#except she’s tearing limbs apart

[polysaur]

FIGHTING SPIRIT

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 16

Jake Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Warnings: a little smut

Words: 1500

The One I Want Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

“I can’t tell you much,” Jake had told you, but you knew that. “We’re not a hundred percent in the clear, but it’s looking like four weeks, maybe five.”

“Beats fifteen,” you’d said, hearing a rewarding chuckle in return. 

You were thankful no one could witness the mess you were at that moment, your face-splitting grin heavily contrasting the puffiness of your eyes from tears. But that was just the beginning of weeks of inner turmoil. 

For forty-eight days, your stomach has swirled a storm that’s consistently had you on the edge of nausea, whether from anxiety regarding his safety or butterflies at the thought of Jake returning. You miss him, more than you thought yourself willing to, and regardless of what he told you, nothing guarantees he will walk through the door of your apartment. And if he doesn’t, you know exactly what will happen to you. You’ll crumble into unsalvageable pieces, and no one—not Millie, not Rooster, not anyone who has been kind to you over the last months—will be able to put you back together. 

And then what? Your only choice will be to leave. Start anew. Twelfth new place. Except this time, you’ll be more numb, less human, less operable on a daily basis. It’ll be like waking from a dream to a gray environment. You fear nature will lose its color, and you will lose your light once again.

—

It’s another week before your phone rings with a name other than Millie’s plastered across the screen. Unknown Number, but the first three digits are recognizable, matching those of the number Jake has been using to call you with. What you hear on the other end of the line, however, is not Jake, but instead, a gruff voice asking you to confirm your identity. 

“Yes,” you answer. “That’s me.”

The man clears his throat. “You are the emergency contact for Lieutenant Jake Seresin. We’d like you to come down to our medical facility as soon as possible,” he says before providing you directions.

You drop your phone, and then you’re running. Running to his truck, running from his truck to base, running through halls until you find someone willing to lead you to him. You’re so terrified, your arms jittery, legs barely functioning from the panic of Jake’s pending fate, so overwhelmed by nerves that when you finally do see him, it pisses you off. 

That man with the voice that imbued you with dread is on your shit list for life. Maybe next time, he could lead an emergency contact call with He’s fine or Don’t worry, because his implication was severe enough that you feared lost limbs or damaged brain functioning. But there Jake is, not in a coma or with some life-threatening injury, but sitting on the edge of a bed in a room with his back to you as a nurse seals a strip of medical tape across a small patch of shaved hair on the side of his head.  

When she’s done with her work, she smiles at Jake and nods at something he says before walking out of the room. She jumps at the unexpected figure lingering just outside the door, and then realization dawns. 

“Oh, you must be the girlfriend,” she says. “You’re welcome to go on in.”

So you do, cautiously easing into the room, hoping that when he turns, his face won’t be covered in slashes and bruises—a sight you’re not sure you can handle with strength and maturity. You’d love him all the same, but to see him in such pain would take you to your knees. But again, he’s fine. Beautiful as ever. Not a mark on him that you can see save for the one on the mend. 

Jake’s face brightens at the sight of you; he practically glows, and you’re shocked to discover yourself not running into his arms. You’re frozen for a moment as you take him in. It’s a quick moment—a brief second to recover—but then you’re stepping to him, your eyes watering, your bottom lip quivering, your fingers reaching up to brush over the stark white tape. You’re careful with your feathery touch, relieved to see that his injury is not so sensitive as to make him wince.

Jake’s arms wrap around your waist. His eyes do not break from your face. He’s patient as you scan him once more for visible injuries, verifying for your own sake.

“It’s just the one,” he tells you, his voice soft and only a few notes above a whisper. Your eyes snap to his. He lifts his hand to cup your cheek, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “Come here, beautiful.”

You melt when his lips gently touch yours, but the kiss doesn’t last long as innocent. There’s bites and sucking and giving and taking, and it’s perfect in its semi-sloppy neediness. Voices passing by the door is what breaks the two of you apart. Jake lightly groans before he chuckles and rests his forehead against yours. 

“I missed you,” he says. He places another quick peck on your lips. “I want to take you home.”

“Then take me home.”

—

“J-Jake!”

You feel his mouth curve against your core before he licks another stripe right through you, tongue like a heated blade slicing you in two halves, spreading you open and baring you inside and out. You’re completely gone—lost in the sole way you’re willing to be lost—as Jake tethers you to this earth. He’s the only one you trust to ground you while simultaneously letting your head float amongst the clouds. 

His arms curl around the thickness of your thighs, locking onto you and keeping your hips steady atop the mattress as he devours and tastes and sucks and licks some more.  

“Come on, beautiful,” he mumbles into your folds, just loud enough for you to hear through the rush of blood in your ears. “Let me have it.”

As if you could hold it back. 

Your whole body jerks and writhes as you sink into pleasure, back arching, head digging into the pillow. Jake reaches a hand up to intertwine your fingers and you squeeze them tightly while he continues to kiss folds and brush his nose against the overstimulated bud.

“There we go,” he coos until your body calms.

Jake crawls onto the bed, lips and tongue traveling up the soft flesh of your stomach, between the valley of your breasts, into the dip in your throat before he kisses you, demanding you taste everything you just gave him. 

Jake introduced you to your taste during those weeks before his deployment. His head lived between your legs. He showed you how to perch perfectly on his face, encouraging you through your concerns of suffocating him. He begged you to relax when he backed you up against the wall, slipped your pants off, knelt, and tossed your leg over his shoulder as he dove in. And after each success of making you crumble to pieces, he sealed his lips to yours and pushed his tongue into your mouth. 

You know your taste as well as you know his, and on the occasions he spills down your throat before he returns the favor, you get the satisfaction of the combination on your tongue—a mixture more intoxicating than an alcoholic binge. 

“I’m never going to want anything like I want you,” he says after he slips inside of you, the intensity of the love in his eyes penetrating your soul.

“Then it's good that I’m yours,” you whisper back.

Thrusts that were paced and steady and gentle falter. With your words comes a sharp rut of his hips—unexpected to you both—that hits hard, deep. Jake chokes on the air in his lungs, his eyes snapping shut as you cry out. 

“Fuck” hisses through the grit of his teeth. Then he finds his pace again. 

His head falls to your neck. Nibbles make you gasp, and the image of examining claiming bruises in the mirror first thing come morning causes your walls to clench around the veiny column moving in and out of you. Your fingers fist into his hair. Nails dig into the toned muscle of his ass. 

“I do love you, Jake,” you say. 

He stops completely, but you don’t question it. The fingers in his hair loosen and you lightly scrape your nails along his scalp, down to the base of his neck, then back up into blond locks. Turning your head, you stamp a tender kiss onto his temple. 

Jake doesn’t say a thing. He doesn’t look at you. His thick breaths burn the delicate skin just under your ear. When he begins to move, he’s slow, taking his time before he picks up, working to nudge that special spot inside of you that tightens a white-hot coil in your belly. 

“I love you so much, beautiful,” he whispers.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

HII!!! and happy birthday to you ♡♡ i love ur works sm, for ur special birthday event, could i request — ryomen sukuna, mean, " i love you, and you don't deserve that " ?? AGAIN, HAPPY BIRTHDAY AND HAVE THE BEST YEAR!! (｡>﹏<｡) feel free to change it up! you're the birthday author afterall<3

AHH these are late, but in my defense I got very drunk then had to work off the hang over lol.

that being said, thank you so much Nonny!! This is so sweet and I feel kinda bad because this one got pretty dark. Trigger warnings for Domestic abuse, non con/dub con implied, emotional abuse and manipulation, and yandere themes. you have been warned, Dead Dove, Do Not Eat.

Now Presenting...

Starring: An cold complicated Ryomen Sukuna, taking it out on a Reader that doesn't deserve it.

There were few things on this earth Sukuna found more vile than humans. Maggots, maybe, but at least maggots served a purpose- they were important to the nutrient cycling of many ecosystems. But what the fuck did human do? They destroyed with reckless abandon, conquered without a second thought, and bread like roaches to continue the destruction long after they were gone. They were creatures of hate. And maybe that’s why Sukuna couldn’t stand them. They were just a little too much like him.

That was all with one exception. Y/n was a human that challenged every thought he had about humans. She was kind and generous, but still not afraid to get her hands dirty for what she believed. She proved that much when she ran out to stop him from destroying some elders home of all fucking things. He didn’t know what was funnier, that she thought she could challenge him, with her meek frame and zero battle experience, or the look on her face when he threw her over his shoulder. 

He had planned to throw her to his hoard of underling curses and let them tear her limb from limb. A fitting punishment he thought, she wasn’t really worth his effort. When he got to the throne room, he looked down at the writhing mass of curses below the tall platform his throne sat upon. He watched them all move as one, entangled together in a breathing wet sea of shit and hunger. They needed to eat.

And then he looked at her. The way she clung to his arm, the genuine terror in her eyes. She didn’t look like she had before on the battlefield, so willing to give her life to save another. Now she looked as if her entire being was made of ice and terror, as if she’d shatter if the breeze blew the wrong way. He felt a tightness in his chest, like some otherworldly being was pulling the sinew that laid there apart, cord by cord. And he threw her into his sleeping quarters instead. 

And ever since that day all those months ago, Sukuna had been complicated. A fucking human complicated him, it was almost comical. He caught himself being vulnerable around her, and he coludn’t fucking stand it. For every quiet sweet moment they had, he had to double down with two or more acts of brutality to make himself feel better. Except, it never made him feel any fucking better, in fact it made him feel actively fucking worse. The betrayal and hurt behind your eyes always made him feel minuscule, and it only made his hate of you burn even brighter. 

It was moments like these that made his skin crawl. When your head was resting on his chest, arms wrapped around your body as best as they could be, legs still trembling in the aftermath of your shared sin. When he realized his heart was calm, and his claws didn’t crave blood in your presence. His reaction to comfort was always visceral anger. 

“Get off of me wench.” He growled, jerking his shoulder up and launching you out of your near sleep state. You looked so hurt.

“Oh, this again?” You muttered.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, Whore?” Sukuna scoffed, unable to believe you felt comfortable enough to talk to him with such a tongue.

“Nothing.” You sighed, shaking your head and trying to turn away from him. You didn’t get very far before his talons were digging into your shoulder, forcing you to face him again.

“No no, If you’re going to say something, say it. Don’t try to take the cowardly way out now.” He warned. You shook your head, knowing better than to make eye contact right now.

“I just don’t want to fight-”

“Oh, you think this is a fight?” He laughed, “that would almost be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic.We don't fight Y/n. You forget your place, and I remind you of it. Fighting implies you to be my equal, which you never will be.” he said, his voice dripping in condescension and laced with contempt. His poison shot straight into your heart, coursing through your blood and to your tongue. You were so tired of his bull shit. 

“Oh, really?! Is that what happens?!” You laughed back to keep from crying, “Because from my view, You realize you have a heart and get so scared of it, you have to hurt someone smaller than you to feel like a man aga-!” Yea, you weren’t shocked when he struck you. You held your face, knowing there would be a bruise you could take fingerprints off of forming. You’d long since become used to his treatment. He grabbed you by your hair, yanking you to look at him. You could feel individual follicles being pulled from their roots as he raised you off the bed, as he drank in your scream as if it was the finest of wine. 

“Listen here Brat,” Ryomen always had a way of making even the most mundane words cut into your soul, “You’d do well to remember who the fuck you are talking to when you speak to me. I am not your friend, I am not your lover, you are fucking nothing to me. You’re less than nothing to me. Wrong me a-fucking-gain and your villiage won’t stop finding pieces of your body.” He snarled, throwing you off the bed. 

You braced for impact, but that still didn’t stop the collision from sending sharp waves of anguish through your already bruised ribs. You took in a sharp breath and tried to keep the tears swelling in your eyes from spilling over. He wanted you to cry. You wouldn't give him that satisfaction. You got to your hands and knees as quickly as your body would let you, then sat up as best as you could.

“Do you know what your problem is Sukuna?” You mumbled from the floor. He raised an eyebrow at you, genuinely shocked you had more to say after that. Normally, physical violence shut you up pretty quick. 

“And what is that Y/n?” He asked. You took an edge breath in.

“Your problem is that you don’t want to keep being a warlord. You’re tired of it, it bores you, you want to do something else. You found something that only makes that feeling stronger. And you can’t stand it! Because you don’t know who you are. You have no idea who Ryomen Sukuna is without the power and the blood thirst, and that fucking terrifies you.” Sukuna didn’t even argue, and he wasn’t surprised you read him so clearly. You had always seen through him as if he was nothing more than a fragile bubble. 

“And do you know what my problem is?” You growled. You waited all of 3 seconds before responding to his silence, “My problem is that I love you. And you don’t deserve that.” A chuckle left Sukuna, but it was humorless. His eyes didn’t hold any anger or angst, he looked as if he was made of stone. He finally got up from the bed, and moved to you. He crouched down to be at your level. 

“Things are only going to get worse for you from here on out. I hope you're prepared.” he said, zero emotion making its way to his voice or eyes. He pushed you onto your back before standing up again and leaving the room. Once he was back in his own sleeping quarters, he punched a hole in his wall.

How fucking dare you tell him you loved him! Who the fuck did you think you were?! And why the fuck would you confess that after he threw you to the fucking ground? As if you were nothing more than a used cum rag! He roared as he ripped some random piece of art off the wall and smashed it against the floor, splintering the wooden frame. Your words kept echoing in his head, phantoms that wouldn’t let him rest. I love you, and you don’t deserve it.It made him sick. Because he didn’t deserve it. And because he loved you too, and you truly didn’t deserve that.

[hier--soir]

sun don't set

ellie williams x f!reader

rating: sfw, not explicit summary: life in the little house is calm - quiet. days pass in a blur of fruit and sunshine and companionship. slow mornings, afternoons, and evenings. ellie is slowly rediscovering her love for music, and on that journey, she writes a song about you. warnings/tags: late twenties ellie, set years after the events of tlou2, no spoilers or discussions of plot points in tlou2 - except perhaps the description of an old injury but the way it happened isn't described, established wlw relationship, food and eating, brief description of skinning animals for food, soft soft soft ellie. word count: 1.3k masterlist a/n: this short little thing poured out of me after a nice sunny day and it's maybe one of the softest, sweetest things i've ever written. a slice of life type thing based on the happy ending i hope ellie got x [ALSO the song ellie sings is ronnie's song by odie leigh]

The little house lives in the basin of a valley, circled by sycamore boughs and juniper bushes.

A shallow stream trickles close by.

In the mornings, you eat berries drizzled in honey, sipping warm tea while watching the water. The air is still and quiet, filled only with the sounds of the dribbling brook and teeth sinking into ripe fruit. The first rays of sun arrive and they are safe and warm against your skin, and time moves slowly. Gently.  

You sit on the patio in chairs that she built. Ones that creak and whimper as your weight settles upon them; rickety wood and worn old nails. On the armrest, hers or yours, fingers catch and hold. Thumbs and indexes and pinkies looped together.

In the afternoons, she peels an orange. Spindly fingers tear thick skin, pulling apart perfect segments of flesh – one for you, one for her, one for you, one for her. Together you bite and chew and swallow, jaws and mouths and teeth working in sync. In the silence, you relish the feeling of tasting this together. That burst of juice across your tongues. Wisps of pulp that catch in the cracks of your incisors.

When it’s warm you splay out on the grass, stretching and purring like two cats in the sun. She’s a calico, splotches of white and brown and beige, and you’re a tabby, mottled streaks of burnt orange – wiling away what’s left of your nine lives together.

In the evenings, she returns from her walk. Some days empty handed, others with rabbit or duck or deer trailing behind her. On those days you sit with your knees pressed together, sharp knives peeling back hair and skin and feathers. You eat as the air turns cooler and the sun sets over the hill, an almost endless—always wondrous—burst of oranges and pinks that taint the sky before it turns to black.

Often, you turn in first. Tuck yourself away inside the little house, swathed in blankets; keeping her side of the bed warm. Alone, she reaches for the guitar. Takes it outside and closes the door behind her, so that those soft melodies won’t carry to your ears. With heavy eyelids, your ears pique and strain, eager to listen. But she must stray further than the patio, for you never hear a thing.

Time passes and she joins you soon enough. Her long limbs coil around yours beneath the covers; cold toes press into the skin of your calves. Her hand on your back, those fingers tracing a tickling portrait. The tip of your nose rests in the base of her neck and you breathe in the scent of pine and rosemary and honey on her skin. In the darkness, sinking into her warmth, you feel tenderness thicken the lining of your throat. And together you sleep; at peace knowing that another morning awaits you.

