ladies hold you in please so your measurements can be perfect

She ignores your pleas.

“Perfect, my lady.”, the seamstress exclaims, her helpers follow her every lead.

“now we need my lady’s wedding dress in less than a week.”

The court ladies, maids, ladies in waiting- every single person in the palace are gossiping.

They are gossiping about your upcoming coronation. You don’t know what’s worse. You are Hoping that this wedding will not happen, but that seems to be impossible because the celebrations have reportedly already started in the whole kingdom.

It all makes you feel suffocated, you don’t want to marry that monster. He killed your father. He made you an orphan. How can you ever love your husband to be?

“leave me alone!” Na-yeon is by your side, making sure to keep an eye on you so she can report to Jungkook about every single move.

Everyone takes their leave, including Mrs. Lee and the seamstress with her workers

You don’t know the truth about her identity yet.

She’s gonna have to be careful.

“Yn.. my lady.. please calm down this is supposed to be the most greatest time in your life.” She sighs, helping you fix your clothes.

“greatest time in my life? This is the worst time in my life I want to die.”

You terribly miss your father you wish that he was still alive so he would come and save you from this monster.

It’s the midnight, the weather is getting colder. The winds are wild.

Jungkook is wearing his dark cloak, the cloak covering his whole figure as he walks with a flambeau in his hand as he makes his way to the secret staircase to the older dungeon hall.

It’s dusty, awfully dark.

Jungkook patiently walks towards the cell where his favourite captive is.

He smirks unlocking the cell and making his way into the dark small cell, Jungkook keeps the keys to himself personally, making sure that there is no way of escape

“Hello L/N Doyun… or should I say now.. my dearest father in law.”

[insanely-lovely-and-random]

Ohhh boy wow. Just saw Challengers and my God my bisexual brain was firing all signals. Like within the first five minutes I realised 2 things about this movie. 1 it understands that tennis is a truly boring sport and instead makes it an incredibly sweaty, sexy, compelling game to watch. 2 this movie is bi as all hell and equally in love with all 3 of these people (as was I by the end of the movie).

SPOILERS:

God I was enraptured I think this films pretty subjective and can be seen in a few different ways but I just saw it as 3 people who think their playing the same game but none of them really are. Zendayas playing to win at Tennis, when she can't do it herself she plays through her husband. Art is playing to win the woman he thinks he loves and needs.

And Patrick is the most interesting of all, is he playing because unlike those two he actually needs to out of monetary needs? Maybe but doubt it. Is he playing to win Zendaya? And willing to be her champion unlike Art? Possibly but honestly I think it's the third option. He's playing to get back Art, Art is always a presense in their relationship and he puts him before himself. For sure the unusual sexual history between them is there. The strong friendship turned rivalry. The sheer sexual tension (Goddamn that churro!!) But oddly enough for the guy who may seem like the disloyal asshole type of the three he is both the most honest and oddly loyal. He may sleep with Zendaya but the second she asks him to throw the match? He's furious, he's insulted and refuses. But NOT for himself but for Art. His first words are "How could you do that to Art?" To cheapen his victory, if he were to know would crush Art. Art is always at the tip of his tounge and whats happening.

When they start making out in the dorm Zendaya won't stop talking about tennis but equally whats Patrick talking about? Art. When he finds out Arts not just interested in Zendaya but is acting snakey he's proud.

And god that sauna scene?? (I mean yeah its hot but I mean the dialouge!) He asks Art if he'd miss it and he completely doesn't understand what he's really asking. He once again is talking to somone who thinks their talking about tennis but he's talking about anything but.

I knew that bloody signal was gonna come back and when they had sex in the car I was like "okay this is it, he's gonna tell Art" but the question was.. will it be to hinder him? Make him lose his cool so he loses the game..? OR will he do it to truly spur Art into a game changing rage and unlock his fighting spirit? And as the scene unfolded I belived it was the latter. And it was NOT for Zendaya because he could've easily thrown the match like she said but NO he wanted Art to win fair and square. He wanted to help him do that.

That wordless communication they share? That Zendayas just sat on the outside of not undertanding but worried? Golden. The brutal match and then that gorgeous smile. When I think Art realises what his friend has done and really why he did it. And Patricks, the sheer joy of seeing Art smile at him again. That beautiful, fly through the air and that throw of his own racket down so he can catch Art as he gloriously wins the match. Because tennis was never really what mattered to Patrick, and neither was it really to Art. And despite it being Arts victory they've really both won.

And Zendayas roar of victory from the crowd to me was almost funny. Because she won too. Her husband, her extension of her own career and self won his match with his challenge. His/her past. She also sees it as a victory even though I really won't be suprised if it's lost her both her husband and her back up career/boyfriend. And maybe she won't mind that so much because she got what she wanted. Because she was playing a different game.

Also banging soundtrack, loved it. Also this is just my view of the film and it really can be read multiple ways I'm sure, would love to hear other peoples ideas on it! What can I say I just love some bi emotional drama!

Also Im seeing it again friday so any incorrect quotes, extra thoughts or such I'll probs fix then haha

[fuzzygoblin]

Aziraphale and Crowley’s Spooktacular Adventure!

The Spooky Choose Your Own Adventure features works from 30 r/GoodOmen’sAfterDark Writers and Artists. This collaborative *Effort* is months in the making and includes over 50 unique stories for readers to explore. We have something for everyone! There's spookiness, horror, feelings, smut (OK, there's a *lot* of smut) and so many endings! Bad Endings, Sad Endings, Funny Endings and lots and lots of Happy Endings. Sit back, strip off, relax, strap ~~on~~ in, lube up and get ready for a Spooktacular Halloween Adventure!