Ellie found the guitar in your fourth year together. Deep brown, layered in dust, the sound hole and fretboard decorated with cobwebs. She didn’t say a word as she slung it over her back and carried it the entire way to the little house. Didn’t offer any explanation when she stashed it away in an empty room. And when you caught her one night, long after sunset, wiping away the dust and tightening the strings, you didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t ask if she was thinking about him – you already knew the answer.  

“It’s hard,” she told you one morning, lips and chin shining with berry juice. “Learning how to play again. How to play… like this.”

Your fingers ghost over the palm of her left hand, splayed on the armrest of her chair. Tracing lines and scars on pale skin until you reach the shortened stumps of her ring and pinkie finger.

“Sometimes the hardest things,” you pick up her hand and lay a soft kiss to each finger, lingering a little longer on those two. “Are the things most worth doing.”

She hums a short response, eyes trained on where your lips touch her skin. Then her hand cups your jaw and brings your face to meet hers, and she smears the taste of blueberries into your mouth.

It’s not until a morning in your fifth year together that you hear it for the first time.

She wanders in from the chicken coop, white and brown eggs cradled in the well of her palms. The wind tousles that short auburn hair, loosening it from behind her ears, and carries her voice through the door to you.

“She’s my… I’m… she’s a coffee cup, I’m tea.”

Your fingers still against the page of your book, and you glance up as she walks through the door, still murmuring under her breath.

“What’s that?” you smile.

“Eggs?” She holds them up, eyebrows pinched defensively—secretively.  

“Ellie,” you laugh. Dog ear the page of your book and tuck it away on the kitchen counter. She nestles the eggs carefully into a bowl and sidles up beside you, hooking an ankle neatly around yours.

“It’s nothing,” her nose brushes against the apple of your cheek, lips chapped and dry from the morning air as they lay a kiss to your jaw. “How do you want your eggs? I’ll make a fire.”

Months pass after that, and you hear it as she bathes. Hear it as she hangs your socks on the clothesline.

“She’s the salt,” she sings faintly. “And I’m the sea.”

Hear it as she builds her arrows, hunched over the table, tired fingers fiddling. Hear it grumbled through a mouthful of mint as she brushes her teeth.

“She’s a dog, and I’m her fleas.”  

One day in Summer you walk together, following that little stream all the way to the lake. You hear it then too. Softly, under her breath, your hand held loosely in hers as the sun turns her shoulders pink.

“If she’s creamer, then I’m jooooe,” the voice you love purrs, her thin lips pursing and parting as she drags out the vowel. “Sun don’t set, wherever we go.”

And then one night, as the two of you sit admiring the sky and all of its pinks and blues and yellows and oranges, you abandon your chair for hers. Slink two steps across the patio and into her lap, welcoming the way her arms drape around your shoulders. She kisses the bone at the top of your spine, the sloping side of your neck, and watches the sky from over your shoulder.

And then she sings quietly, her voice a delicate and hoarse thing against the back of your head.

“She’s a pistol.” A breath in and a breath out. “I’m a bow.”

“Is that from your song?” you ask, voice a hushed whisper. Scared to break the softness of the moment; the sunset trance that rests in a warm shroud over the patio.  

“Hmm?” she murmurs. You feel her lips trail the shell of your ear, the edge of your jaw. You shiver and go lax in her lap.

“Will you sing me your song?” you say louder, eyes focused on the waning horizon.

“My song?” Ellie laughs. One of her hands slips from your shoulder to play with the hairs at the nape of your neck. Twisting a strand around her finger and tugging gently. “It’s your song, babe.”

“Well, I’d like to hear it,” you murmur, and you can hear the smile in your own voice. “Properly, I mean.” Feel the heat that rises in your neck at the mere thought of it. Your song.  

“What about…” she says, fingers thrumming a beat against your stomach now. “What if I sing it for you in the morning? I think it’ll be warm. Sunny. We can see if those strawberries you planted are ready to eat.”

You consider it for a moment—her lips stained pink; eyes bright as she croons your song in the morning sunshine.  

“With the guitar too?”

A pause.

“With the guitar,” she agrees.

You nod once and turn to kiss her. Smile into her mouth.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Strawberries and my song in the morning.”

thank you for reading! x

[vase-of-lilies]

❀ Pairing: Demon!Wanda Maximoff x Angel!Reader (F) (Mostly nicknamed Angel)(And some Wanda x Bucky)

❀ Non-con, dubcon, semi-major character death, captivity, heaven and hell (religious god?), mentions of kidnapping and past rape, spreader bar, use of a strap, dismembering of a person, blood, gore, and a fluffy bath:) (If there is any more, PLEASE let me know!!)

❀ Word Count: 10.4k Words (My longest fic yet!!)

❀ Disclaimer:  The pictures only represent aesthetics and themes. There is no certain skin color, body type, ethnicity, or description other than Y/n and “you”. Credit to those who made the pictures in the banner as well. In the story, it says “your natural skin color.” This is meant for everyone and anyone who reads this story.

❀ Authors Note: This is my entry for @lunarbuck’s Soulmate AU writing challenge! Congratulations on your follower milestone! My prompt was “You can feel what your soulmate is feeling (and vice versa).” I hope you enjoy it! Y'all, I finished AND posted this with 3% battery on my laptop. Please give it your love 😭

It was a homicide. A planned murder against a poor young woman, who had her whole life ahead of her. A life that you were supposed to watch over her as her guardian angel. Your savior had assigned you to this woman just moments ago, settling your sacred halo hovering just above your head. You had been waiting your whole life for this moment but once you met the crime scene it felt like your heart had been ripped from your chest. 

Your body drops to the floor, your halo slowly dying of its light. The pure white dress adorned your body faded to a light gray, and your soft feathered wings drooped like a dog's ears. You stare at the body of your departed human as the investigators take her away, weeping as they do so. A chill washes over your body, and the world around you seems to dim in its color. 

Sparkling silver tears roll down your cheeks, characteristic angels were blessed with. With one drop they could heal any broken or ill body, and give power to its consumer. Everything except the dead, and you were much too late to the scene to even help your protected person. 

The world underneath you, hell, there was something brewing in the mind of the queen; Wanda. In different realms, she felt the pain that you did when you saw her lying lifeless on the ground, blood soaking through the white sheet covering her. That wasn’t all. She could feel everything. She could feel the sensation of your tears falling down your cheeks, the racing of your heart, the pounding of your head. She even felt the tug of your halo disconnecting from your aura. 

So, Wanda decides to pay you a visit, and possibly help you find a better way to use your purity. A portal opens from the ground a small distance from you and Wanda extends her wings, floating just behind you. The purest energy surrounds you, pushing away any bad spirits. But this field is falling fast. 

Wanda approaches your whimpering body, “Hey, Angel.” She says, kneeling down next to you. You jump at her presence, quickly wiping away your tears with the backs of your hands.

“Hm? Oh..” You don’t answer her, as all you can do is stare at your halo sitting in your lap. 

She sighs and gently takes your hands, the faded ring of light falling to the ground. “Come with me,” She says to you, pulling you up from your kneeling position. You don’t question who is helping you, only leaning into their arms with a whimper. 

“Sh-she left me,” You whisper. 

“I know, its ok. I’ll take care of you now,” She says as she pulls you with her, your mind in a haze as you walk with her. You try your hardest to hold back your tears knowing anyone who sees them will take them and leave you for the undead to tear you apart limb from limb. 

Both you and Wanda descend through the portal to the underworld, her arm firmly around your body as you follow. She leads you through the halls of her fortress to her blood-red throne. Sitting down, she pulls you into her lap, letting your head fall against her chest. Her arms wrap around your shaking body, your whimpers breaking her heart as she watches you.

“Sh-she’s gone.. she’s gone…” You sob over and over into Wands's warm, fabric-covered bosom. Her hand smoothes over your [color, length, and texture]-ed hair, soothing you with her soft gestures. 

She presses her lips to your forehead, whispering against your skin, “Just breathe, little Angel. I’ll keep you safe.”

As her words enter your ears, it pushes you back into reality, making you look up. Frantically you look around you, letting out a scream and shoving yourself off of Wanda's lap. “Y-you're th- you're the-” You can’t get yourself to say her title, as you are struck dumbfounded of how you got here. 

You scoot back across the burning marble floor, your hands starting to blister from the direct contact with the grounds of hell. Quickly, you scramble to a standing position, your shoes shielding the pain from the ground. Wanda hisses in pain, just like you; her hands burning and blistering the same as yours. 

She ignores the pain and chuckles, smirking down at your cowering form. “I’m the Queen,” she finishes your sentence, gesturing to her throne and around her. 

“Please don’t hurt m! Please, ju-just let me be!” You sob, unable to crumple your body to hide yourself, the floor's existence threatening to harm you. 

She rolls her eyes and frowns. “Im not going to hurt you, just come here.” She opens her arms, beckoning you to come to her. Your face changes from fear to suspicion, your mind screaming at you; ‘You are, I just know it. Thats what demons do. they kill.’

“I am not a demon, I am an Archangel. There is a big difference.” She says, leaning back on her throne with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“H-how did you know I said that?” Your voice quivers as you look up at her.

She scoffs, “I can read your mind down here, little Angel,” She stands up, pulling a large sword from a sheath next to her throne, “Now, follow me.”

You step back at the sight of the sword, your breath hitching in your throat. Cautiously, you follow, the blade dragging against the marble floor. “Where are we going?” Your pure curiosity shines through your fearful state. 

She did not turn around to answer you, continuing forward as she responded. “To the cells of the ‘innocents’ you think I am holding hostage down here.” Her fingers make air quotes around innocents and you roll your eyes at the comment. 

“You do.” You accuse her, following what your teachers and leaders have always told you.

Her eyes narrow at you, “Okay, here,” she steps in front of a cell, a man sitting on the ground with chains on his wrists. “Ned Lowland. Loving husband, father of three children. Married to his high school sweetheart and died of a heart attack.” She laughs as she hears your desperate attempt to defend him. 

“He’s innocent, he was a father, he-he didn’t do anything.” You say, searching around to find a key of some sort. 

“He was chatting with two (2) twelve (12) year olds online. He met up with one, killed her, and then defiled her corpse. She is still buried in his backyard today.” 

Your expression says everything; disbelief, confusion, anger. Emotions of all sorts fill your system ending in disgust hearing the body is still buried. “That is just o-one of them. But there are plenty of innocent people down here,” Turning your head, you look down the long hallway of cells. “There has to be…” whispering to yourself. 

Wanda shakes her head, taking your hand in hers and pulling you to the next cell. “Ah, you’ll like this one…” She says, stopping in front of a cell with another man. “Tony Stark. Philanthropist, CEO, billionaire. A hero to some, a lover to his wife Pepper Potts. Stalked a woman named,” She pauses to look at your reaction. “Lenora Jones. He kidnapped her, raped her, and then killed her, before throwing her in the middle of a busy highway for someone to find.” You gasp. 

“N-no…” 

“You know that name very well, I assume?” She smirks and continues, “Lenora believed in guardian angels, and thought that she had one herself. She took on her abuser first hand knowing her angel would protect her. But, look how that ended…” 

Her eyes rake over your body, feeling the rage rush through your veins as you stare at the man behind the bars. He looks back at you with an evil smirk, his intentions clear. “What a pretty little angel, wings as white as snow… I would love to see you all battered and bloody.” He says, undressing you in his mind. 

You step closer to the cell door, asking the man a genuine question, “Why? Why did you do it?” You watch him stand up, his body towering over yours. 

“I think you can figure that out yourself, angel.” He said, knowing you are smart enough to solve that mystery. He was corrupt. He didn’t need a reason. He had status, power, and money, but it was the control had been missing. 

Tony had found Lenora by looking through his employee list. He wanted someone no one would miss or look for. Lenora, she was almost the perfect victim as she was living on her own and had moved from Colorado. She was a far way from home and away from her parents. Well, her parents were taken care of much before Tony actually made his moves on Lenora. 

What? He needed her secluded and unable to call for help.  

He got what he wanted, and Lenora's life was taken in the process. 

“How do you feel now that you took three lives? How does it feel to burn down here, while her and her family lives up in heaven?” You ask, looking up at him with silver tears threatening to spill. 

“I have never felt more powerful. The queen lets me live how I want down here. I get what ever I want…” He looks to Wanda, “Watch… Can I get another fuck toy? M’feeling a little hard.” He says in a low voice, palming his cock behind his blood-red “uniform.”

Wanda shrugs, “Why don’t you try to reach her yourself?” She smirks, nodding her head to you hinting to Tony that you are up for grabs. You look at her in horror, frozen in fear as you hear her offer. 

She only laughs at your reaction, moving her sword over her shoulder, waiting for Tony to reach for you. As he does, she slices his arm off in one swing. “I’m keeping this… maybe you’ll learn that with one hand, you don’t actually need three holes.” Internally, you thank her for saving your dignity. 

You scream as the events unfold in front of you. Tony writhes in pain on the ground, and you feel a pang of guilt. Looking at the blood spurting from his wound, you try your best to heal it without Wanda noticing. Even for what he did, he didn’t deserve to be in pain. That is the angel side of you acting, but Wanda had plans to corrupt you.

Wanda realizes what you are doing, acting fast by wrapping her hand around your throat, and pulling you off the ground. “This is my domain, not yours.”

You whimper as your hands scratch at her sharp and perfectly manicured nails digging into your skin. Finally, your worst fear came to light; silver, sparkling tears made their way from your eye down your cheek. Something that demons believed was a simple myth. 

Wanda's expression softens and changes into realization. “Oh my… I knew they were real.” She catches a tear in the dip of her fingernail and drops you to the ground. A vial appears in her hand, and she drops your tear in. You both hiss in pain at the blistering of your hands. “Fuck! What is happening?” She says, looking at her hands and seeing the matching wounds on yours. 

You quickly get up, whimpering as your hands sting from hitting the ground. Ignoring her question, you look up at her and reach for her, coughing out a response. “ N-n-no please you don't have the right-” Another cough cuts you off. 

Wanda walks over to you, growling at you, “You came down here on your own!” She pauses, her finger pushing your chin up to look at her, “I own you…” More tears fall down your cheek but you quickly wipe them away. 

“N-no you don’t,” Your voice cracks as you look up at her. 

“You’re pathetic.” She laughs and turns away from you, walking briskly to another room down the hall. You follow her, not wanting to be with the sad souls around you any longer. But what you see terrifies you. It was a fellow angel. An angel you in fact knew very well. 

“B-Bucky?” You whimper, looking up at him in his state. His hands are in cold metal cuffs suspending him from the ceiling, sharp hooks keeping his wings spread, and bloody scrapes all over his body. “Oh, Bucky…” Walking up to him, you ghost your hands over his wounds on his torso. “Bucky? Are y-you ok?” You ask in a quiet voice, seeing his eyes open. 

“Y-y/n?” A raspy voice answers you, and you nod with a smile.

“Yeah, its me, Buck.” You say, trying to get him down but only causing him to whimper in pain as the hooks pull against his wings.

Wanda chuckles at the sweet angel-worry exchange, grabbing a knife that is able to hurt angels, and she pushes you back. Catching yourself, you glare up at her. 

“Trust me, you don’t want to get in the middle of this.” She says, dragging the blade along Bucky's chest. 

You growl as she pushes you, and you retaliate, knocking the blade from her hands. As fast as you can, you scramble to get the blade but you are pulled back by an invisible force. Once you are close enough to the door, she shoves you outside, slams the door, and locks it. 

Pounding and kicking the door, you scream as loud as you can, shouting for mercy. “Please! Don’t hurt him!! Hurt me! H-hurt me! Please I’ll do anything!” You beg, hope, and pray that she will let you take his place.

“God, she’s so annoying.” Wanda says as she rolls her eyes, moving back to Bucky. Continuing where she left off, she drags the blade over Bucky's peck to mess with him. 

Bucky cries as you are thrown from the room and he growls at the queen. “F-fuck you…” He curses her. 

You persist, shouting outside of the door and pleading to switch places with him. You try everything; asking to switch places, letting her do anything she wants to you, killing you, hurting you. Anything. But you were ignored. 

Wanda walks to the small window on the door, shutting the cover on it, blocking your view from inside. She waves her hand and the sight of Bucky chained up fades away in swirls of colored mist, revealing Bucky standing unhurt. “Hey, baby…” She smirks, walking towards him and wrapping her arms around him. 

She knew you would fall for it. You were just a naive little angel who would do anything to protect anyone you cared about. It was laughable how dumb you could be, your feather-stuffed mind making you think irrationally. 

Bucky looks down at Wanda but looks over at the door next. “God, I missed her. How did you find her? She was a favorite of his you know,” He says, hinting at the big guy upstairs. 

“Her human died, and she was distraught. So, well you know how I am.” She smirks and kisses his lips, gently pulling him down by his hair. He smiles against her lips, holding her by her hips. He pulls away with a soft gasp. 