Excerpt

It was a dark and foggy night. The Bentley’s headlights cast long shadows across the withered trees as the car sped along the winding road. They’d been driving for quite some time, several hours at least. The Bentley’s boot was full of new acquisitions from a particularly lucrative estate auction. Aziraphale had even managed to secure a copy of ‘Magia Naturalis’ with only the assistance of a very minor, some would perhaps say frivolous, miracle. Crowley remained sceptical of Aziraphale’s motives; he worried that the angel was looking to restart his magic act.   The terrain became less familiar the longer Crowley drove.   “We’re lost, aren’t we?” Aziraphale said from the passenger seat.   “I don’t get lost, angel,” Crowley snapped, glancing down at his phone to see a complete lack of any signal. He couldn’t help but notice the date though. “31st of October, of course it’s bloody Halloween.”   “All Hallows Eve… we are lost on the spookiest night of the year!” Aziraphale huffed, holding on for dear life as the car jerked to the left around a sharp bend in the road. Aziraphale’s corporation lurched into Crowley with an audible oof.   The blur of trees suddenly stopped and revealed a dark expanse. Up ahead, a tiny golden light stood out amidst the sea of black. As the Bentley’s engine roared down the road, the headlights illuminated a lone manor house.   “Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his voice suddenly urgent. “Stop the car!”

Continue reading here

With thanks to our writers and artists!

@onedappercat

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Puddinpocalypse

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Noorose93

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[hirukochan]

Blindsided

A Severus Snape x fem!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Severus Snape x former student reader

Summary: Complaining to your friend about Snape's complicated presence in your life ends up with you being pulled into the battle of Hogwarts. Will Snape survive?

Warnings: Smut, some degradation, angst, blood

Wordcount: 6300

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

“I don’t know!” You whine and drop your head onto the counter.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’ how can you not know why you fuck someone?”

“It was a lapse in judgement.”

“A huge bloody lapse that must have been.” Aberforth grunts and dries a glass with a dirty rag. “Severus fucking Snape - his name is almost as feared as you-know-who’s these days.”

“I know!” You peer up from the counter. Aberforth looks grim - but he always looks grim. In your sixth year, you once and for all decided the Three Broomsticks is too crowded and unpleasant to be in. The Hog’s Head already had a terrible reputation back then, but you didn’t care as long as it was quiet. A sorta friendship developed between you and the barman after that. “Do you hate me now?”

Aberforth grunts. “Hate you? Ridiculous girl.” He turns to put the glass back on the shelf to the other glasses that were never used. “What would I hate you for?”

“I slept with Snape.”

“And?”

“Twice.”

“I repeat, and?”

“He- he killed your brother…”

“I’m certain he has killed a lot more than just my brother and as you know Albus and I haven’t spoken in years. When you are as old as me you don’t view death as something so terrible anymore. Anyway, I heard he was sick. Caught some nasty curse or something.”

“I’m a terrible person.”

“Don’t flatter yourself! There are way worse people out there. Snape for example.” He makes a sound that distantly resembles a laugh. A rattling  humph  sound. You glare at him, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitch.

“Was it at least good?”

“That’s the worst part.” You groan and prop your head up against your hand.

“That bad?”

“The opposite.”

“That good, hm?”

You blush and quickly take a large gulp of your drink to hide it. 

“You know, I’ve said it before you should-”

“I’m not joining the resistance, Aberforth!” You groan. “I have nothing to bring to the table. I was decent at best in Defense. I’d get myself killed within the first few days.”

“You know Snape.”

“I fail to see the connection.” Aberforth raises a brow and you shrink a little under his intense ‘are-you-kidding-me’-gaze.

“A spy in their midst would be useful.” He says gruffly and places another glass on a shelf.

“I’m no spy! I can’t fool Snape! We can hate him as much as he deserves to be hated but you have to agree that he’s a bloody genius! I could never fool him.”

“You said he broke into your flat while fatally injured. Even a genius is sometimes just a man thinking with his cock.”

“I’m not whoring myself out to-” Your outrage is cut short by an ear-splitting scream outside.

“This damn Caterwauling Charm!” Aberforth roars and hurls his dishcloth to the ground. You press your hands to your ears to shield them from the scream. It rips through the night like a sharp knife through skin, tearing at your eardrums and every nerve in your body. It is like the caster of the charm is standing right next to you but the terrible sound clearly comes from outside.

“What is this?” You shout over the wail towards Aberforth.

“Curfew’s been broken! They were boasting about being sent here to catch Potter. Seem to be thinking he’d be stupid enough to come here and they seem to be right.”

You get up from the bar stool and follow Aberforth to the window.

The wailing stops. You take a relieved breath and drop your hands to your side. Multiple Death Eaters dressed in dark robes are storming out of the  Three Broomsticks . They are talking about something, but you can’t hear.

“Poor Rosmerta.” You grimace at the thought of having to serve those monsters at your establishment. Instinctively you grab your wand in your pocket. Dementors flood into the village. You tense.

“Bloody fool!” Aberforth growls. A shimmering blue stag runs through the town centre, fighting off shadowy dementors. Potter’s Patronus. You gasp, clasping your hands over your mouth. So Aberforth is right. Harry Potter is here in Hogsmeade.

“What would possess him-”

Aberforth stalks through the room and rips open the door. 

“Potter!” He hisses. Wind tears at his robes and what sounds like three sets of hasty footsteps cross through the room and up the trickery wooden staircase behind the counter. You see nothing. If it weren’t for the steps you’d think nothing happened. 

“Invisibility cloak.” Aberforth mutters over his shoulder, but his attention is suddenly pulled away by multiple hooded figures reaching the pub. You take a step back, disappearing in the shadows. 

“So what?” Bellows Aberforth in response to something you didn’t catch. “So what? You send dementors down my street, I’ll send a Patronus back at’em! I’m not having’em near me, I’ve told you that. I’m not having it!”

“That wasn’t your Patronus! That was a stag. It was Potter’s!” A Death Eater shouts back, sounding rather childish you note.

“Stag!” Roars Aberforth. He draws his wand and you tense, grabbing your own tighter, your knuckles going white. If they attack Aberforth you’ll- jump into a fight you’re gloriously outnumbered in? “Stag! You idiot - Expecto Patronum! ”

Aberforth’s large goat Patronus jumps from the tip of his wand. Head down, it charges toward the village centre, and out of sight. 

“That’s not what I saw” says the Death Eater, sounding less convinced than before.

“Curfew’s been broken, you heard the noise,” Another Death Eater interrupted the first. “Someone was out on the streets against regulations-”

“It was me.” You say and step forward, out of the shadows like Snape always used to when catching you out and about in the castle after curfew and the thought almost makes you laugh hysterically considering what you’re about to do. “When I arrived that horrible sound started.”

“You set off the charm?” The first Death Eater says confused. His eyes roam over your body, causing a cold shiver to run down your back and a foul taste to spread in your mouth. You resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself to hide from the hungry stares of the dark wizards.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing here at this hour, beautiful?” The second one purrs in a sickly-sweet tone of voice. You somehow manage to keep your blatant disgust from showing on your face. You square your shoulder and raise your chin, looking down at the men with nothing but disinterested arrogance.

“That is hardly of your concern.” The men look at each other, snickering mockingly.

“‘Hardly of your concern’?” One sneers. “Princess thinks herself too good to follow the rules.”

“Perhaps we ought to teach her a lesson, boys.”

“I am-” you raise your voice to drown out their beginning discussion of what to do with you. “-here to see Severus, so do yourself the favour and fuck off, yes?” A murmur passes through the Death Eaters. Saying Snape’s first name feels weird.

“The headmaster doesn’t receive walk-ins - especially not at this hour, even if they are as pretty as you.”

“He’s expecting me, you moron!” He is definitely not expecting you! He said he hopes you’ll never have to see him again!

“She sounds just like him.” One of the figures murmurs.

“Wait-” Another interrupts him. “I recognise you! You’re Snape’s little whore! Yes! The one in Diagon Alley, you remember boys? The shop that’s off-limits. I wondered why a pathetic bookshop would be off-limits until Wilkies said he was sent to get Snape from there and who do you think opened the door?”

You keep your chin held high and your clenched fists hidden in the pockets of your coat you had not taken off in your hurry to get out all the things weighing on your chest. Aberforth catches your gaze. His brows are knitted, an unspoken question in his eyes. You give him a tiny nod. 

You can do this. 

If Potter is here, here, there must be a damn good reason for it and if you could keep Snape distracted long enough-

Something in your chest tightens painfully at the thought of deceiving the man, which is ridiculous! He’s a Death Eater and a murderer!

He said this will all be over soon and while he probably meant that you-know-who will kill Potter soon - you have the chance to help the resistance here, help Potter. Everyone says he’s your only hope so here goes nothing.

“If you’re done wasting my time, then!” You growl, pissed off by the way they speak about you right to your face.

“You’re not going anywhere alone!” The Death Eater who recognised you says sharply. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost on your way to your…” His eyes roam over your body and he licks his lips. “ Date .”

It’s hard to resist the urge to claw his eyeballs out with your fingernails but you succeed. Somehow. 

He steps to the side and gestures for you to lead the way. “We’ll escort you.”

You shoot him a snide glance and leave behind  The Hogshead  and Aberforth and the pretended safety you have been surrounding yourself in ever since Albus Dumbledore died.

Your stomach drops further with every step you take towards the imposing castle looming over the quiet village. You are flanked by two of the hooded figures. Your mouth feels dry and fuzzy and not even the sight of your beloved Hogwarts with its glimmering windows can ease your anxiety.

What if Snape blows your cover? ‘Expecting her? Why would I be expecting her?’  What if he decides to play along? Or maybe he’ll ask why you lied?

You take a deep breath, inhaling the cool night air into your lungs, focusing on the way they expand in your chest.

Snape came to  your  flat when he was fatally injured! Aberforth is right, that has to mean something! It just has to…And Potter is here for a reason! They say he is the only one that will be able to defeat you-know-who and while placing your fate on the shoulders of a seventeen-year-old sounds ridiculous  you  will certainly not defeat the most powerful Dark wizard to ever live! But you can distract Snape. Yes. You can keep him busy and buy Potter a chance to do whatever he is here for- 

Or Snape sees right through you and Potter doesn’t have a plan.

You can’t even begin to tell yourself you don’t want to distract Snape like that because your body is already working against you.

You reach the iron gate. It opens with a shrill squeak and your feet once more hit the grounds of Hogwarts. Even with your nerves raw and plotting an escape from your body to save themselves while you walk to your doom. There is light in Hagrid’s hut. The treeline of the forbidden forest is cloaked in shadows, thicker and somehow darker than normal shadows and just like when you were a student here you feel like eyes are watching you from between the trees. The water of the Black Lake splashes against rocks and while in your teenage years you found the sound soothing it now only serves to unnerve you further. 