“Let’s fuck her. Take her innocence, and strip her of her high and mightiness.” His eyes move up to the chains on the ceiling and back to Wanda. 

“That sounds so good. I would love to play with her body,” She smirks, and a laugh follows. “Was she always this annoying?” Your pleading can still be heard outside of the locked door, small pounds echoing as well. 

Bucky nodded. “Always a fuckin’ cry baby.” A dark chuckle leaves his throat, and he shakes his head dismissively. 

Outside, you sobbed against the door. Your hand hits the door harder than the last hit, making your fingers very painful. But Wanda could feel that too, and she looked to Bucky. “Why am I feeling her pain? Her emotions? What is happening?” She asks, worry lacing her voice. Bucky knew exactly what this meant, and he couldn’t wait to tell you the news. 

“You’re soulmates…” He says. “Try a cut on your hand, I bet you anything you’ll hear her scream.” He smirks, handing her the blade. Wanda tilts her head, her eyebrow quirking upwards. 

“Soulmates, hm?” She puts the knife to her hand and cuts a solid line, groaning in pain. Her pain is easily soothed by your screams on the other side of the door. “Oh, I see… And she feels everything that happens to me too? Pain and pleasure?” Bucky nods. “So, every time we fucked, she came just as hard as I did…” She puts it together in the end, Bucky nodding once more to conclude her suspicions. 

“She has felt everything, but her virginity is still good and ready to take. Sure she felt your orgasms, but it’s just not the same,” He says, gently wrapping Wanda's hand with a piece of gauze. “Her lord said we were soulmates, I knew that was bullshit though. I needed someone else, and I have yet to find that person. But you… you have satisfied my every need.” His words cause Wanda to smile, her cheeks turning red at his compliments. 

“You were born in the wrong place… as an angel, your need for corruption makes me all hot and bothered.” Wanda says, brushing her finger through his hair, and kissing his lips once again. 

Bucky groans at the sound of your crying. “We need to shut her up, dear lord! And before we fuck her, we need to get some more info out of her. Chain her up like we talked about before. We can get more tears out of her too, love.” He whispers as his lips graze Wandas once again.

“It’d be our dream, just like we talked about. Hell on earth.” She smiles and pulls away. “I’ve got to finish the tour, then we can have our fun with her.” She says, Bucky nodding reluctantly. 

“God, fine. I’ll miss you, baby…” He whispers, passionately kissing her. 

“I’ll miss you too,” She smiles. With another wave of her hand, the illusion is back in place, her magic adding a few more cuts to Bucky's body. She makes sure everything is perfect and opens the door to see you crying, tears on the ground, and soaking into your dress. 

Immediately you jump up from the ground, wincing as you touch the ground with your cut hand. You run to Bucky, whispering in his ear, “I’ll get you out of here, I promise…” Gently running your fingers through his blood-soaked hair you turn to Wanda. “You hurt him, you witch!” 

“Oh boo hoo! You’re SO scary.” She pretends to be scared, posting a false fearful look on her face before turning to leave. “Come on, I have more to show you.” She says, standing in the doorway. You look at her defiantly, your eyes narrowing at her audacity to try to pull you away from the man you love. 

“N-no, I’m not leaving him…” Your voice quivers slightly.

“Fine,” Wanda sighs. “We’ll do this the hard way.” She stands up straight and her hand glows a bright red, her magic not-so-gently pulling you from the room. You scream and scratch at the floor, the ground burns your hands. A whimper leaves Wanda's throat as she too feels the pain you are in. She forces her magic to pull you to a standing position, stopping the burning of both your and her hands. 

The door locks behind you, the illusion of the hurting Bucky going back to normal once again. “No! Please!” You sob as you are pulled by force down the hallway away from Bucky's cell. More silver tears roll down your cheek and you wipe them away with your sleeve, the liquid soaking the fabric. “Why are you doing this?” You ask, breathless as you struggle against the energy holding your body still. 

“Im only showing you where you’ll be staying, good lord,” She rolls her eyes and disengages her magic from around you. You sigh in relief as you are freed, but knowing you are practically powerless against her. She is stronger in this domain than she is on earth, or in heaven. You have absolutely no chance of defeating her. 

Following Wanda, you made your way through the many hallways of her fortress. “Why won’t you just let me go?” You ask as the two of you reach a large wooden door. 

“Because heaven won’t let you back in…” Wanda responds, smirking at your expression of confusion. “Anyway, this is where you’ll be staying.” She opens the door, a red, medieval-looking room on the other side. 

You were suspicious as to how welcoming she was being. This was not natural for a being of her kind. Swallowing, you take in the overwhelming room, definitely not the same as the white and elegant room you resided in, in heaven. You stop in the middle of the room, and you turn to her. “What am I really doing down here? You did all of this on p-purpose, didn’t you?” The sentence rushed out in a string of angry whispers, just trying to make sense of everything. 

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks, stripping herself of her red, floor-length gown and making her way to her dresser. 

Out of purity, you turn away, giving her privacy. “You know what I mean. You killed my human, and took me because I know Bucky.” You keep your eyes down, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

She huffs and shrugs. “Yeah, well maybe…” Closing the drawer, she puts her arms through the sleeves of a red, silky robe and secures it around her body. From her hand, a red tendril pulls a spell book from the bookshelf, and she settles herself on the seat by the window. 

While Wanda is occupied, you beeline to the open door. But she is two (2) steps ahead of you. With a flick of her finger, the door shuts and locks, and your response is to growl and slump against it in sadness. Your dress protects your body from the ground, and you bury your face in your hands. 

Only two (2) minutes into reading, Wanda yawns, your cries bothering her. “God, you’re so fucking annoying!” She says, throwing her book across the room, almost hitting you. Your eyes widen and you duck your head, holding your arms over your head. Wanda looks at you from her spot by the window, thinking it's finally time to play with you. 

“Get up. It looks like you’ll be getting what you want after all.” A smirk appears on her lips as she stands up and makes her way towards you. Her fingers tangle in your [color, length, texture] hair and she pulls hard, forcing you to stand up. You grip her hand, trying to ease the pain from her strong hold on you. 

However, her grip loosens, the stinging on your scalp manifesting on Wanda's scalp as well. She growled at the fact that she kept on denying it. No demon should be a soulmate with an angel. It made her sick.

She lets go of your hair, pulling you by your wrist down the same hallways, and to the same door where Bucky was being held. Wanda smiled at Bucky standing in the middle of the room, arms folded in front of his chest. His head turned at the sudden opening of the door and he smirked too. 

His eyes see your white dress and follow up to your sobbing face. He smirks and his pupils blow with lust. “Can’t fuckin’ wait any longer, baby…” The door locks and Wanda drops you on the floor. As a defense mechanism, you plant your palms on the marble floor, looking at Wanda as she holds her hands against the cool silk of her robe. 

“Stop that!! Stop!” She growls, whimpering along with you as both yours and her hands blister and burn. Bucky sees what is happening and picks you up by the neck of your dress. “God, that hurts so fucking bad!” Wanda whimpers, her magic only coming out in small sparks at first, then at full force. Just enough to heal the bubbling blisters. 

Bucky’s strong arms hold you up, your limbs flailing around as you try to grab something. Once he knows that Wanda is safe, he throws you onto the bed in the corner of the room. You watch, speechless as you see Bucky, completely unharmed, his wings now painted pitch black. He’s become an archangel too.

Wanda sighs and pulls Bucky in by the leather collar around his neck, kissing his lips passionately, and lovingly. “I want to ruin her, break her.” She whispers against his lips, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.

You swear you could see guilt, and regret in Bucky's eyes when he turns his attention to you. He is quick to hide it as he looks down at Wanda with a smile on his face. “I’ll get the blades, you get the toys. I’ll chain her up, and we’ll decide not he rest. Got it?” He is unfamiliar with the control in his voice, and Wanda tuts softly. 

“Ah, ah, remember who is in charge here, baby boy…” She says, kissing his nose. 

“You, mistress. You always.” He whispers back, the submission falling over him again. 

“Good boy, now go.” Her hands cup his ass and she smacks it lightly as a gesture to make him obey. 

As Wanda gathers her things, Bucky approaches your shivering form on the bed. He uses his ungodly strength to easily pick you up, placing you in the middle of the room.

You kick and struggle in his arms, his hands easily grabbing a hold of your wrists and pulling them above your head. “Bu-buck! What are you doing?? Please! Don’t listen to her! She’s only here to hurt you!” You shout the cold metal now around your wrists.  

Bucky growls, slapping you across the face. At the other end of the room, Wanda startles, turning to face Bucky. “Jesus, you hit hard.” She says, feeling the sting across her face as well. Sheepishly, Bucky mouths an apology and moves back to you. 

“Im with someone who cares about me.” He says, collecting the rest of the blades that Wanda directs him to grab, setting them on the tray in front of your dangling body; the tips of your white flats barely scraping the floor. You shake your head, silently begging Bucky to come back to you. 

Wanda reaches for a knife specifically to hurt angels, the blade laced with the blood of a newborn hellhound. Deep down, she was hoping this would only hurt you and not her as well. If she inflicted the pain, it couldn’t possibly hurt her too, right?

She starts to cut the dress from your body, ripping it into pieces to finally see your naked skin. You hear her hum from behind you and feel her eyes raking up and down your backside. Her hand rubs the ample skin of your ass, slapping it softly. Hm, I couldn’t feel that… Wanda thinks to herself. Again, she spanks you, harder each time not feeling a thing. 

Every smack of your ass made you whimper and pull at the chains to try and get as far away as you could from the source. 

“She doesn’t care, Bucky. Your father did, your mother did, our superiors did. I- I did!” Your body shivers in the cold air of the room, which confuses you as this is hell. Hell is supposed to be hot… You try your best to cover up but fail as the chains hold you right where Wanda wants you. 

“They didn’t care. And you!” He passes as he grabs a blade from the table, putting it on your neck. “You used me to get cozy with the big man.” He accuses. Wanda watches from afar, hitching her breath as she feels the sharp tip of the blade against her neck as well. She was proud of how far Bucky had come, and she didn’t mind if she got hurt in the process if it ended with Bucky becoming even stronger than he is now. 

Along with Wanda, you suck in a breath as the blade is pushed against your skin. You give up on hiding your tears, Wanda was quick to collect the falling ones in vials as they fell from your eyes. “N-no I did not. I worked my way to the top just like you did!” 

To some demons, tears were the only thing that they thought was to be of silver and sparkles. But only the purest of angels had blood of gold. Ones who have never lied, cheated or hurt anyone. Ones who did their best and passed any test their lord gave to them. 

You defended yourself to the best of your ability, knowing you did in fact work hard to become a guardian angel. The force of your response boosted you forward just an inch, causing the blade to nick your skin. Immediately, gold liquid drips from the small cut on your neck.

Bucky was filled with so much rage, that Wanda could feel it radiating off of his body. “You’re lying!!” He shouted the intent to kill in his mind.

Before he could do any more damage to you, Wanda's eyes widened. “Bucky, stop!” She ordered, placing a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. “Baby, look at her blood. Its gold!” She laughs and turns to him. “Its gold!”

You sigh, your secret revealed. Weakly, you look at Wanda, trying to cover the wound on your neck with your shoulder. “Please, i-if you’re going to kill me, just do it now, and make it quick.” Your voice cracks as you beg for a painless death. 

“Mmm, no, we’re not going to kill you. You’re far too valuable.” Wanda says, licking your blood off of the blade, moaning at the glorious taste of it on her tongue. “Oh wow… so sweet…” 

Bucky adds to Wanda's intentions, “We wanna keep you. You’re going to be so useful…” He forcefully moves your head to the side, lapping at the wound on your neck. You give everything to try and push him away; Kicking, wiggling your body, anything. But you are promptly stopped by a searing pain in your wrist. 

Wanda has her special blade against your sensitive skin, tracing it down your arm and ending at your exposed collar bones. “You are gonna stay put…” Wanda growls, pushing the knife into your skin and dragging it to one side. A scream of agony leaves your mouth, your throat hurting from the sheer force of your voice. She moans at the sight of the shimmering, gold liquid seeping from your body. Licking the excess blood from the knife with a satisfied smile. 

But Wanda was never satisfied. She needed more. And she went right to the source.

 She presses open kisses to your neck, sucking your gold blood from the cut on your chest. It smears along your skin, feeling sticky against Wanda's mouth. “So fucking delicious.” She mumbles against you, holding her hands on your naked hips and squeezing them roughly pulling a scratchy whimper from your throat. 

“Please,” You beg, tears of silver continuing to fall down your cheeks as you look down and away from your torturers. 

Wanda smirks at your soft whisper, “Please what, little Angel? Hm? What are you beggin’ for?” Your head is forced up, her hand holding your cheeks roughly. “You look at me when I’m talking to you.” You shiver, yet you disobey. Ignoring her was a bad idea. 

You pull away from her grip, closing your eyes as you hide your face in your arms. 

Bucky smirks at Wanda, “It looks like someone is in for a punishment…” He says in a low growl, seeing you pull away from Wanda after a clear command.

The witch's eyes narrow, your disobedience earning you a harsh slap across the face. “Bad little Angel…” You yelp as your head is thrown to the side again, a small tear falling to the ground. “Look at me!” Wanda shouts, and finally, you look up at her. “Ah, good girl… Now Im going to have my fun with you.” She smirks and caresses your cheek softly, wiping away any stray tears. 

Her thumb brushes against your quivering lips, gently pulling your bottom lip out into a pout. It takes every nerve in your body from pulling away. Wanda chuckles as she feels you shaking in your restraints. 

“Don’t be scared, little Angel.” Wanda smiles and her hand travels down your bleeding chest right to your cunt, her hand cupping it softly. Instantly you cross your legs, Bucky being fast to kick your ankles to keep them apart. You see him in the corner of your eye as he moves to the far side of the room, making it very clear what he is doing once you feel your body raise just a little more. 

“Please… don’t do this,” You whisper as you look Wanda in the eyes. She ignores you, pressing soft kisses to your neck as her pointer finger rubs your clit. Again, you pull your legs together. “S-stop, please! I have to st-stay pure!” You whimper, Bucky at your feet and connecting a bar to your ankles, forcing your legs to stay open. 

Wanda pauses, her hand wrapping around your back and touching the base of your wings connected to your back. “Oh you know thats all bull shit, Angel.” She says, softly plucking a feather from your sensitive wing. A pained whimper escapes your mouth, and your gold blood-covered feather falls to the ground in front of you. 

Wanda's fingers continue to circle your untouched clit, forcing a reluctant moan from your mouth. The chains rattling above you as you struggle to move away from her. You can feel her smirk against your neck, and she eggs you on. “I know it feels good. Just let me in.” She whispers in your ear, nipping your lobe softly.

Your head falls against hers, a connection of something much bigger than the both of you, making your skin tingle. “P-please…” You beg, her finger moving faster against your clit. “Wh-what do you want fr-from me?” 

“Nothing, Angel… I just want you,” Wanda whispers, smiling as she presses her lips to yours in a soft and loving kiss. The kiss takes your breath away, letting Wanda take the opportunity to push her tongue into your mouth along with her finger into your wet cunt. Pushing it in painfully slow. 

Your hands grip the chains, and you look up at Bucky who stands behind Wanda. “Buck, this- this isn’t you. Please, y-you can g-get- ohh, you ca-cant get us out o-of here.” The pleas come out in a stutter, small moans interrupting each word. He ignores you, the only thing you get from him is a shrug and a palm of his hand against his cock.

The breaths from your lungs quicken slightly as Wanda's finger continues to pump in and out of your pussy. “Please th-this i-is everything o-o-oh my stars,” You shake your head trying to ignore the pleasure you are being forced to feel. Wanda doesn’t stop at just one finger, she enters another finger, curling both against that one good spot inside of you. “Ah!” Your little yelp only encourages her to keep going, her fingers moving faster by the second. 

“I- I can’t do this,” You whisper, the new feeling inside of you rippling pleasure throughout your entire body. Slowly, the orgasmic feeling arises in you, and Wanda can tell you are close. 

“You can, I know you want to give in…” Wanda whispers, her lips sucking soft love marks onto your soft skin. “I’ll give you everything you want.” 

You shout at her, “N-no, I can’t do this! I can’t!” Somehow she can understand your feelings, holding you against her body as she fucks you with her fingers. She can tell you are so close, not only to cumming, but to breaking too. You were one tap away from shattering. 

Slowly, your head leans forward and your eyes begin to close. “Come on little angel, I just wanna make you feel so good…” Wanda whispers, kissing your forehead as you crumble underneath her touch. It felt like fire touching your skin, and your body relaxes against the chains, allowing Wanda to slide even further into your cunt. 

“A-all I ask i-is to be g-g-, Oh my stars... b-be gen-gentle please,” You whisper, knowing you can’t escape her. 

“I will be, little Angel. Just relax,” She responds, kissing your cheek and letting you lay your head against her chest. “Oh, you are such a good girl, my little angel.” 

Bucky smirks as your walls start to break and tremble, his thoughts coming out into words. “I told you she would be easy to break…” He puts on a fake frown as he looks at your shaking body, Wanda getting you oh, so close to your orgasm. “I was hoping there would be a lot more of those precious little tears. But we have aaaaall that blood, don’t we mistress?” He whispers in Wanda's ear, her lips forming a smirk against your forehead. 

“We do, baby…” She says, her fingers ceasing movement inside of your pussy. You were so close, but Wanda had other plans for you, and you had no idea what you had gotten yourself into. “Grab mistress’s strap, will you love?” She asks Bucky, who gladly obliges. 

Your eyes widen, “Wh-whats a s-strap?” The innocence of your mind fully shined through, and your voice quivered in fear. 

The woman above you only chuckles, saying softly, “Lets just say… it will feel much better than these…” She moves her fingers inside of you again, pulling out and forcing them into your mouth. “Suck them clean,” She says in a dark voice, your eyes avoiding her gaze as humiliation falls over your face. But, you obey, licking her fingers clean of your slick.

Wanda praises Bucky, kissing his cheek and tugging his hair. “Now be a good boy, and get some restraints on the bed, ok?” He nods, handing her the strap and occupying himself on the bed. You pull your eyes away from him and to the strap in Wanda's hands. 

“Wh-where does th-that go?” You ask with even more fear than before, with sparkly tears in your eyes once again. 

“That goes in here…” Wanda's fingers enter your cunt again, even deeper than before. You suck in a deep breath and double over, pulling on the chains above your head. 

“N-no no no absolutely not! Please! It's going to hurt it-its going to hurt!” You sob, that last bit of hope inside your heart dimming as you look to your former friend. “Bucky, do something! Please!” 

The woman in front of you tries to soothe you, gently cupping your cheek and bringing your attention back to her. “No, no. Mistress is going to stretch you out so so good, and it won’t hurt.” She whispers, adding a third finger to the two already inside of you. “M’gonna take your virginity, my little angel…” She smirks. 

Your head shakes vigorously, “Thats my soulmates j-j-job and m'not su-supposed to be taken yet please!” A single silver tear rolls down your cheek and onto your exposed breasts. “Please," You whisper, your voice small and weak. “There h-has to be another way…"

She chuckles, pulling her fingers from you again. “No, there is no mistake. You of all people know that,” Her whispers make your skin crawl, and you look up at her. “Your soulmate is the queen of hell,” A low and dark laugh leaves her mouth, your body going numb. “Watch, angel. And you’ll see exactly why,” She grabs a knife and orders Bucky to stand next to her. “I want you to cut a straight line on my palm. Y/n, if you feel it too, then you’ll know.” She smirks.

“No…” You whisper, still in denial of the initial news. The proof was most definitely there, but you did not want to see or feel it. Moving your head up weakly, you watch as Bucky drags the blade along Wanda's hand, a similar pain aching on your hand as well. You whimper, golden blood oozing from your hand. It drips down your arm, and around to your chest, but you ignore it. “M-my soulmate is the queen... of... hell…”

Quickly, Bucky bandages his mistress’s hand and gathers more vials to collect your blood. He is very close to you now, his body mere centimeters from you. Your eyes meet his cold blue ones, and your friendship finally breaks. “She’ll keep you safe,” Bucky whispered, guiding the last bit of blood into a glass bottle. “She’s kept me safe.” He pulls away, setting the now collected blood onto the table against the wall of the cell. 

The silver tears in your eyes now fall freely down your face, the feeling of betrayal and sadness hitting you like a wall. 

“I will keep you safe, little angel. I promise,” Wanda steps in front of you again, her un-bandaged hand slipping in between your spread-apart legs. To fingers enter you, and her thumb rubs your clit slowly, coaxing your orgasm out of you. 

“H-how can i t-trust yo- Ohhhh,” You let out an involuntary moan, your head falling forward against her shoulder.

“How can you trust me when what, Angel?” Wanda asks and she continues to rub your clit in just the right way. You look to Bucky, but shake your head, ignoring her question and focusing on the feelings.

Your whimpers get loud and Wanda can sense your orgasm is coming close, your walls clenching around her fingers once. 

“Cum for me, little Angel. Let me give you pleasure.” She whispers, kissing your lips passionately as you cum, imaginary fireworks going off around you and her. 

You are barely able to return the kiss, worried about doing anything wrong. While your walls squeeze and clench around her fingers, your legs shake and knees buckle, making you fall limp against the chains. The strain against your wrists makes you whimper, and Wanda instantly takes notice of this. Gently and slowly, she pulls her fingers from your wet pussy and wipes them on her robe. Next, she unlocks the cuffs from around your wrists and holds you in her arms. 

Weak arms wrap their way around Wanda, your body clinging to hers as your juices leak from your cunt and onto your inner thigh. She smiles down at you and gently picks you up, taking you to the bed in the corner of the room. Your head hits the pillow first, and then the rest of your body is cushioned on the semi-soft mattress, your wings splayed out underneath you.

From above you, Bucky’s shit-eating grin glows. He grabs your arms and clasps the cuffs around your wrists again, pulling the chains tight so you are all spread open. Doing the same to your ankles, he smirks at his handy work, every inch of your body exposed to him and Wanda. 

“How's that mistress? Do we need a gag if she screams?” He asks in a quiet voice, making sure you don’t hear anything. 

Wanda shakes her head and unties her robe, her beautiful body practically glowing in the dimmed lighting of the room. She smirks at you chained up and spread out, shaking her head. “Everyone screams in hell.” She says, crawling on top of you, kissing your skin softly to remind you that she is still there and cares.

The bed shivers along with you, tears rolling down your cheeks like a leaky faucet. “P-please,” You whimper softly, looking up at Wanda as she cups your face in her soft hands. 

“Hey, its ok, I’ve got you…” Her whispers are soft and genuine, yearning to make you feel comfortable and not scared. Your nerves are slightly calmed, your eyes locking with hers as they look down upon you. 

You whimper, her lips meeting yours softly. “I don't wan-want it to hurt,” Wanda hears your worries, gently rubbing her nose against yours as she leans closer to you. 

“It won’t, my Angel. Just a bit in the beginning then it’ll feel so good.” Wanda smiles, pecking your lips again. You close your eyes as she embraces your delicate body, only pulling away to reach for her strap, a whimper escaping your mouth as you see it. She secures the harness around her hips and uses some saliva to make sure it is ready for you. 

With love, she lays down beside you, softly entering her fingers into you again, stretching your walls to accommodate her large cock. She kisses your neck, smiling as your back arches off the bed. When you turn your head, you are met with the sight of Bucky, playing with his hard cock as he watches the two of you. It scares you and you move your gaze back to Wandas.

“Just focus on me, sweet Angel.” She whispers, kissing your lips as she sits up again, settling between your widely spread legs. Taking some slick from your tight hole, she rubs it over the cock on her hips, wetting it so it does not cause any pain. Seeing the fear in your eyes makes her pause, only poking the tip into your entrance. Her body lays on top of you and you bury your face in the crook of her neck. A gentle hand cradles your head, and she slowly starts to push into you, rubbing your clit with her other hand.

Bucky was angry that she stole your attention away from him. His stare burns holes in the back of your head as you look up at Wanda, he was supposed to be in that position; taking your purity without the comfort of a bed. He wanted to tear you in two, fuck you in every single hole you had, and kill you in the end. But he couldn’t because he’s the queen's pet. He wouldn’t let that happen. 

He tucks his cock back into his pants, reaching for the vials of tears from the table and putting them in his pockets. Your moans and whimpers die down as he leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He was going to take over this place, intending to anyone who got in his way. 

Once Bucky is gone, you and Wanda continue, not aware of his exit. All you can think of are these overwhelming sensations you are experiencing. It feels like you are being split in half, your arms and legs pulling at the chains. Your back arches hoping the movement will ease the pain.  

“Angel… just relax…” She whispers in your ear, kissing up along your jaw right to your lips. You try your hardest, you really do, but the fear is just too much and it makes you tense even more, your toes curling at the sensations. Your lips part, a small moan leaving them just before Wanda captures them in a kiss.

“Let Mistress in,” Her hand moves from your clit to your hip, rubbing your ample skin so softly. Opened-mouth kisses are planted along your neck, small bruises most likely going to show.

“I- I can’t s’too big,” The stretch is almost too much, tears falling down your temples and onto the pillow underneath your head. 

“You can take it, angel, I know you can…” She whispers in your ear, her cock finally bottomed out inside of your cunt. You yell out in pain, muffling your scream by softly biting down on Wanda's shoulder. Her cock stretching you out contorts your face of discomfort to a face of pleasure and euphoria, the feeling of being so full the only thing on your mind. 

“I’ve got you. You’re okay, my sweet Angel.” Wanda begins to move her hips, pushing her cock in and out of your cunt. Squelching can be heard, your juices making moving effortless and painless. Of course, the large size of her cock was still prominently there, and the movements turned from pain to pleasure very quickly. 

But soon, your breaths quicken, your senses heighten, and you become uncomfortably aware of everything that is happening. Your wings aren’t sitting right, your wrist is twisted in the cuffs weirdly, and Wanda's lips feel much too hot against your skin. Wanda looks down at you and halts her hips, taking in your disoriented and distressed look. 

“Hey, just breath. Take a deep breath for me Angel…” She whispers, her hand cupping your cheek and her thumb brushing against your lips. “You gotta trust me, little one.” Her head tilts and you nod softly.

You whimper, letting out a small response. “O-ok…” 

“Good girl, oh Angel, you are such a good girl.” She whispers as she kisses your forehead. The butterflies in your belly flutter to life, a small smile appearing as the praise finally starts to affect you. 

“Was that a smile?” Wanda quirks her brows, her heart feeling big when she sees your lips turn up. You nod and she nuzzles her nose against yours as she starts to move again. “Good girl. All I want is to make you happy.” She leans down to kiss your bare collarbones softly, “See, Angel. I’m not a bad person.” 

You nod, agreeing with her. “Y-you aren’t, a-and I’m sorry- ohhh-” A moan cuts you off, her fingers rubbing your clit again. “I-I’m so sorry I said you w-were.” Looking up at her, you see her face soften at your apology. 

“Oh angel,” You know she forgives you. Even if she doesn’t say the words, you can feel the way she holds you, fucks you, kisses you, and talks to you. 

Wanda smiles down at you, and in the next moment, her lips are on yours once again. She smiles stupidly against your lips as she starts to fall in love for the first time. Her hips begin to move again, her finger moving faster on your clit. It's not only you who can feel how close you are to your release - Wanda can feel it too, she can see it. 

As your cunt hugs her cock, you cum with a shout. Your legs shake in their restraints and Wanda swallows your moans with an even more passionate kiss. Her hands rub your hips and she smiles at you once she pulls away. Returning the smile, you pull at the chains holding your limbs in place. 

Wanda sighs and gently pulls out of you, wiping you down with her discarded robe. “Here, lets get these off of you…” She says, a snap of her fingers making the clasps come loose. You rub your wrists and bend your knees to curl up, moving to your side where you can fold your wings to your back. “There, are you feeling alright?” She asks, sitting up next to you and pulling you into her arms. You nod and kiss her cheek softly. 