You don’t look up to the headmaster's window. 

You’re also shamefully aroused and your heart flutters at the thought of seeing Snape’s endlessly dark eyes that look so cold and apathetic from a distance but when you were standing right in front of him they had looked so soft and filled with emotion you could not dissect and you wonder if they always looked like that. Perhaps you had just never stood close enough to him to notice? A vein part of you whispered that it is all for you and no one else. 

You squash the voice.

Your steps echo in the entrance hall. Your eyes catch the piercing gaze of Professor McGonagall, the strict head of Gryffindor house and Transfigurations Professor. Next to her in the doorway to the Great Hall stands Professor Flitwick. As soon as they see you and your escorts they hastily end their hushed conversation. They stare at you in quiet recognition and shock and you fail to conceal your fear from them.

“This way, beautiful.” One of the Death Eaters sneers and grabs your arm. You rip free and glare at him, barely resisting the urge to punch him. “Headmaster must be waiting already.” He grins, bearing his yellow teeth at you with unabashed ridicule. Disgust prickles over your skin, sinking into your stomach.

“Don’t touch me.” You hiss because you can’t help yourself. Without looking at your former Professors again you turn towards the grand staircase. Each step worsens the brooding feeling of inevitable doom that’s waiting behind the Gargoyle and then you’re standing in front of him much sooner than you ever would have expected or been ready to.

Snape is sitting behind a large desk, bend over a stack of parchments, greasy black hair falling in front of his face like curtains. He is holding a raven feather quill with a sharp silver tip which is gliding over the parchments with quick, elegant motions. He doesn’t bother looking up. He doesn’t seem to think the Death Eaters worthy of his attention.

You look around the round room. You were a good student - or at least a boring one. You’ve never been called into the headmaster’s office. The walls are lined with portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses and you feel transported back in time, just another student flinching at the stringent eyes of her professors. Dark leather-bound books adorn the many shelves and you can’t help but wonder whether Snape has read them all.

“I seem to remember you having been assigned to guard the village.” His deep voice cuts through the silence with taunting indifference and the way the words roll over Snape’s tongue and vibrate in his throat has you pressing your thighs together.

“This one claims you’re expecting her.” At that, Snape looks up. If he is surprised to see you, he doesn’t let it show. You shrink under his intense gaze no matter how much you told yourself you wouldn’t on the way up to his office. His eyes are cold…empty somehow. A man who has seen too much horror to not have lost some part of his humanity along the way. 

He’s even skinnier, the shadows under his eyes deeper. You feel the overwhelming need to hug him despite everything he has done.

“And?” The other one says impatiently. “Are you?” 

“I was waiting for you to leave but it appears I need to spell it out for you - unless you were expecting a treat for fetching what is mine like good guard dogs?”

He- he didn’t- he is playing along?

The hooded men grumble a few unsavoury insults and slam the door shut behind them. The sound leaves behind an eerie silence that Snape doesn’t seem too interested in breaking.

His gaze drops back down onto his parchment and he begins scribbling again. The portraits share looks and whisper with each other.

“Hi…” The word gets stuck in your throat and sounds far higher than you usually talk - you doubt he understood more than a gurgle. You clear your throat and take a hesitant step forward, closer to the man who these days is as feared as you-know-who.

Snape sets aside his quill and steeples his fingers. His intense gaze seems to burn right through your forehead and has you squirming. Something in his eyes softens, a change so miniscule you almost missed it.

“What are you doing here and why are you lying?” He asks. He speaks softer too. Less cold, less sardonically.

“I kinda…tripped the Caterwauling Charm when I arrived in Hogsmeade and…there were Dementors and Death Eaters and they said some things…I got scared so I kinda told them….you were expecting me-”

His lips curl. “‘Kinda told them’ ?”

“I did- I did tell them.” You let out a nervous laugh.

“Why were you in Hogsmeade to begin with?” Suspicion flashes through his eyes. You take another step forward.

“I- I missed you.” Not exactly a lie. You do miss him for some fucked up reason! You’ve been thinking about him every day since that stupid blind date stood you up and his eyes haunt you every night when you close your eyes. The memories of what happened in that exact bed you were lying in came back to you and more often than not ended with you panting his name as you made yourself cum - knowing your own touch would never compare to his.

His eyes darken, his jaw tense as though he can- 

You blush.

He can read your mind. He told you at the restaurant! You try not to think about Potter, but trying not to think about something always leads to thinking more about it so you bring your thoughts back to you in your bed. Covered in sweat, clutching your pillow-

“You missed me?” He asks, pretending to not have understood you but the subtle taunt in his voice betrays him. Perhaps he wants it to betray him. “And so you…what? Thought you’d go to Hogsmeade and try to get into Hogwarts? You could have sent an owl, dear.”

“The thought didn’t occur to me.”

“My, my…oh well, you’re here now aren’t you?” He pushes back his chair and spreads his legs. “Show me how much you missed me.” Mischief and an unspoken challenge glitter in his eyes and for some reason it turns you on further.

As though caught in a trance you move, rounding the desk and closing the distance between you and Snape. Distantly you are aware that the portraits are watching you. Your stomach churns and flip flops and the liquor you had at Aberforth’s turns out to have been a huge mistake. 

Snape undoes the buckle of his belt. Something in the way his hands move and his shoulders are drawn into a tense, straight line tells you he doesn’t expect you to go through with this.

Joke’s on him.

You’re not at all against this turn of events.