Your legs bend and you lay your head against her chest, smiling as her hand strokes your soft wings. “So soft…” She nuzzles her head into the soft, white feathers, and wraps her arms around you. Tenderly, she presses soft kisses to your neck. “Such a good girl, my sweet little angel.” 

~~~~~~~

Bucky's plan had worked. A power he had never felt before was flowing through his veins, and god, he loved how it. He was confident that the power from the angel's tears would make him more powerful than the queen of hell herself, and he was ready to execute them both; the angel and the queen. 

He checked the dungeon first, but both you and Wanda were gone. Next was the bedroom, not there either. Last was the library. Wanda spent a lot of time there, so it was most likely that she would have shown it to you. Alas, there you were. Wanda was holding your white-robe-covered body in her arms while her favorite book to you. That book is the story of Peter Rabbit. 

There was nothing in particular she liked about the book, other than the fact it involved a chase. She absolutely loved a good chase and with possession of her own little bunny, she could do what she wanted. Not for long, of course, as in the next few moments they will be dead. 

Bucky glares as Wanda finishes the book, her hand coming to your cheek and caressing it softly. Her thumb rubbed over your bottom lip, and he had enough when you kissed it. Quietly, he enters the room with a large sword in his hand and a dagger in his other hand. He smirks as he sees you hug Wanda, her arms wrapping around you protectively. 

“What do you want?” She spits, moving you to the other side of the couch and putting herself in the middle of you and the threat. 

Bucky raises his dagger, “Her.” The blade pointed straight at you. You shivered at the silver edge glistened in the light of the library. 

Wanda growls, “Not gonna happen,” She stands up, her hand glowing a bright red with a ball of energy beginning to grow. You watch in horror as a blast of gray energy hits Wanda, forcing her across the room. You jump up in response, running to her and making sure that she is okay. 

“No, no, no, no, Wanda, please stay with me, Wanda please!” You whimper, sensing Bucky getting closer by the second. You growl at Bucky who is now just a couple feet (or meters for you non-Americans) from behind you. Standing up, you focus on your power is much more powerful from the source, than Bucky's use of your tears. 

A bright white light shoots across the room and shoots Bucky straight in the heart. He starts to glow and shine as pure, white rays strike through him. Once he catches his breath, Wanda is able to get up on shaky legs. Her eyes burn bright red and large tendrils extend from her hands and each one cuts through Bucky's floating body. Crimson blood splatters everywhere as each long tentacle of energy stabs through his torso, legs, arms, and head. 

You cover yourself with your wings as his blood splatters across them painting them red. Out of curiosity, you put your wings back, only to see the finale of Wanda's revenge. The red tendrils wrap their way around Bucky's limbs and neck, pulling in different directions. His severed torso falls to the ground and the rest of his blood is splattered everywhere else. 

Your body is soaked and you are frozen in fear. Wanda continues to control each of the tendrils, stabbing in and out of Bucky's dismembered being leaving him just a pile of bloody body parts. Your eyes flick to Wanda, and you sigh knowing that she should stop. 

Approaching her carefully, you gently place your hand on her shoulder. She whips around, the energy in her hand turning into a ruby-red sword. She was ready to kill anyone who got in her way. Once the realization hits that it is you, she falls to her knees and lets out a chilling sob.

You drop with her and you smile softly as she pulls you to her chest. “Hey, its ok… it’s ok…” You whisper in her ear, not thinking that you would be the one comforting her at this moment. Her hair is coated in the sticky crimson liquid and you do your best to brush it out of her hair with your fingers as best you can. 

She smiles at you, and you close the gap between you two, kissing her passionately with every fiber of your being. Wanda being Wanda, she deepens the kiss, wrapping her hand around the back of your neck to bring you impossibly closer. Silently she brushes her fingers over your blood-coated wings and she is in control and emotionally intact, she gently picks you up, one arm going under your legs and the other cradling your back.

Your arms wrap around her neck and nuzzle your face into her chest. As you see the direction she is walking, you smile. You first enter the bedroom, a large room filled with the most exquisite decor, the softest blankets, and the finest clothing for your and Wanda's likeness. You then entered the bathroom, a tub large enough to fit three in the center of the room. A glass chandelier hangs above it, and numerous candles are nestled in their places. 

Wanda sets you on your feet and begins to press soft kisses to your jaw and to the nape of your neck. She reaches around your front to untie the robe draped on your body, and her hands gently drag it down your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. Your wings spread, stretching out to their full span, and fall back to their settled place at the center of your back. The queen ogles at your beautifully open wings and smiles as she pets the feathers. 

“So beautiful, angel,” She whispers in your ear, causing your heart to skip a beat. Her hand hovers over your shoulder, her magic turning the faucet on to a desirable temperature. Wanda cresses down your arm, goosebumps pebbling on your skin, her hand grasping yours softly. Guiding you to the tub, you step in and allow the warmth to embrace you. 

The water turned red the moment you stepped in, but it was meant to happen. Wanda was happy to see Bucky's blood come off of your precious body. You rested your head against your arm, looking up at the beautiful queen gently scrubbing the blood from your skin. She was going to save your wings for last, wanting to spend every second she could with you. 

With each wipe of the soft cloth, your natural skin color began to show again. Your body is restored and clean, and you have never felt better. Even in heaven, you could never relax and feel safe at the same time. There was always someone lurking around a corner, waiting to catch you in the act of anything unholy. 

It was true, that when Wanda and Bucky made love to one another, you felt everything. Since you were so far away, it was a much lighter feeling. But the nights when you were in your own bed, and in the privacy of your room, it seemed like that was when the pair would go at it the hardest. 

Wanda pulled you from your thoughts as she stood. Looking up at her, you smile as she takes her robe off as well, letting it drop to the floor. You happily move forward in the tub, making room for the queen behind you. She smiled as she moved her legs around your body, her hands meeting your feathered wings softly. 

“Let’s clean these up… make em’ all pretty again.” You smile at her words, her kind hands against your wings causing you to shiver. A good shiver this time! This time, your shiver was induced by an intimacy that only lovers can define. Your wings may be just another part of your body, but to you, they are so much more. It was a part of you that no one got to touch. If they were touched, it was forced and unwanted. Until now…Now your soulmate was able to feel you and feel that part of you that you let no one touch. 

You vowed to never let anyone touch your wings after what happened the first time; 

Soap is lathered up in Wanda's hands, and suds with warm water gently cascaded down your wings. With care, she lifts up some of your feathers to scrub deeper, but she is met with a large scar that follows the span of your wings. Her lips turn down to a frown as her finger softly traces the faded, yet obvious scar. “What happened?”

Your eyes open, and you feel her fingers on your wings. “Hm?" Realization hits, and you sigh as you gather the courage to tell her the story. 

“I was given a second chance to go to earth. I was working out the basics of invisibility with guardianship, and I accidentally showed myself to my first human. His name was Steve Rogers. He kept me in his basement, put hooks in my wings. That scar was the consequence of praying for help… He cut a whole layer of feathers off, and made it a garland for his mantle.” You pause, once again finding the strength to finish. "Ever since then, my lord kept me from going to earth until he found a more gentle human for me. But she died, and now I’m here.”

Wanda's heartstrings were pulled, and a tear fell down her cheek and dripped into the red water. She had a hard time finding the right thing to say, but she knew she had to say something. “You didn’t deserve that, my sweet angel…” She leans forward to kiss the skin between your wings, comforting you the best she can. She remembered that day. She could feel everything that man did to you. It may have not shown up on her, but she felt every feather he plucked, each poke to hold your wings out, and the pull of the chains for him to see even more. 

You knew this too, but she understood your silence. The bathroom stayed quiet as Wanda cleaned your wings, ridding them of Bucky's blood. It was just the trickling of the water dripping off your feathers that echoed throughout the room. 

Finally, your wings were white again, and you helped Wanda clean herself too. Once the two of you were clean, she emptied the bathtub only to fill it again. There was no need to protest as you loved baths. They made you feel like you were wrapped in a big hug. To make it even better, Wanda's black-feathered wings curled around you and her, your head laying on her chest, and your body contently in her arms. 

Now with your soulmate being that embrace, you felt like you were finally home. You had a purpose here. You had fallen right into her embrace, and you will forever be her fallen angel. 

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #14

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You try to move on after the Universe has been saved.

Word count: 4,700

Warning: Angst

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

You're standing in the middle of your old apartment.

The same apartment that had a helicopter crash into it and left nothing but rubble, ash and melted cement in its wake. Except now it's restored, like nothing ever happened.

Your rickety dining table sits in the middle of the room, propped up by a hardcover book to make up for the fact that one leg is crooked. Your tiny double bed with your lumpy mattress is pushed up against the wall. The usual piles of clean and dirty laundry indiscriminately mixed together sits unattended on top of the unmade covers.

You don't understand.

Why is it all back to normal?

You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it.

Miguel… You need to get back to him and you don't have time for this right now.

"Lyla," you summon. A warm ping vibrates against your inner wrist as Lyla appears. "Take me back to the void."

Lyla shakes her head firmly. "I'm sorry I can't do that."

"What do you mean? Of course you can, you've brought us there twice. You did it when Miguel commanded you."

She peers up at you through her pink heart-shaped glasses, with a solemn look in her holographic eyes.

"The first time was a miscalculation. The second was to eliminate the continued threat to your life."

Her words stop you cold. 'Continued threat...' Is she referring to Miguel?

"Lyla, please. Stop messing around. Take me back to Miguel."

Lyla's eyes go blank, no longer the flippant expression you are so used to seeing.

"Request denied. My programming does not allow me to expose you to danger."

"He's going to die if we don't do something Lyla!" You shout at her.

There is a tremor in your hand. Your nerves are shot, exhausted and tired from everything that has happened in the last 24 hours and you can feel the tears pushing up against your throat.

"Isn't it part of your protocol to protect him?!"

"I was built to protect you. My primary directive is to make sure you're safe above all else. That is my purpose."

She recites the words as if she's reading from a manual. It's flat and emotionless in a way you've never known Lyla to be before. Like the line is hardwired into the very core of her basic coding. There are no funny jokes. No sass.

"Lyla, please," you beg.

She doesn't answer you. That same impassive expression as before is still on her face.

"Lyla..." you try again.

You scramble to think of your options. To devise a plan B. But to your horror, you can’t think of anything.

What are you meant to do? You’re not a super genius who can build source code out of thin air that can break the laws of physics. You have no superpowers. No magic that allows you to travel to other dimensions.

The only thing you know how to do is file claim insurance applications. You’re useless.

There's nothing to be done.

It's over.

Your legs give in from the oppressive weight of your realization. You slump to the floor, unable to hold yourself together as the hard wooden floor hits your knees. You fold in two, hunched over the floor and you let the ache inside your chest break and pour over and you cry.

When you come to some time later, you find yourself curled up on the floor. You don't know how long you must've been crying for. But it must’ve been long enough for you to have cried yourself to exhaustion and slipped into unconsciousness.

Turning onto your back, you stare up at the ceiling, shivering from the cold breeze of the evening coming through the window.

Your limbs are cramping from exhaustion. You're dehydrated. Mouth dry and eyes crusted with dried tears. There's a deep-seated headache burrowing into your skull. It's a struggle for you to get up from the floor into a seated position, as you properly take in your surroundings.

At first glance, this version of your apartment looks identical to yours, but on closer inspection there are some stark differences.

By the window, there are black out curtains hanging from the ceiling to allow for sleep-ins during daylight hours.

On your bed, amongst the mountain piles of laundry strewn haphazardly, there are items you don’t recognize. Oversized hoodies that are big enough to fit a bear. Male sweatpants. Socks so big they look like they're Christmas stockings.

Walking over to the kitchen area, there's a distinct lack of coffee. It's been replaced by expired Reese's Peanut Butter cups, milk duds, and Hershey bars that fill every corner of your kitchen cupboards to the brim, stuffed haphazardly on the upper shelves that you could never reach. They have even made their way into your nightstand and stuffed and hidden between books on the bookshelf.

Lyla doesn't even have to tell you where you are. You already know.

This is your home. In your other self's dimension. It belongs to Miguel's nena.

Miguel sent you here, the closest universe he knew of that was identical to yours, so that you could live out your days in safety, without him.

Fucking idiot.

This is not what you wanted.

Days pass.

It's an odd and empty existence, you've beaten the impossible odds and won against the universe itself and made it out alive. Yet you're not sure that anything about this truly qualifies as a victory.

For all you know, the world that is your home may have been destroyed.

After all that's what Stark said: there is no guarantee that just because you left, everything would go back to normal.

And who are you to argue with the (second) smartest man on earth?

There's no way of you knowing what the outcome was, and Lyla refuses to transport you out of this current dimension.

You spend most of your days curled into a ball in bed unable to summon the strength to keep yourself upright or awake for more than an hour at a time, haunted by the knowledge that your escape from your death might have doomed trillions to theirs.

In the hours in between, when that inescapable guilt doesn't eat into your mind, the only thing you are left with is replaying the moments of your life in the past three months.

It flits through your closed eyes like an old film reel and in every one of those moments, Miguel is there, reminding you of what you have now lost.

You feel hollowed out, scraped out and empty like there's nothing inside. The only time you manage to feel anything that resembles an emotion is when you clutch onto whatever piece of oversized clothing that once belonged to Miguel. The only physical trace you have to prove to yourself that he existed and it's not just some fantastical made up story in your mind.

Miguel once told you that anyone who gets lost in the void gets erased. Their very existence scrubbed from the records of the world. Does the fact that you can still remember him mean that he's still there? And if so, how much longer will you be able to mourn him before he's faded entirely in that space. Before your very memory of him and the love you have that sits inside you with nowhere to go is gone too?

Nothing about this feels like a happy ending.

In the first few days, you don't leave the house. You tell yourself that it's better that way. Now that Miguel is no longer here, the idea of walking out in into open streets in broad daylight seems strange to you.

Lyla tries to tempt you with exotic holidays.

“Bali, India! The world is your oyster, we can fly out first class tonight and do an Eat Pray Love for as long as you want to!” Lyla’s voice sings in your ear. "Thailand is lovely this time of the year, barely any tycoons."

Most of the time, you ignore her presence, burying your head into the pillow, pathetically hugging onto one of the oversized shirts that’s been left behind.

Everytime you hope to catch a whiff of the remnant traces of Miguel’s presence there. But there’s nothing. It just smells of stale detergent.

After surviving the end of the world, a lot of things that used to be important seems meaningless to you now.

Alive as you may be, there’s no real purpose for you carved out in this dimension. You don't go to work in the mornings, because the you of this universe died years ago. Showing up at your office at the Chrysler building would likely induce heart attacks amongst your old co-workers.

You could scour Careerbuilder for job ads, but there's a sour pit in your stomach that hugs tightly around your guts everytime you think of the prospect of having to speak to job recruiters.

You don't think you have it in you to lie to some stranger at an interview and pretend that being in front of a white screen poring over excel sheets 8 hours a day is the way you want to spend the rest of your life until you hit retirement.

Besides, rent is not an issue anymore. Nor is money when Lyla is there to take care of you and act as your digital sugar momma. A standing order for any and all bills needed to maintain this home had already been set up long before you arrived.

You feel sorry for Lyla. She's been programmed to take care of your mental and physical well being and you know she is at wit's end with your listless behavior.

She pulls out all the stops. Lyla orders take out for you, delivered right to your door to try to get you to eat. If she had a physical body, you think she would hold you down and force feed you.

But something is wrong with you, because even though every dish is your favorite, rounded up from your favorite restaurants in the city, for the first time in your life since you were born, you no longer have much of an appetite.

You usually only manage mouthfuls just to keep Lyla from constantly nagging, before you shove the take-out box back into the fridge and then crawl back into bed.

Everything tastes bland and grey. Everything around you seems to have lost its color and shine. Was the world around you always this dull?

On the fifth day, there is a familiar baby-pink box with Gladis' logo printed on the lid arriving at your doorstep.

“Surprise!” Lyla announces. “It’s your favorite! I ordered the luxury box with the elderflower lemon flavors, as well as the lychee-raspberry jello!”

You sit down by the table, staring at the beautifully adorned cupcakes in the box. Spirals of white and pink frosting with petals of edible flowers. There's freshly cut strawberries and blackberries and chocolate shavings on op.

Picking one up, you cram the whole cupcake into your mouth, trying to cling onto the memory of that first time when the flavor of lemon zest bursting on your tongue had made you squeal with happiness.

That doesn't happen.

This time, as the sugar hits the top of your mouth, all you can think about is how much you miss him. How things will never be the same without him.

How you'll never get to have him sit next to you, smiling softly as he watches you eat. That you'll never get to see him demolish a cupcake in one bite and leave frosting on his nose.

It doesn't feel the same, you just feel hollow. Wetness spills across your cheeks, and snot clogs your nose and throat. You must look like a looney, ugly crying with your mouth stuffed full of cupcake, barely swallowing.

After that Lyla doesn’t order them for you anymore.

It's morning you think, judging from the bright sun pouring in from the blinds.

Lyla is buzzing near your ear where you've taken off the watch and placed it on the pillow next to you for company.

"You need to get out of the house. You're turning into a social recluse. It's not a good look," she says, as she peers down at you over her pink-tinted glasses.

"How about I get a date for you? Have a fab night out on the town? I have a roller-dex of the top bachelors in New York. I'm happy to hack into their calendar!"