Not now that he is in front of you, so close you could just reach out and press your body against his, feel his hot breath on your neck or his lips against your breasts.

You push your coat over your shoulder, letting it fall to the ground as you sink to your knees between his legs. His eyebrows rise and lips part, his eyes following you.

“You’ll have to teach me though, headmaster.” You purr. A smirk pulls on your lips. Snape’s surprise lasts for another few seconds before it flickers and morphs to sombre satisfaction.

“Take out my cock.” You can’t help the trembling of your fingers when you reach for the buttons of his trousers. It’s not fear, rather the opposite. You bite your lip and slip your hand into his trousers. He inhales sharply when your fingers close around his cock. He is already half hard and throbs in your hand. Gently you free him and then look back up, waiting for instruction.

You’re not stupid. You know the basics - kinda. You’ve never done this, after all, a fact Snape seems to relish in.

“Dumb slut can’t even suck cock, hm?” He snickers. His insult should offend you. You should get mad and insult him back and get up, storming out of his office in a cloud of rage - you don’t. You get  wetter . An uncomfortable wet spot in your knickers - the testament of your decaying moral compass. 

‘Fuck it’, you think. ‘Potter is here - we might all die today.’

If the world ends today what does it matter if you’re a traitor? A terrible, depraved, morally corrupt woman that is drawn to you-know-who’s second in command? A man almost as feared as his master?

“Lick it.” His voice cuts through your thoughts. Cold and sharp like an icicle falling from a roof, large and fast enough to pierce through a person. You part your lips and swipe your tongue over the tip of his cock. Snape groans under his breath. He reclines in his chair. The old leather creaks under his weight.

He tangles a hand into your hair, stroking your head as though you’re his loyal pet, seeking its master’s closeness.

You press your flat tongue to his cockhead, licking several hard, broad strokes over it. You place kisses just beneath it and work your way down his shaft, alternating kisses with licks all while dragging your thumb gently over the underside of his cock, just by his cockhead.

Snape’s groans get louder with each pass of your tongue, his grip on your hair tightens. 

“Ahhh-  fuck….what a good girl- a filthy, dumb slut satisfying her headmaster, huh? Or at least trying. You’re giving this your all, aren’t you girl? How pathetic you are.” He tears at your hair, pulling your head up and pressing your lips against his cockhead. Beads of a milky liquid are gathering at the slit. “So desperate for cock you come all the way here in the middle of the night on the off chance I might be willing to fuck you again.” Keeping your eyes trained on his you catch the liquid with the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t taste as horrible as you feared it would. Salty, kinda bitter.

“Open your mouth.” You do. You obey without hesitation. Snape looks like a king sitting on his throne and you’re the new addition to his harem, learning to please her king in all the ways he likes.

Snape brings your head closer, pulling on your hair, keeping iron-like control of your head. You grab hold of his trousers, clutching the fabric between your still-trembling fingers. 

His cock slips between your lips, forcing you to open wider to him, your lips stretching around his girth. Snape looks at you with a mixture of admiration, tenderness and roaring lust and your chest swells with something akin to pride. Pride that you caused such a shift in a stoic, controlled man like Snape. And perhaps hope that Snape is not merely the barbaric Death Eater he is appearing to be. Perhaps there is more to him.

“That’s it, girl-” He groans and drops his head back against his chair, grabbing your head with both of his hands now, forcing it down on his cock. Force is unnecessary of course. You wouldn’t stop doing this even if he wasn’t holding onto you.

You drool over his hard cock while Snape bobs your head up and down, muttering words you can’t hear over your own sputtering and choking and the blood pounding in your ears. Your knickers are ruined at this point. Your cunt clenches around jarring nothingness. You’re so aroused it  hurts . There is an unbearable need deep inside you and you can’t- can’t-

You let go of his trouser, dropping your hand between your spread-out knees and under your skirt. Never have you been so wet. Your fingers slide into you without any resistance. You moan around Snape’s cock. 

He opens his eyes, blinks as though he isn’t quite aware of his surroundings. His eyes meet yours. You must look pathetic. Drooling over his cock, tears and snot smeared on your face while he uses your mouth to pleasure himself.

“Are you touching yourself, dear?” He coos, his lips curling into a smug grin. Your eyelids drop shut and you moan again. Snape pulls on your hair, plucking you off his cock. You whine both at the sting and the loss of contact. Before you can fully catch up with the situation Snape has gotten to his feet, pulling you with him. He smashes his lips against yours. His hand is securely tangled in your hair, pressing you closer to him while also preventing you from pulling away.

You don’t want to.

You missed him so much. Even though you don’t really know him. Even though you really shouldn’t. He was your teacher and he is a murderer and you don’t give a shit.

You mewl into the kiss and cling to the front of his robes.

“You’re fucking beautiful.” He murmurs against your lips. His hand leaves your hair. He grasps at your arse, squeezing your cheeks in his large hands that have slipped under your skirt. He is grinding you into his erection. 

“Snape-” You moan. He forces you back. Your thighs hit the edge of his desk. Snape lifts you up on it and drops to his knees. Your hands tangle into his hair instantly, pulling him closer, parting your legs for him. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He repeats, sounding almost dazed. He kisses your knee, trailing up your thigh, inching teasingly, torturously towards where you need him most.

“-Snape…”

“I don’t want to die without knowing how you taste.” Your mind is too far gone, too useless, too lust-drenched to register his words or the pang of worry you would normally feel at hearing them. Just a few minutes earlier you would have noticed the certainty in the word die. Like a man on death row, walking towards his execution. 