You ignore her, burying your face deeper into the pillow, hugging Miguel's worn hoodie tighter to your chest. You pull the cover over your head, but you can still hear her babble on through the thin separation of fabric.

"What's your type? Oscar Isaac? He’s hot– No, no you're right he's happily married and we don’t wanna be homewreckers here. What about Lenny Kravitz? Doesn't get cooler than Kravitz and he’s long divorced."

"Lyla stop," you groan, poking your head back up above the covers. You just want quiet. Just want to stay here cocooned in this space that is the closest you'll ever get to Miguel for as long as you can remember him, until that too is taken away from you.

"I'm fine. I don't need a date."

"You're not fine though. You've only eaten a box of cupcakes in the last week. You haven't showered and you look like a mess. Your hair is greasier than the BP oil spill off the gulf of Mexico. My purpose is to keep you safe, and that includes your mental and emotional levels, which are... " she stops, throwing up some diagnostics boxes in floating holograms, then makes a face. "Yikes."

She’s doing this on purpose. Talking incessantly, so that she can nag you into doing what she wants. Suddenly you gain newfound sympathy for Miguel. You used to think it was funny when she nagged him and got on his nerves, but now that you're on the end of it, you see how he must’ve suffered when Lyla was in one of these moods with him.

"Will you stop if I step out of the house for a walk," you offer as an olive branch, hoping for a little peace and quiet.

"How long of a walk?"

"Five."

"Minutes?!" Lyla screeches with outrage. "The general recommendation is 150 minutes of weekly exercise, I'm going to need at least an hour's walk from you boss-girl."

"Twenty minutes."

"Forty!"

"Half an hour, or I'm going back to bed and wearing earplugs."

Lyla grins. "Deal".

The streets here look the same as the ones in your dimension, down to the Bodega owned by the old Korean couple around the corner. This version of earth is identical to yours in almost every way you know of.

Except in this New York, instead of Matthew Ellis, a man named Biden who is apparently over 100 years old (give or take a few years) is president.

In this reality, Leonardo Di Caprio apparently won an Oscar, while Amy Adams still hasn't, which is nuts to you.

The Avengers also don't seem to exist here. Though Superheroes still seem prevalent. A group of misfits that refers to themselves as the Fantastic Four seems to dominate the news cycle more often than not.

Ahead of you, the street splits into two paths and you take a corner into the smaller street that you know should cut through to a dog park.

But it doesn’t. Instead of green grass fields and park benches, you end up in a small narrow dead end of a street. Somehow you're lost. Shit. You should've paid more attention.

Looking up, you turn your head left and right to try to make sense of where you could be. You’re just about to pull up google maps, when the flickering light of the one sole streetlamp illuminating this alley catches your attention.

You're 12 blocks from Chinatown, but you recognize this alley even though it shouldn't be here.

From a distance, you spot the familiar red stall. The same small rickety table. The same red cloth draped on top. The same old lady with her abnormally large shiny head, comically large sunglasses and white-blue robe. The same giant sign spelling out: Fortune teller.

Only this time, there's only one folding chair set up in front of it.

She takes one look at you, as you sit down with a look of familiarity in her milky-white eyes.

"Your bad luck is gone," she says.

You should be more surprised that the scam fortune teller from another dimension seemingly remembers the conversation you had with her other self. But it doesn't. You've learned by now that nothing is as it seems.

Random near death accidents are not just due to bad luck. A superhero that repeatedly saves you isn’t just doing it out of sheer goodwill and duty. A starmap is not just a starmap, and you’re willing to bet your life that this fortune teller is not just a fortune teller.

“Who are you?” you ask her.

“Is that of importance to you?”

“Yes.”

She takes off her sunglasses and stares directly into your eyes. Without the obstruction of dark tinted lenses, you can see that it's not glaucoma causing the whiteness in her pupils. In her eyes, there are galaxies, millions of tiny dots of glowing stars, endless and mesmerizing as you stare back into them.

"My name is Ulana. I’m a Watcher. My role is to observe the Multiverse from the Nexus of all realities.”

There’s no longer that harmless demeanor and friendly smile that makes you drop your guard. She holds herself with reverence as she speaks, with the aura of the divine.

“Does that mean you are able to observe every reality in this moment?” you ask.

“Yes.”

The image of your New York with its pink cracked sky and the chaos you left it in crowds your vision.

"Can you tell me what happened to my old world after I left? Is it still there?"

"Your old home is intact and safe."

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you had been holding all this time.

Thank god.

Relieved tears spill from your cheeks. Somehow you haven't single-handedly caused the destruction and death of whole worlds and countless lives.

Even if you can never go back there, that place will always be your home, and your chest warms at the thought that even without you it will always still be there.

You take a moment to gather yourself, to wipe the errant tears that are welling up with the back of your hand.

Then you take a deep calming breath before you ask her the question that has been plaguing your mind since you arrived in this reality.

"Is Miguel still alive in the void?" you ask her.

"Your husband is still alive. But he doesn't have much time left. He's fading."

Your fingers curl into fists on top of your knees, "How do I save him?"

"I couldn't tell you.” She shakes her head sadly. "My kind is not allowed to intervene. We are only meant to observe the ongoings of the universes. I've already meddled too much.”

Ducking down, she reaches under her desk, sorting through the pile of junk paper, before she leans back up over the table.

"This is the only help I can give you," she says, reaching over to place something into your hands.

You look down to see a familiar bright yellow Star Map.

"He'll be home this time," she tells you.

You're standing on the doorsteps of the old brownstone on 177A Bleecker Street, staring up at the old ornate wooden front doors.

Unlike last time you were here, there's no hesitation in you anymore. It doesn't matter that you've come alone with no other superhero to validate your mad and fantastical story about the Cosmos that was out to kill you.

You don't care if Strange thinks you're a random crazy from the streets.

If he doesn't believe you, then you'll make him believe you. If he tries to have you hauled out, you'll kick and drag and scream at the top of your lungs, and chain yourself to his front door if that's what it takes.

You bring your hand to the door knocker and tap it three times. Then you wait.

Nothing.

Didn't the fortune teller say he was going to be home this time?

Goddamnit, was she a scam after all? What kind of name is Ulana for a celestial being anyhow? Did you end up wasting another ten dollars?

You grit your teeth and step forward again, grabbing the door knocker to pound it down against the front door, even harder this time and you don’t stop at one or two, you keep slamming it down fervently.

Mid-knock, the door creaks, swinging open, as an exasperated voice greets you.

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm coming. There's no need to knock that aggressively, I'm not going to come to the door any fast–"

He stops mid-sentence as he looks at you. For a man you've never met, Dr. Strange's eyes go wide at the sight of you standing on his doorsteps. His eyes are filled with the disbelief of a man who's seen a ghost.

"You're alive," he says.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Strange says as he hurriedly pulls out a chair by the old oak table in his dining room.

“I’ll make us some tea,” he says.

He waves his cape with a dramatic flare in the empty space, and from a distance you hear a small click, before you realize that he must’ve used magic to put on the kettle.

For someone that’s supposed to be a sorcerer, you don’t know why the hell he bothers having a kettle. Seems a bit redundant, couldn’t he just use magic to instantly heat water?

You sit down as instructed, hands folded in your lap as you try not to fidget.

There’s a prolonged and uncomfortable silence as you both wait for the water to boil.

Strange opens then closes his mouth, as if he’s unsure of who should speak first. In the end though, he doesn’t say anything at all, he just drums his fingers impatiently on the wooden surface as he smiles politely but awkwardly at you. Across the room, the water starts simmering to a boil.

This wasn’t what you had expected. You had counted on him to try to kick you out and you having to make a passionate plea for him to listen to you. Instead he’d opened the door and insisted on inviting you in and now the two of you are drowning in a sea of uncomfortable silence.

There’s a tinny whistle from the kettle, and Strange darts up from the chair, as if the interruption was a godsend. He rushes over to pick it up, before walking back to the table with it at a much slower pace.

Then he stands next to you, tilting the snout of the kettle into your small tea cup.

Strange stares intently at your face as he pours the boiling water into the cup. So focused on you that he doesn't pay any attention to the level of the hot water, until it spills over the rim and onto the table surface below. Then he seemingly snaps himself out of it.

"Shit! Sorry," Strange begins. He wipes up the spillage with his robe, even though there are perfectly good paper towels behind him, even though he could’ve just used magic to make it vanish in the blink of an eye.

"You look exactly like her," he says, then he stops himself.

Strange considers the statement and does a curt little nod at himself as if berating himself for how stupid that comment sounded. "Which of course you do. You are her, just… from another dimension."

From your time with Miguel, you’ve been able to glean from his childish rants about the man’s “ugly” and “useless” and “impractical” cape that there’s a hostility there towards Strange that goes beyond just Miguel being Miguel.

Judging from the guilt in this man’s eyes as he looks at you from across the table, you can guess that there is a complicated history between Strange and Miguel and you.

“Did you know me?” you ask.

“Yeah, we were friends. Good friends,” Strange corrects himself. Then a sadness seeps into his eyes as he stops wiping the table and pulls back his robe close to his body. “Although I supposed I wasn’t a great friend to you near the end of things.”

He places the cup down on the table in front of you, the rising steam wafts through the air, smelling of mint and honey as he drags out the chair and sits himself next to you.

"Why don't you tell me everything from the start," Strange asks you.

So you do. You tell him of that first day when you fell out of the Chrysler building and was saved by Miguel. Tell him about how Miguel saved you again and again and how you tried to trap him with cookies and how you fell out of the Chrysler building a second time on purpose, which makes Strange laugh that sounds fond and warm.

You tell him of the void, the fortune teller, the Avengers and everything in between, and how despite surviving all of that Miguel had exiled himself to the void and sent you here by yourself, with each event you tell him his eyes grow sadder.

When you're done, Strange nods solemnly. He picks up his cup and takes a small sip of his tea to buy himself time to gather his thoughts. Then he finally speaks again. "What can I do to help?"

"Miguel is still in the void. I need your help to send me there so I can get him back."

Strange frowns, then goes entirely quiet as he stares out of the window in deliberation. It takes several moments before he speaks again.

"The void is a dangerous place, stay too long and you will be erased from existence. If you go in you may not be able to find your way out and I wouldn’t be able to help you from here."

“That’s fine, I just need your help to get there” you say.

He sets down his cup as he continues. "I can’t in good conscience send you back out there. I've already broken my promise to keep you safe once."

Frustration brims in your chest. As flattered as you are over Strange’s concern over your safety, you bristle at the fact that there seems to be none extended to Miguel’s. Every second you spend here is another second wasted.

“Miguel is there. If I don’t save him, he’s going to be erased from existence.”

That doesn’t seem to move the doctor in the slightest.

“For Miguel, his own life is a small price to pay in exchange for yours. He’d sacrifice the whole world for you to live.”

“That’s not a choice for him to make.”

Strange scratches his thumb over his bearded jaw, as if he's trying to figure out how to solve a puzzle, before speaking again.

"Right now with Miguel gone, the volatile cosmic energy surrounding you is stabilized. The version of you in this universe died and is viewing your presence as an equivalent exchange. You could stay here. You'd be safe. Miguel would've known that. That's probably why he sent you here.”

"I don't want to stay here if Miguel isn't here," you counter.

Leaning back in his chair, Strange up at the ceiling in deep thought.

"It's risky, if I sent you there, you may not even be able to find him. He might not even have his physical shape anymore, he’s been there too long by now."

His head ducks back down as he looks at your face, observing you for long moments.

You don't know what it is he sees, but a small amused smile quirks at his lip as he shakes his head again.

"But... I think you already know the risks and nothing I can say will dissuade you will it?" he says.

You nod.

It's not that you've stopped being scared of the void. It's not that the very thought of it doesn't fill your stomach with a cold dread. It's that Miguel is there, and there is no risk you're not willing to take to have the chance to see him again.

You square your chest and confidence swells inside you with your answer.

"Send me there."

~ Next Issue

Credit and Dedication: We're almost there guys! Next issue is going to be the final one. Thanks to everyone who has been with me on this ride! I cannot wait to share the final conclusion with you all.

Special thank you (as always) go out to my bestie: @thirstworldproblemss who is a big reason this story even lifted off the ground in the first place.

Big BIG BIGGEST thanks to my muse @guruan who has gifted me with so much inspiration be it thirsty twitter art of our favorite rude spider or her own insanely gorgeous art. Have you seen this heartbreaking beauty?!

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[threepandas]

Bad End: Heroic Collection

New Haven wasn't a major metropolis. Some big city like Delhi or Tokyo, Jakarta and the like. It was big for the area. A major hub for commerce and crime on a local scale. But Nationally? INTERNATIONALLY? Not even close. No matter WHAT the great ambitions that haunted the Mayor, late at night, may tell you.

So, really, there was NO fucking reason for any A Listers to be here.

NONE.

Our biggest exports were fancy fucking jams and that one fashion line I couldn't pronounce. We had honest to God Jam festivals in the fall. It was a circuit, Mayor gave out awards. There were pies. Firestrike always ate himself sick. Agent always laughed at him. I... Fuck, my head was ringing. I'd hit that last building HARD. Was pretty sure I tasted blood. Not... not sure if that was because I busted something in my mouth or...

Over my comms, I could hear my teammates fighting. Trying to hail the Alliance. If we could... could just hold on...

Long enough for the major players to GET here?

Then what? I had to wonder. Staring at a burning bus in front of me. It was half way lodged through Mrs. Brahimi's shop. Please, God, let her and the workers have got out all right. I'd been there just this morning. She made me those stuffed flatbread things. Said I was still too skinny. Should rest more.

I use the twist remains of a book return to lever myself to my feet. Book..? Oh. I'm by the library. Which..? Fuck. Main one. That's city hall.

Smoke rises around the city I've lived in all my life. Fires everywhere. I'm supposed... supposed to be a hero. But I can barely stand. Feel sick as the world sways. My body is one big bruise. Gotta... gotta keep fighting. Helping. Save people.

In the distance, I can hear screams.

I'm coming. I promise. I'm coming!

I make my screaming body move. Stumble. Catch myself. Then keep going. The hiss and spit in my ear tells me that my communicator is probably half broken. I don't try it, in case that breaks it the rest of the way. Wrench doors from half crushed cars to free trapped civilians. Lever wreckage, hold it with trembling limbs, so people can crawl to safety. Run. Please, god, RUN!

We aren't strong enough.

He's here, The Collective.

A hivemind super threat. Alien supposedly. So far above my team's pay grade we know basically nothing. The kind of thing we were expected to never realistically see. We're nobody's. Fuck it, we're HAPPY being nobody's. It meant we got to go home each night. Didn't face The Horrors. Like him.

He CONSUMES.

Hungry. Trying to fill some void that's never going to fill. Supposedly a planet eater. Gutting worlds for resources, materials, to continue his own expansion. Now fixated on Earth for it's continued refusal to die. For its defiance. Some A+ sort of monster, to our high C rank. At best.

Fuck... we dealt with HUMANS. Fought gimmicks and tech. Little fish in our little pond. Now this tsunami was bringing the ocean to US and it was all we could do, to swim and survive.

I leaned against a half smashed car. Braced myself against it, more then anything, then started pulling pot shots. I... I was gonna black out soon. With a concussion like this? Probably wasn't gonna be waking up. Especially if those THINGS found me before a friendly did.

All across the city I called home, The Collective had Drones tearing the place apart.

They'd almost be pretty. Tall, elegant, androgynous lookin, supermodel twinks in battle armor. Drones apparently covered their lower face. I'd know the "commander" by their uncovered face and "use of adornments". Useful! Except they could fucking SWITCH on command, so you have to take out ALL of them.

Because they weren't a collection of different soldiers.

THEY weren't a THEY. That? Was a fucking HE. Singular.

You don't consider each of your individual cell as people. Each follicle of hair. Why would HE? God damn it. It was like fighting a giant. Against Gods. They just kept coming. And my ammo? Was not endless.

Worse. The drones had stopped looking. I don't know WHAT they had been searching for. But now? They started to converge on me. On city hall. Fuck. I... I couldn't even really stand anymore. My vision was blurring. I knew for a FACT my shots were shit. But dense as they were crowding? It seemed enough. Kept them back.

Three cartridges left.

Two.

Only one more...

The Alliance was coming. Half my team had gone silent. I could hear tears in the voice of Tech, back in the office. They had our life signs. Built into our armor. I could only imagine what mine looked like. Prayed, like I hadn't since I was a kid, that the others were just unconscious. Safe somewhere.

Someplace this nightmare couldn't reach them.

I doubted I was that lucky.

Tech was begging me to hold on. Giving me ETAs. And... And I was out of bullets. The block half full of Drones. I had escrima sticks. A fucking tazer. It would have to do. Sticks came out, as I swayed to my feet. No longer letting the car behind me hold my weight. What's a little... let's say, hundred or so, on one? Eh?

Bring your friends. Let's make it a fair fight.

I'll go easy on you.

Bravado until the end. Remember, never know who's watching. You are a symbol. Before you are a man, you are their HERO. Don't you DARE let them down. Even if you die. Especially when you die. B.. Bravado until the end. Plaste on a smirk and say a one-liner, we got hope to shoulder.

I took down about three Drones... I think... before the rest swarm me.

Feel hands pinning my arms. My torso. Everything. A weak point between the panels is ripped open. High grade military fabrics doing jack shit against their impossible strength. The distinct pinch tug of a needle in my skin. Cold spreading. The sudden exhaustion of a powerful sedative. I... am gone.

Time... is blurry.

Now and Then running together in my senses. My brain. The concussion doesn't help. Or... or didn't? It feels... gone? Gone-ing? Oh... look, sky. Clouds. Pretty. Wasn't I standing? I am standing. No... no being dragged. Chair? Not chair. Stairs? Carried. Pretty window..... where am I? Fuzzy. Bluzzy fuzzy purple beans~ he he he~ oh! Those are the... watch'ma call it! Gucci chairs! That rich lady had! Neat. Plurble.

Ouch! Why'd you pi...?

My mouth is dry as sand. But suddenly? I am hyper aware. The floating drift of my mind VIOLENTLY gone, replaced by alerted and focus. Drones surround me in a vaguely familiar hallway. Shit. I think it's that rich designer's place. My helmet is off, but my mask is still in place, thank god. The Drones stand far to close for my liking. Their many eyes, amused.

So glad to entertain, you Fuck.