Snape tears at your knickers, pulling them roughly down your legs.

Hot. His tongue is so hot- heat that sears at your skin, killing and saving you all at once. 

You grip his hair tighter and throw your head back. Snape laps at your cunt, licking broad, hard strokes over your folds, pulling moan after pathetic, whimpering moan from you.

Much too soon he stops, leaving you just on the edge of release, suspended in the air, surrounded by heat and desperation and roaring pleasure.

“Snape.” You rasp, your voice strained.

“You’ll cum on my cock or you won’t cum at all, dear.” He says. He probably aimed to sound teasing, in control, smug maybe. But control has long left this room. Neither of you possess a single ounce of it and he sounds equally as needy as you feel. You wrap your legs around his hips and pull him closer.

“Yes, headmaster.” You say. His Adam’s Apple bobs with the hard swallow he takes. He closes his eyes and his jaw tenses.

“Vixen.” He growls and pounces at you. One second you’re sitting, smirking at Snape, the next you’re buried under his weight, pressed down on the desk. He enters you in one thrust, a truly sinful groan falling from his lips. He fucks you rough - much rougher than the last two times. You’re kissing, clicking teeth and gasping for air. Snape pounds into you, his thick cock stretches you open, hitting all the right spots. You cling to Snape, grasping at his sleeves and collar, desperate to touch him, feel him. 

Last time Snape clung to you like a dying man to life - now you’re clinging to him like life not ready to let death take what is hers. 

“Snape!” He sucks on the delicate skin over your throat, hard enough to leave a bruise.

“I had made my peace with never seeing you again.” He rasps in your ear between feverish kisses. “I don’t- I can’t-” Whatever it is he wanted to say, it’s lost to your shared pleasure. Snape presses his face against the crook of your neck, panting and groaning and you cry out, pressure mounting inside you. Ripples morph to tidal waves, swallow you up, pull you under and lift you up all at once and Snape murmurs something against your collarbone you can’t make out. 

You can feel it’s important though. 

Crucial, world-changing, momentously significant information and you sob. The worlds slip through your fingers like sand in an hourglass and you hold onto Snape tighter, tighter so perhaps those words aren’t lost- he isn’t lost-

Snape lifts his head and kisses you. Soft, gentle. A stark contrast to before. There’s longing in the kiss, regret and pain and you weave your fingers through his hair and kiss him back, begging for him to shatter your worries because something isn’t right here! You can tell- something- 

What aren’t you seeing?

Droplets hit your skin.

Are you crying?

An explosion tears you apart. It’s in the distance, muffled through the many ancient walls separating the headmaster's office from the source. Both of you look up. Snape at once composed, his eyes once more distant. Wetness lingers in them. 

“Stay here.” He orders.

“What’s going on?” Is Potter here? Snape has meanwhile straightened up and fixed his clothes and hair.

“Stay.”

“Snape!” You push your skirt down and jump from the table, following him towards the door. He pauses. Tension drawn into every muscle, in the very way he stands, unable to face you. “Please-” Your voice breaks.

“I need you to stay here.”

“Please talk to me.” Now you’re definitely crying.

“I told you this will be over soon. Today’s the day.”

You shake your head. Can he stop being a fucking enigma and just be honest with you for once! 

He wants to leave, but you grab his hand and hold him back. He’s trembling. You couldn’t tell before, but touching him now- 

He’s scared.

You wrap your arms around his waist and press your face to his back, sobbing. 

“I need to know you’re safe. Please- I’m begging you- stay here.” His voice is heavy and crack at the end.

“Severus-”

He swirls around in your embrace and cups your cheeks before kissing you. The kiss tastes of salt…

“It’ll all be over and if it goes according to plan you’ll be free. You’ll be safe. It’ll be over. Promise me- promise me you’ll find happiness. That you’ll live, that you’ll find love and have a family of your own and- that you will be happy  and safe  and loved !”

“Severus-” Snape presses his lips to your forehead before leaning his own against it. He has his eyes closed.

“Promise me.” He sounds like the words physically hurt him. “Please! ”

“If you promise to come back to me!” You’ve grasped the front of his robes again. Tears stream over your cheeks. Snape doesn’t answer. He gently disentangles your hands from his clothes and with a billow of his cloak he is gone.

You clasp your hands over your mouth and sink to your knees, shaken with silent sobs.

This can’t be happening- this can’t be real. You feel numb. There is no fear left, not even pain which you had expected. You feel empty. Like Snape took a part of you with him when he left.

For a long time, nothing happens. You gather your pathetic self from the ground and drag yourself over to Snape’s chair. Aimlessly you open drawers in search of some liquor. Snape surely would have liquor in his desk, right?

“Bottom drawer, dear.” A warm female voice says. You flinch but quickly remember you are in fact surrounded by a bunch of portraits. You don’t even have it in you to blush.

You open the suggested drawer with more force than necessary. A bottle rolls over the bottom of the drawer. It’s some fancy whiskey. Not that you care. You pick up to bottle and are about to unstopper it when-

A picture lies in the drawer. It was hidden underneath the bottle. With knitted brows, you set the bottle aside and pick it up.

It’s you.

You are in front of the bookshop. Wind is pulling at your hair and snowflakes are falling down on you. You’re laughing and trying to catch them with your tongue.

Why does Snape have a picture of you in his desk? Why is it in his whiskey drawer?

Your mind pictures him sitting here, taking swigs of his fancy liquor and staring at the picture of you.

You should feel uncomfortable. This is- weird. It should  be weird. 

It’s not.

It doesn’t feel like it at least. It feels of suppressed longing, of a yearning for something he can’t allow himself to have but is unable to let go of.

You can’t stay here. You have a terrible feeling about all this. Something terrible is going to happen. 

Leaving Snape’s office you stumble into a war zone. Hexes and curses flash through the air, there are screams and shouts. You duck, draw your wand and join the battle. 

It’ll all be over today .

Snape’s words play on repeat in your head. Everything blurs together. You send your nastiest curses at the hooded Death Eaters all while looking out for greasy black hair and slimmer than they should be shoulders. 

You don’t find him anywhere.

Out of breath and scared for your life and everyone around you, you wind up in the Great Hall. You’re bleeding from a wound on your head and several gashes all over your arms and upper body of varying severity. 

And there you spot him. He’s standing in the middle of the room. The battle seems to come to a halt. The remaining fighters have gathered around the walls of the former dining area. Next to Snape stands Harry Potter and they’re facing you-know-who together- 

Wait.

Snape is facing his own master?

A blood-soaked bandage around his throat Snape glares at the pale, noseless monster. He is hunched over, his breaths seem to be laboured.

There’s a duel. Halfway through you-know-who’s red eyes lock with your own. The intensity of the sheer cruelty in his eyes knocks the air from your lungs.

“How ill-conceived of you to bring her here, Severus.” A pale, long wand is aimed at you. Snape swirls around. His eyes widen with shock and fear and accusation.

Everything goes quiet.

Green light speeds towards you. You-know-who turns towards Potter. Snape runs towards you. Potter’s spell hits you-know-who’s in the air.

Snape shouts your name. Droplets of blood fly through the air.

And at once the sounds return, smashing into your eardrums with deafening force. You throw yourself down on the ground. The curse hits the wall behind you. It bursts into shards of stone that fly through the air. Some hit you. Some hit others. You look up, your heart racing in your chest, your fingers tremble from the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

You almost died. 

Fucking Voldemort almost killed you!

Quickly you look up, gripping your wand tighter, prepared to defend yourself if necessary-

There’s cheering. Voldemort is dead, they shout. You spot the pale figure on the floor with Potter standing over him.

He is dead?

Truly dead?

It’s over-

You let out a laugh somewhere between hysteria and pure joy.

“Severus-” Where is he? He was running towards you- “SEVERUS!”

Heads turn towards you. 

Snape is on the ground, surrounded by his black robes, a puddle of deep red blood growing around him steadily.  “HELP! HELP! SEVERUS- ” You sprint towards him, dropping to your knees even before you reach him and slipping over the ground. “SEVERUS! SEVERUS! PLEASE-” He is still warm. You gather his slack body into your arms, cradling him to your chest. No no no no no no- please-

“Severus- Severus-” Warm blood sticks to your hands. Too much- way too much.

“Please please- no- Sev- no-” Arms wrap around you, tuck and pull on you, tearing you away from Severus. You scream and flail around, trying to hit whoever is trying to take him from you, take you from him- no-

“SEVERUS! LET GO OF ME! SEVERUS- ” 

Madam Pomfrey rushes towards Potter and Snape. She sinks to her knees and waives her wand over Snape’s lifeless body. You give up your fight. You sob and cry and whimper Snape’s name, pleading with whichever deity is listening to you to not take him- no- not now-

“He was on our side all along-” Potter says, his voice cracking. “Dumbledore asked him to kill him- He was on our side-” 

You watch the healer work with bated breath. Magic flows out of the tip of her wand in a steady flow, battling whatever had Snape bleeding. Potter has fallen to his knees in the meanwhile. McGonagall is silently crying.

“He’s stable.” Madam Pomfrey says, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “For now at least.” The hands holding you, release you and you scramble off the floor. Snape is lying in a cot the healer summoned. She is already gone, hurrying towards the next victim of this battle needing healing. You have no strength left to care or to even consider helping anyone. Nobody asks you to.

You lie down next to Snape. 

“Please don’t die-” You whisper the words again and again until your voice fails you and you just watch his chest rise and fall because as long as his chest is still rising and falling he is still alive. 

Your eyes fall shut.

You let them.

For just a moment. A moment of rest.

“I- told you to…stay-” You startle awake. “You never listen…” Black eyes blink at you. Tired but alive. So alive.

“Severus!” You sob and crash your lips against him. A hysterical laugh of relief escapes you. 

“Ow- careful-” He groans.

“Sorry sorry sorry!” Quickly you back off. “You’re alive.”

“It would appear so. Believe me, I am as surprised as you are.”

“Idiot! You fucking wanker! How dare you almost fucking die on me again!”

Snape laughs, but it sounds horrible. Like nails on a chalkboard. You heard that Voldemort’s snake tore open his throat and Potter just about managed to save his life.

“I apologise.” He rasps. “Allow me- allow me to take you to dinner. Proper dinner. With at least five courses and wine.”

“As long as you actually show up to the restaurant.” You chuckle and wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“Only a fool would waste the opportunity of a date with you.”

[adrift-in-thyme]

And so it begins >:) I'm super excited for a month full of whump!! I hope you all enjoy reading these fics as much as I've enjoyed writing them. Now, whumptober day 1 LET'S GOOOO

Whumptober Day 1: Race Against The Clock

Read it on Ao3

- Warriors & Wild

- Summary: When Wild gets poisoned, it's up to Warriors to get him to safety

CW for blood and injury, poisoning, near-death experience

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Warriors runs and does not stop.