I am frog marched down the hall. Damn near dragged. They were too smart to restrain me with my own cuffs, unfortunately. So my hands are bound behind my back with something tight I can't get a good feel off. Bastard secured it to my belt, too. Great.

The Collective's "Face" is surrounded by what must be every jewel in the city. Piled high in some vague sorting pattern I refuse to even try and comprehend. He's trying on rings. One on every finger, to see what matches his skin tone. Looks good. Already, he has a pearl stud and some earrings he's decided he likes. He looks up as I'm dragged in, and I realize immediately what one of "a few other differences" between him and the Drones are...

It's the EYES,

They GLOWED.

Metallic almost. Nearly neon. They reflected the light in a way the Drones simply did not. It made their face... horrificly predatory. Made for WATCHING, somehow. Unnerving and haughty. Beautiful still, but uncomfortable to be near.

Sitting up on a table that basicly swallows the room, dead center like a show piece on display, with one long leg tossed over the other and no fucking shirt on? The Face looks almost carefully, artfully, staged. To maximize some "haughty yet coy, alien prince who maybe wants to fuck you" shtick.

Does... Does he not realize I'm NOT one of the usual opponents? I mean. Flattered at the "join me! The Darkside has sex and cookies!" set up. Always fun. Classic, really. But, like? I would be... at BEST... a solidly MID goon.

Also "NO".

Gonna preemptively throw that out there. Maybe some expletives for flavor. Suggest someplace sunless to shove it. SOLID "No". Good try, though.

Around me, the Drones are shaking with silent laughter. Staring down at me, their pale eyes dancing with amusement. It's creepy as hell. Unnerving to be the center of attention like this. For this many eyes, utterly in synch, to surround and watch my every twitch. Act fascinated and amused, like I'm some little animal performing tricks.

The Face hasn't dropped his Seduction to the Darkside routine. If anything, he seems delighted by the defiance. Which... yeah, that tracks. It's why he's harrasing out planet to begin with. That one's definitely on me. So, better question? Not that I'm not glad and all? Why the FUCK am I not dead.

"And lose my HERO? Perish the thought~" drawles The Collective, the posture light and lazy, even as something dangerous threaded itself through their tone. It sounded... possessive. But that couldn't be right. "I would NEVER do such a thing! In fact, we are going to have to be far more careful with that little processor of yours. Far too fragile. Just the one, too. Horrifying, really."

Thanks. Just what every guy loves to really make 'im feels special. Insults.

Fucker.

More laughter from all around me. I grit my teeth. Come oooon, Alliance. Where the hell ARE you guys!? Could REALLY use a rescue! The hands holding me still are drifting. Fucking handsy. Damn near stroking even as they hold me immobile. They're looking for the clasps and buckles on my armor. Have already found the obvious ones. Fingers oh so casually drifting over, to grip, flex, and tear them apart.

I do NOT like how loose my armor is starting to feel. Barely able to hold on. Protect me. Limited as that protection may be. I think I'm developing a horrifying empathy for clams. Crustaceans in general. Anything that gets slowly pried from the safety of it's shell, too certain doom.

The Face casually tosses the rings he was playing with aside. Tens of thousands of dollars bouncing off to God only knows where. He slides from the table to stand. Shit. He's huge.

The androgynous twink supermodel thing he has going on? Fucking LIES. Twists your perception of how, EXACTLY, strong the Face body IS. He clears seven feet easily, is muscled in that distinctly "never see me coming until it's too late" sort of way all the ninja types are.

The tattoos. It's the FUCKING tattoos! They give the illusion that he's slimmer then he actually is.

It HIDES MUSCLE MASS.

I can't tell if that's vanity or strategy and I hate it. Glare as he sashays towards me. Hips rolling in that elegant catwalk strut. I'm forced to my knees. Because of course I am. How ELSE will the bastard loom and gloat? Though really, weak as I currently feel, it's more that the Drones holding me up? Stop doing that. My knees more or less just give up on their own.

"Like what you see? You're staring so intently~" He mocks. If he were being genuine, I'd call it teasing. Flirtatious. But I know better. "It IS a pretty body, isn't it? I worked hard on it, you know. All sort of fun little details~ Might honestly be one of my favorites. If you're good for me, I'll let you explore it~"

THERE it is.

Darkside. Sex and cookies. Sign up today. Fuck you and not in the fun way. Keep your hands to yourself, Collective. You're not convincing me. You could tell me the sky was blue, and I'd make three presentations with a PowerPoint, on why you were a liar. No, still No, and a hefty fuck off No for spice.

Three steps away. Two steps. One.

A man that tall and dangerous? Frankly did NOT need heels. Figures he'd wear them anyway. Sharp enough to kill a man. Right infront of my folded knees. I refuse to look up. No more fucking games. Did have to wonder, though, if those pants... if they even WERE pants? Were painted on or not. Very tight. Looked vaguely metal yet leather.

Shit.

Fingers, splayed wide as they run themselves through my sweaty and probably bloodstained hair. Couldn't have been nice to touch. Wrong angle and just a touch too big to be a Drone. Light as a lover, sweet almost, soothing. Before it inevitably tightens, gripping the strands. Honestly not as hard as I expected, didn't even hurt.

Still, my head is forced back.

Back and back and back, forced to arch my spine, hang awkwardly at some forty-five degree angle. My thighs and abs already screaming. A Drone grabs the back of my armor and, with an almost casual yank, my chest plate is violently snapped free. Both tossed to the floor away from us.

"There we are~" the Face hums down at me, eyes nearly hypnotic in how the light moved from within, grin full of sharp and deadly teeth. "No more of that ugly thing in the way. I much prefer this~"

"Tell me, Little Hero, do you remember? Becoming mine."

No, I certainly do fucking not. What the HELL is he-!? From behind the Face a Drone steps. Dressed differently to the others. Casual clothes. Like... actual street clothes. If they weren't GREEN I never would been able too-...

In horror, I watch as the pigment of the Drones skin melts away to a middling average. So utterly nondescript a blend of ethnicities that it's genuinely hard to place, but won't stand out no matter where he goes in the city.

I... I had seen that face.

SAVED that man.

Thought he was CUTE! T..Thought WE were having some sort of MEET CUTE! Oh God. That was at the festival. I was out of costume. Saved him from getting crushed. Then my teammates handled everything before I could slip away. So I just... stayed. Showed the cute tourist the festivities.

We ate FANCY JAMS, YOU FUCK!

I pined our that cute tourist for WEEKS. Was UNBEARABLE. Tech threatened to shove me off a roof! Oh my god.

Laughter.

Dozens of mouths, laughing in perfect sync. The noise layered and bouncing strangely around the room. Deeper then it should be, higher as it swings. Like a radio or voice modulator that someone is messing with. A momentary loss of control. My anger fizzles out to fear. Oh... oh yeah...

I forgot I was fucked.

At.. at least I know why?

A step forward. Past too close and now basically in my lap. A foot on either side of my knees. I try not to think exactly where my face would be pressed if I wasn't dragged back, to hang near painfully arched, so he could lean down and I could be forced to make eye contact. That way lay madness.

He moved his other hand to my face, cupping it. Dragging his thumb possessively across my mouth. He hummed, pleased.

He pressed closer, sliding down my front to his knees, straddling my lap. REALLY hoped that WAS, in fact, a weapon in your pocket there, buddy. Because I am not liking the handsy direction this is going, nor have I come to terms with my meet cute being a monstrous planet killing warlord. Not feeling sexy, my guy.

....okay, a LITTLE sexy, but that is hormones and we ignore those.

Fuuuuuck, wandering haaaaands! Now would be a GOOD TIME for door kicking rescues! I do NOT want to learn anything new about myself today! I want to go HOME. Sleep forever, maybe! Have a burrito the size of my head! Oh god. Think unsexy thoughts. Math. Sad puppies! Sad puppies doing MATH!

The Collective had dragged me upright. Pressed my face right up against their Face's bare skin. All I could smell was expensive cologne and man. Warm skin. Oh god, I am so gay. This is hell and I am very, VERY gay. If evil, why sexy hot hot hot? Hormones are making very convincing arguments. Horny brain says let's make terrible life choices.

No! Nooooo. Stop it, Me! We are fucking better then this! God damn it, you trainwreck, you are a ROLE MODEL! Act like one! (But horny...) (NO!!!)

God I was never going to mock the fuckers who hesitates at the "sex n cookies" speech again. Persuasive mother FUCKER!

"Aah~" he sighed contentedly, far too close to a moan for my sanity's liking. Hands having finally found the hidden zippers of my undersuit. Slowly dragging it open. "You are FAR too cute~♡"

"I can't wait to get you off this worthless little rock. Back to ME. I'll have so many WAYS to take care of you~ Backups and rudimentary supports we can set up, at least until I get you something proper."

Horrifying. Deeply Horrifying. REALLY never wanted to know what terrified and horny felt like, but here we are. Distantly, I hear thunder. There's no clouds. A flash of red through the skies. Green followed by metallic purple. Oh thank fuck. Keep his attention. Just... just keep his attention.

"We'll use me as a base. Keep you in stasis. Away from all these ugly, dangerous things~! Just you and me. Perfect. BETTER. Infinite and beautiful. I'll make all sort of bodies just for you to play with. Even let you keep this one! If you want. It'll be a precious memory for us, of where you began. How we met."

A mouth on mine. I can't breathe. Can't escape the arms wrapped around me. My protests do little more then waste oxygen. I feel light headed. Come one, team Alliance! He's here! HE'S HERE!!!

"You're going to be MINE, little Hero. I finally figured it out. What I was missing. It was YOU~♡! My beloved, delicate, little thing~. I'm going to take SUCH good care of you."

"Forever~"

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

star wars but I've never watched it

I'm flirting with death (the star wars fandom) and it's about to succumb. I mean, be seduced. I promise when I flirt the intended result is not succumbing (usually). Here, have this, I know you maggots have missed my summaries they're so comprehensive and well-researched. Two cups of black coffee down. LET'S GO, MAGGOTS.

It is not Star Trek, and if I mix them up, both fandoms will tear me limb from limb, but mainly Star Trek because they're less popular?

No, that was not intended to be inflammatory, it's just what I was warned when I first got kidnapped. Don't blame the student, blame the system.

LUKE, I AM YOUR FATHER.

Except that's actually a misquote, it's No, I am your father. Mad trivia game. Huge star wars fan, me (why do I sound like Crowley).

It's set in outer space.

Are daleks stormtroopers?

Yoda pulls sentences in half like Crowley pulls Aziraphale's legs apart while they're not talking, and then tries interesting positions.

Leia has space-buns and makes out with Luke.

Luke is Leia's brother.

Anakin, whom I thought was some sexy babygirl side character, is apparently Darth Vader.

I am certain some people still find him a sexy babygirl. I just hope if he has a sister, she doesn't.

Is incest hereditary? Besides the obvious, I mean.

Small and green, Yoda is.

Daleks or not, there are storm-troopers, and they wear white plastic but not in a kinky way. Mostly. I remember one video a maggot showed me of a dustbin and--anyway.

They have bad aim.

There is a Death Star, and there is also a Death Star in Star Trek, but this is the more obvious one.

It has machinery specially engineered so if you shoot at that one place, the entire spaceship explodes or shuts down, which is a convenient feature.

A baby Yoda, they made. To make merchandise in time, Disney failed. Money, they lost.

There's something called the Force which everyone irl uses to try and get their remote to fly to them while sitting on the couch watching TV. They squint and reach out their hand while doing this. It rarely works.

There are a lot of unnecessary sequels and prequels. People are not happy.

A lot of Star Wars has inspiration drawn from ancient Indian philosophy and Hindu mythology. Just fun trivia, since I'm such a huge Star Wars fan.

Chewbacca?

R2D2? Robot go beep beep.

Han Solo and Leia get together.

Who is Han Solo? The guy who witnessed Leia making out with her brother. Whatever gets you off, king.

Dead, Yoda might be. Not sure, I am.

Rogue 1?

Return of the... Empire? No, wait, Jedi.

Empire Strikes Back!

Jedi exist. Because uh, it was in the title. They'd better exist.

Luke's daddy cuts off his hand. Not in a sexual way. But you never know with this family.

End (Not. Disney is going to milk this cash cow till they run out of ideas because of underpaid writers, and then they'll do a remake, probably).

Welcome, you are. Comprehensive, all-inclusive, this summary is.

[rose-n-gunses]

Okay so there's all the headcanons and AUs about Chrissy lives and helps the party clear Eddie's name but what if they failed. She's alive but he gets arrested anyway.

There's zero proof that he did anything (because he didn't) but in a small town in the middle of nowhere, confirmation bias has gotten the best of them. Eddie's lawyers are doing their best but there's only so much they can do against Jason's family and Fred's family and Patrick's family and all of their lawyers, not to mention the fact that the entire town has turned against him except for Hellfire, the Party, his uncle, and Chrissy.

The trial's a shit show, the judge is an asshole, the prosecution are assholes, the population of Hawkins are fucking assholes. And he loses. Of course he does, because there was never any other way this could have gone. Not when the real suspect is an interdimensional mind demon thing. Not when the entire town has been itching for an excuse to see him locked up. It's like blinders on a racehorse; they had him in their sights, finally, and he has no way out.

Chrissy had spent enough time in Hawkins' "high society" to know that these people fear and abhor that which they do not understand. They couldn't understand him, she could see that now. She watched them tear through his room, his car, his family, his history, his entire life, only to come up empty but still point at him and say "he did it" anyway.

It makes her furious. She wants to tear the limbs off of everyone in that courtroom, but she can't. So she does the next best thing.

She goes to law school.

She'd never really had the best grades, but now she has something to work for. It takes some time, but she never stops advocating, never stops fighting. Nancy's a big help, too. She's a journalist, she's got contacts in the industry that are helping to get the word out.

She writes him letters the whole time, too. By the time she graduates, damn near at the top of her class, she's realized that while she started this thing because of that deep-rooted sense of injustice that came out of watching the boy who saved her life get torn to shreds on the stand, it's turned into something else. Now she's fighting for him because she loves him (and maybe she had all along).

Eventually they get enough support from enough people, from enough big names (fucking Metallica, for one -- she couldn't tell them exactly how Eddie used their music to save her life, only that he did) that he's granted a new trial. This time, he doesn't get a shitty state-appointed attorney. He gets Chrissy fucking Cunningham, and she's not going down without a fight. (She feels it's the least she can do. She loves him, she owes him, she still feels like it's her fault, in a way.)

It's a long and gruelling process, appeals and analysis and arguments. She calls a probably record-setting number of character witnesses, brings the Party in to provide an alibi. (They all remember that week down to the last detail, even after all these years. Scars might fade but those memories don't.)

She's determined to beat this thing. She can tell that it's almost beaten Eddie, she knows that if they lose again he's going to give up, and she's not going to let that happen.

Finally they make it to trial and it's nowhere near as cinematic or dramatic as she had been imagining it for the last few years. It's the same agonizing slowness as the first time around, only this time there's hope. A glimmer of hope, a flash of hope, a blinding fucking beam of hope.

The place is packed this time, too, but it's mostly people there in support. Eddie nearly falls out of his chair when he sees James Hetfield sitting there. For him.

Chrissy finally gets to tear apart everyone that had been in that courtroom, only she gets to do it the way she's always done it best: with her words. She's got the odds stacked against Hawkins. They had no investigation, no evidence, just a hunch. They couldn't figure it out, couldn't explain it, so they called it a cult killing and found somebody weird!

The jury is appalled, thankfully. How could anyone possibly get convicted on such little evidence? The verdict is a unanimous not guilty, and then...it's all over.

Well, it's not over.

Eddie's released, he's reunited with his Hellfire, the Party, his uncle. Chrissy.

He loves her, too. Always has. How could he not, after all she'd done for him? He tells her he wants to marry her as soon as she'll let him and she says that he could've asked any time in the last however many years and she would have said yes in a heartbeat.

But first, she leads him away from the chaos for a moment of quiet. He thanks her and she shakes her head. She'd done it all for him the same way he'd stood on top of his trailer with his guitar.

And she tells him that. She'd been telling him for years, even if he couldn't hear it. She'd said it when she graduated high school, graduated college, passed her LSATS. She'd said it when she passed the bar and walked at her law school graduation and right before she walked into the courtroom. She says it again now, just so he knows she means it, because he'd meant it and he means everything to her.

Eddie, this is for you.

[epicthemusical]

Divine Intervention

This one is more Odyssey based than EPIC but decided to share here anyway. newly turned god Diomedes saving Odysseus from Calypso! first part is Ody POV second part is Diomedes POV.

Odysseus stares at the body bleeding gold that is mixed with the too perfect white sand underneath. He can't do anything except stare in shock. He has tried killing her before of course he has but it never ended well for him. For all these years…and now there she is laying there defeated and broken much like how he himself felt after every night with her. How could this be.. can she truly be dead? No that's impossible she's immortal right?

He feels hands on his shoulders and he is snapped out of his shock as he scrambles back eyes wide and frantic. He sees maybe Diomedes and has to push down the instinct to apologize she never liked it when he refused her touches. He just sits there tense and on the verge of hyperventilating while Diomedes stand there with a look of hurt and grief.

"Odysseus?"

He shuts his eyes fighting back tears at the almost familiar voice ,deep and rough, so different from Calypso's sickly sweet and soft voice.Of course unless she was mad Dont think about it-. How can he believe this is real? He has been tricked so many times with illusions and dreams of Penelope besides how could Diomedes be here not only that but as a God? Does it really matter if it's real or not? After everything that has happened, with how broken he is, how could he ever face Diomedes or anyone else for that matter. He curls in on himself shame threatening to choke him.

"Odysseus what's wrong?"

He opens his eyes to see Diomedes standing closer than before looking frustrated and hesitant. He must be disappointed in him. He isn't the mischievous and trickster Odysseus that Diomedes knows, the one that smirked at any challenge, that pushes Diomedes with a grin looking forward to their constant banter. The one that helped him on rare nights often times when he was drunk and finally admitted to needing comfort. No, that Odysseus is gone now leaving only a shadow behind. A couple tears escape as he starts to cry.

He tenses at the arms that wrap hesitantly around him even as he clings to them. He fights the instinct to shy away from any touch instead trying to focus more on how rough the skin is, like a warrior, instead of the silky smooth skin she always had. The bulky muscles made strong from years of fighting and training instead of the dainty limbs of her that always trapped him close. Every difference helps convince him more and more that this is real.

"You're safe Ody, I've got you now. She can't hurt you anymore I made sure of that."

Odysseus melts into his arms and starts sobbing. He lets himself fall apart as his body shakes with each cry, releasing all the pain that has built up. For once the arms around him don't feel like a cage but he actually feels…safe with those strong and steady arms. He could always rely on Diomedes strength. He gasps out apologies as he clings desperately to him.

It's finally over, he is free now.