His scarf flies out behind him, its flight a thing of fragile elegance. His boots collide with the earth so harshly puffs of dust rises with each step. His breathing is short, quick; his mouth dry, saliva thick. 

Keep going.

It is the only order he has. And it is an order that rises from the depths of his own mind. 

Keep going until you reach the fountain. 

In his arms, tucked close, lies Wild. Draped in an awkward bridal hold, his legs and arms flap limply with the movement, like damp clothes hung on a line to be tossed by the wind. His breaths are an unending rasp of thin, courageous gasps. Blood deepens the tranquil blue of his tunic into a somber maroon and drains past his lips in a line of faintly bubbling gore. 

He coughs. More life flees in a murmur.

This time, the persevering rises and falls of his chest nearly ceases with it.

“Stay with me, champion,” he orders through gritted teeth and the taste of sweat. 

“No problem,” the boy had chirped mere moments before. He had stood with an arrow in his breast, dripping emerald, he had stood bloodied and beaten…and he had grinned. 

“Takes more than this to kill me.”

And therein lies the heart of the hero’s sentiment. Warriors has certainly thought the same phrase many times himself.

The idea that you are stronger than evil, stronger than fate — it is one you must hold to if you mean to survive. The thing about heroes is, they always mean to survive. 

Pride is necessary. Pride does not change a single thing.

Blue eyes turned milky blink up at him. Cracked, crimson-dampened lips part with a sigh.

“I’s okay Wars. ‘M fine.” His voice cracks, a structure of crumbling stone. His head lolls sideways, bumping against Warriors’ chest. 

“I know...”

He is not. Not in any way.

Warriors knows little about the various poisons that exist within this darkness-entrenched world. He should, what with the sheer amount that have been sent his way. But even Impa’s knowledge and Zelda’s wisdom cannot comprehend them all. Like the cursed stalfos in Wild’s Hyrule, they lurk, waiting, watching until the right moment to leap. 

Whoever they hit is left floundering. That much is so certain that it aches. 

Warriors pauses. His chest heaves with quick, thin, burning gasps. There is a crossroads before him. He examines the two worn signs, like human arms, each gesturing in a new direction. He has little clue as to which leads to a fairy fountain. But the one claiming to take him to Kakariko seems the more promising choice of the two. If, goddess forbid, his gamble fails to pay off then at the very least they will be in a town, amongst people. Perhaps, someone will have medicine or know magic. 

He bows his head. As long as he can make it, there is hope.

He wishes, not for the first time, that he had Epona. 

A roar shatters what stillness there had been. Out of the cover of the overgrown grass leaps a bokoblin. Its muscled body gleams silver and violet. An enormous club rests in the beast’s clawed grip, its surface roughly hewn.

Cursing himself for his inattention, Warriors lunges sideways. The bokoblin brings its weapon hurtling through the air with such force that it lifts his hair, makes his scalp prickle. He drops into a battle stance, plants his feet, clumsily maneuvers Wild into the hold of his nondominant hand. His sword sings as he lifts it from its sheath.

Two more beasts fly forth as though conjured by dark magic, one black, the other that cursed hue verging on white. 

The first lunges once more and the others join him. But this time Warriors is ready. He brings his sword up in front of him, angled horizontal. Stealing his will, he pushes himself into a vicious whirl. The world blurs. The wind whistles in his ears, joining the beat of his heart. The monsters cry out and fall.

Warriors comes to a stop, breathing hard more from the panic he must fight down than from physical exertion. Wild moans, protesting the jostling, and he murmurs an apology. There is no time to stop, however. Hefting the champion into a firm grasp once more, he races forward. 

“Almost there,” he murmurs. “We’re almost there, Wild.”

Under other, better circumstances, he would try to get him to talk. He would pry about his Hyrule or Flora or his favorite weapons. He would tease and chatter, keep the conversation going all while his mind worked towards a strategy, a remedy. 

But Wild is too far gone for that. 

The time for words is over.

…

His chest has ceased its valiant movements almost completely by the time Warriors bursts into the town with all the grace of a raging moblin. Every breath stutters out of him. Blood and bile bubble from his lips. His eyes are murky slits of dim white, his brow creased and studded with sweat.

We’re running out of time.

“Fountain!” Warriors gasps to the first person he sees — a middle-aged man with his gray tipped white hair pulled upwards in a high ponytail. “Is there a fairy fountain nearby? Please, it is urgent!”

The man’s eyes widen, mouth working to form words. He points up at a hill rising steeply nearby.

“I-in the woods! The Great Fairy, she resides there!” 

Warriors turns on his heel, nods his thanks. 

“Link…will he be alright?” The man calls as he runs.

“He will!” He faces forward, grits his teeth, forces himself to believe the words that fly forth from his lips.

“He’ll survive this, just as he has everything else.”

…

It happens all in a blur. He locates the fairy with relative ease, watches with trepidation as she springs forth from her bud, holds Wild as magic swirls around them. 

Magic, thank the goddesses above, offered without a cost.

“This little one has paid for this,” the fairy says, painted lips lifting in a soft smile that Warriors is surprised to see. “He has more than paid for it.”

And so, Warriors is free, unhindered by boundaries of suffocating glass, when Wild blinks open his eyes. It takes them a moment to focus, but as soon as they do, they land with gentle focus upon his face. Wild’s expression morphs into a fatigued grin.

“Hey, Wars,” he murmurs, drowsy and weak. “Told ya it would take more than that.”

Warriors laughs. Even as the fear breaks its leaden walls and tears gush past the crumbling ramparts, he laughs.