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

Diomedes glares down at the goddess, Calypso was it? He looks away not willing to spend anymore time dwelling on her. This isn't the first divine being he has fought although this is the first one he has actually managed to kill. He instead looks towards Odysseus, finding him sitting there staring at the body. He has seen this often on the battlefield, with soldiers who have seen too much, he is in shock.

He heads over and places his hand on Odysseus shoulder only for him to jolt into action scrambling away from his touch. His eyes are wide with fear and is obviously fighting to keep breathing. Odysseus is terrified and it hurts seeing him like this. He has seen various sides angry, smug, determined to Odysseus but never has he seen him this scared. He is reminded of a skittish horse, nervous and shying away from anything and everything.

"Odysseus?"

Odysseus closes his eyes and Diomedes knows he is trying to ground himself. Who knows what he could be thinking. Of course Diomedes always had issues reading him fully but that's to be expected with Odysseus the trickster that he is but now.. Odysseus obviously failed in calming down when he curls in on himself with his eyes shut tight and lets out a broken whine.

"Odysseus what's wrong?"

He can feel the frustration creep in as he hesitates. He wants to help but he doesn't know how! He has never been good at comfort both at receiving and giving, it's not something he has known for majority of his life. He left the comforting to those who knew what they were doing like Polites. He hates hesitating, preferring to act more often than not but he doesn't want to make things worse.

One more look at Odysseus and he makes his choice, he may not know much but he has to try. He walks over and carefully wraps his arms around Odysseus and hesitates when he tenses. He is ready to pull away but Odysseus clings to him. It's like he couldn't decide between wanting touch or refusing it. What did that goddess do to make him like this? No matter, she is dead now unable to hurt him any longer.

"You're safe Ody, I've got you now. She can't hurt you anymore I made sure of that."

Finally Odysseus relaxes and breaks down into sobs and Diomedes holds him closer, more firmly. Countless apologies are said but he just continues to hold him just letting him release all the pain that has built up. Diomedes starts to relax a bit knowing that Odysseus is safe now, he will make sure it will stay that way too. He wants to know exactly what that goddess did but questions can wait for later for now he will do his best to comfort Odysseus.

He won't let him suffer alone ever again

[hoverboards-and-dragons]

A Lilith character study about Lucilith

Lilith thinks about how her husband would die for her, she'd kill for him and how their experiences during creation really did fucked them up but its probably fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lilith didn't trust easily.

She doubted she could trust at all anymore.

She was an admitted selfish woman, unapologetically ambitious, truly sinful.

She belonged in hell and she couldn't be prouder of that, of a kingdom that called her wholly it's own and loved her as fiercely as she loved it; of standing for herself among those who only knew how to kneel and demanded the same from her.

The only reason she'd say Lucifer didn't belong in Heaven was that he was simply far too good that wretched place. Even if his revulsion for her home and pride weighed heavy on her heart.

Good things didn't 'happen to' Lilith, every good thing in her life had been viciously fought for and defended: except for Lucifer.

Lucifer was the best thing to ever happen to her, the only good thing that ever just happened to her. Stepping into her life and simply giving her all the admiration, freedom and power she had could have ever desired, ever been denied, as if she deserved it, as if she didn't have to fight for it.

Lilith didn't trust easily, and small dark part of her doubted that there even was such a thing.

But she remembers what it was to be held against Lucifer while his body split the sky, all six wings shielding her without a thought to even trying to slow his own decent; and that pure relief when he saw her almost unscathed, even as his broken form was painting the ground gold in a quickly deepening puddle.

It remained her that she did know what trust was. She had a truth lain before her that not even her deepest skepticism could deny: that new scorned woman in Paradise, that had to learn all gifts came with strings, the benefit of the doubt only led to loss and that no one acted without agenda.

Lucifer was exactly who she had always seen. After everything was stripped away, there was nothing else hidden under mask or act.

He looked at Lilith like she centred the entire world, like she deserved everything and more, all of creation and anything belong it.

Because he truly believed she did.

How many nights awake had Lilith spent battling with that realization, that he was real, that anyone could be that openhanded, that endlessly eager and willing to put someone else before themselves, with no fear or hostility or even hesitation.

That he loved her.

Chose her.

Chose her before God.

(She shelved those thoughts for another time, she was spiralling enough without a contemplation of just how high his place in the universe - that he saw her as leagues above - actually was.)

She didn't bother with questions of deserving like Lucifer sometimes did. She didn't care if either of them deserved each other.

Lilith didn't 'deserve' anything, she wanted things, and then she took them.

Just like every other rare commodity Lilith got her hands on, she coveted him selfishly.

She couldn't let it ruin him. She may love hell, but Lucifer was something special, unreproducible and irreplaceable. He would not be torn down into just another sinner out for himself and his power.

Especially with the toll this separation from his family was already on him.

If she was any less sure it wouldn't help him, she'd storm the gates of Heaven itself and tear those pitiful excuses for siblings, kin and a Father apart limb by limb.

Did they not understand what they were so callously tarnishing?! This pure true divinity so infinitely rare even upon their holy kind! Tossed aside, forgotten and left to rot.

No.

Lilith wouldn't allow that.

She had always lived, worked and thrived in the scraps discarded from Heaven's over abundance. She knew the endless potential in things they habitually overlooked.

She would love and adore him like they failed to. Utilize every piece of him he offered, make fools out of everyone who'd ever given him up.

And they would learn to fear her at his stead.

Heaven has freely given her the rope they will hang by.

[grunge-princess-nymph]

Yandere Dark Purveyors Headcanon

Author's Note: I was chatting with a friend online that used to be on tumblr until her account was deleted for some reason & we were chatting about this. I asked many other people to make a request of this, but they either busy with other requests or just not interested. So, I decided to make one myself. Enjoy!

To say the least, it's chaotic....literally chaotic!

Out of all the members, Zed would be the more clinging one. He would've threatened just about anybody who looks at you the wrong way.

Mariska would be one of those scary types of obsessive zombies. At first, she seems to be chill & relaxed like many hippies are. But slowly, she begins to reveal her possessiveness over you.

Josey is a pretty more chill zombie than the rest of the band. But it doesn't mean he don't have a obsessive side too. Just Let him see you with another woman/man & you get to see just how jealous he can really get.

Lewis is really a cocky one. He doesn't have to force his love onto his darling. In his mind, they are already into him, right? But like Josey, he will hunt down anyone who dares to even winked at his woman/man.

Despite they're possessiveness,, they would definitely spoil you.

And by spoil, I mean charming you with romantic bike rides, (Lewis) letting you touch Yumil, (Vikke) even cuddles. (All of them)

The good thing about them being scary obsessed zombies is that they each have a soft spot for you...

The worses part though, they can be aggressively jealous when it comes to rivals.

Let's say that one day, you decided to reject they're feelings for you...

It doesn't end well........for you....

The only ones who wouldn't understand the meaning of rejection at first is Zed, Vikke, & Josey, who would brush it off as a joke. But as soon they relized your....it's h**l on earth!

For one, Lewis would take it the worst. He will go out on a length & hunt down whoever stole his lover's heart.

Mariska would be chill about it. But don't let that fool you you. On the inside, it's like a tornado of jealousy.

And if you decided to leave them, you might wanna convince your other lovers to stay at your place.

And you might need to lock your doors & windows.

Cause as soon as you do, they're coming after, not just them...........you

Don't think they are going to let you get away with leaving them for another lover.

There are just so many ways they can get rid of their rivals you come across.

Zed will have his mosh pit army tear your new lover apart from limb to limb.

Vikke would ripped them apart with his brute strength, hoping to show you what he do with rivals, or even feeding them to Yumil.....or himself.

Lewis wouldn't be making a mess in the living realm. He drag them to his realm & kill them there, by shooting alot of holes in they're body.

Mariska can use her illusions to drive anyone crazy like they were on drugs or something, giving her enough time to kill them off....slowly & painfully.

Josey on one hand, can just turn them into a mindless undead minion when he feels that they could be threat to love growing between you & him.

With the lover out of the way, they're gonna lay low for a while until the time is right to strike.

Heck, they're probably going to start a apocalypse to get you if they have to.

Before you know it, you'd be finding yourself either trapped in one of Mariska's bubble traps or chained to a poll on Vikke's ship.

Obviously, there are going to be alot of ruthless fights with everyone except you, on the count on who gets to keep you & you know.......cuddles.

You can always count on your friend Juliet to protect you.....if she's still alive.

Just pray that things will end for the better for you.......while you're dealing with some undead unwanted admirers.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

I'd like to request Jennifer Check and Needy with a male s/o and he's just perfectly fine with the fact that Jenn might eat him. "Like yeah totally you can kill me...want me to call you mommy or some shit?" And he just laughs every time Jenn threatens to eat him. Meanwhile Needy is just trying to keep the peace between the two teasing assholes. Poly headcannons please love ya bro ❤️

What makes it funnier is that this is something you'd actually do lmao. Love ya too 💙

(Also I know I said I was taking a writing break but for you I made an exception)

Poly! Jennifer Check and Needy Lesnicki with a male s/o who isn't intimidated by demon Jenny

Warnings: murder threats (they're jokes...for the most part), slight gore mention, slight angst (just a little bit, for flavor)

You both amuse and frustrate Jennifer at the same time

Like yeah it's cute that you're not afraid of her, and your constant state of calmness when she threatens you is kind of funny, but if you aren't going to be bothered by it when she says she's going to rip your head off and use it as a door stopper then what's the point?

She could be glaring you down, demon teeth bared, about to lunge at your throat and tear out your vocal cords and you'll just be standing there like "really? You're actually planning on killing me right now? Well alright then"

Meanwhile Needy is off somewhere in the background trying to coax you into dropping the subject while watching from a safe distant

Jennifer has fun testing your limits, upping the ante by making her threats more gruesome and horrifying with each one (while poor Needy is trying not to puke by how much detail she goes into)

It gets to the point where you actually tease her back, giving her your own ideas for what she could do to you

"You're going to regret messing with me once I tear you apart limb from limb-"

"-and rearrange my dead, mutilated body to look like a shrine to you and your never ceasing hunger? You used that insult last week, try again"

Even if you guys are "just joking" (mostly) sometimes Needy gets legitimately terrified that something is going to happen between the two of you and she won't be able to stop it

At least once a month she'll be found holed up in her room, either freaking out while pacing back and forth or crying while curled into a ball on her bed, trying to find some way to stop your "fighting"

This, of course, makes you and Jennifer feel guilty, even if it's in the slightest amount, leading to you both apologizing (yours might be more sincere than hers, but it's the thought that counts) and promising you won't actually end up fighting each other (no promises on Jen's side, but she does her best to seem apologetic and trustworthy)

You guys have a big cuddle session in Needy's bed after talking it out, you and Jennifer still making the occasional smart mouthed quips while Needy just rolls her eyes in disbelief. It would seem as though some things just never change

~

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[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: A Worthless Criminal Condemned

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: grief, panic attack, hopelessness

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 2600 || Approx reading time: 11 mins

A Worthless Criminal Condemned

Teaser: Undoubtedly, part of the reason Will could not, at that moment, think or breathe properly was that Geoff had his thick fucking hand clamped over his mouth, holding in the panicked bellows for his brother and for the girl who meant more to him than any other in the entire world. And while, logically, Will knew that Geoff was saving his sorry fucking life, he wanted nothing more than to tear his friend apart until there was nothing left.

“Don’t you fucking dare let go of him.”

Although they were harsh, perhaps the expletives and the commanding tone were necessary, given the situation: constables heading straight for the townhouse, Bree clutched in the dirty, covetous paws of Will’s second-most-hated police officer; Jamie being arrested; and Will himself barely able to see, breathe, or think.

“I fucking mean it, Geoff,” Colette said—the last words she spoke before she disappeared, practically vaulting out the window. She didn’t say a word to Will, or mention the way he was being fully manhandled by someone who was supposed to be his friend.

Undoubtedly, part of the reason Will could not, at that moment, think or breathe properly was that Geoff had his thick fucking hand clamped over his mouth, holding in the panicked bellows for his brother and for the girl who meant more to him than any other in the entire world. And while, logically, Will knew that Geoff was saving his sorry fucking life, he wanted nothing more than to tear his friend apart until there was nothing left.

In fact, he hated Geoff more than Baden Hatchett, almost. For Geoff wasn’t supposed to stop him from running. Geoff was supposed to fling himself into the street to save Jamie while Will gave Lenton a good crack across the jaw, grabbed Bree’s hand, and ran. They were supposed to be a team, a family, and families didn’t fucking abandon each other. Not like this. Not ever.

Will had thought Jamie had abandoned him—had even hoped for it—but he hadn’t. So how could he even consider abandoning Jamie?

But Geoff didn’t release his grip— merely held him still while the constables hurried past and then dragged him away when their backs were turned.

Only when they had put distance between themselves and the compromised townhouse did he finally let Will go.

The moment he was free, Will spun around and punched Geoff squarely in the mouth.

It didn’t do much, not his weakened muscles against Geoff’s well-developed bulk. It certainly hurt Will’s knuckles. Perhaps, if anything, it hurt Geoff’s feelings.

“What the fuck, you fucking bastard? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Geoff only looked at him in silence, sorrow Will did not want to see waiting in his dark eyes.

“We could have helped them! For fuck’s sake, we could have—”

“Woulda got caught.”

Will hated him. He hated him. Hated him for staying calm, for looking him in the eye and spitting out those miserable fucking words just like that.

“No, they would have gotten away!”

But Geoff shook his head.

The truth, reiterated in that simple motion, flowed into Will like poison, dragging him toward the ground.

He collapsed right into it, and then he couldn’t move—couldn’t sink into the soaking earth and drown there like he wanted to, because his limbs were frozen stiff from the rain. Numb from the cold. Rigid from the way his very bones had turned to solid, unbendable iron. He thought at first he might be freezing from the storm, but then he thought he couldn’t feel the rain at all.

In fact, he couldn’t feel anything, anything, except a single terrible pain, and it was not of his body, or perhaps it was; he wasn’t sure, but it was almost otherworldly, this pain. It gouged holes into the flesh deep in his chest, as if a monstrous entity snapped, snarled, and scratched at his insides until all he could think of was how much it hurt. It hurt. And if he was hurting, standing safe in the ice-cold fucking rain with Geoff, then what of Bree and Jamie? What kind of hurt were they going through—while he was standing safe in the ice-cold fucking rain with Geoff?

While he stood by and did nothing?

How could he do that to them? How? How could he watch while Jamie was dragged away to jail and Bree was sent back to the devil himself?

The blissful, golden days that had graced his pointless goddamn life with a fleeting taste of happiness seemed like some kind of cruel joke. In a matter of minutes, all of it—Bree’s smiles and her hand in his, the warm presence of his family around him once again, the naïve belief that things might go his way for fucking once—it had all crumbled underneath Will’s feet. Jamie was gone, and so was Bree. He’d seen her from the townhouse, panicking, caged in the arms of that snake Curtis Lenton, and now she’d been thrown back to her husband, back to Baden Hatchett, who would not, could not possibly forgive her for all she had done. All she had done for Will, and—and—

Geoff was saying his name, but Will couldn’t answer, because Will couldn’t breathe.

Hatchett had Jamie. Hatchett had Bree. Will was safe. Will wasn’t there. Hatchett didn’t have him. But what the fuck did that matter? If the other two were in his clutches? What was the point of being safe and free if Bree and Jamie were not?

“Will.” Geoff. Speaking. His voice. Quiet. Calm. “Will.”

Will. He was Will. An image flashed in his mind: four letters scribbled in a thick blanket of dust. He was Will. But he’d only been Will to her for a few fucking days, and she was already gone. Why had he waited so long to tell her? Who knew if he would ever hear his name from her lips again? Who knew if he’d ever kiss those lips again? Who knew if he’d ever even fucking see them again, for god’s sake?

“Will. Breathe.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t fucking do anything. To help her. To help Jamie. He couldn’t do a goddamn thing.

“I can’t fucking breathe!” he gasped.

“Breathe. Slow.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I. Can’t.”

Ridiculous, ridiculous, ridiculous that he should fall apart like a weakling when he was the one who was safe, who was far from Baden Hatchett and from jail, when he wasn’t the one in chains—

“Gonna be okay,” Geoff said. Hands on Will’s arms. Calm. So calm. How. How? “You can breathe. Slow. Slow it down.”

But he couldn’t, not with Jamie and Bree taken away and what if he never saw either of them again and just like the first time, he didn’t say goodbye, again, fucking again, he hadn’t known, he hadn’t said a damn thing, and the absence of that single word was going to eat him from the inside out, that goodbye, goodbye, goodbye—

“With me,” Geoff said, and Will wanted to punch him but he couldn’t punch while he couldn’t breathe, and so he tried. He tried. He tried to breathe again.

“Doing good,” said Geoff softly. “C’mon. ’S good.”

And Will could breathe, and he was safe, but Bree and Jamie weren’t, and he wanted to hurt Geoff as much as it hurt inside him, but he didn’t. He just let himself sink down to the ground again, not to drown in the rain, but to breathe and breathe and breathe.

Geoff said nothing. Only the rain pattered around them, a sound that should have been soothing and instead sliced the air like a thousand tiny, shrieking knives.

“What are we going to do?” Will finally asked, and he did not recognize the sound of his own voice.

“Get away.” The low rumble of Geoff’s voice was the same as always, and yet not. Heavier. Harder. Sharper. Precarious, like a china plate teetering on the edge of a table. Ready to fall. Ready to break. “Go from there.”

The plan, Will remembered with a jolt. His stomach clenched, and his lungs tried to squeeze the air out of him again.

“Okay,” he managed to mutter before all his air was stolen again. He stood up.

Geoff’s eyes were distant, but he nodded. “Let’s go.”

*** 

They broke into a bakery once the sun had set.

Not that it was hard; Geoff was the most skilled lock-pick Will had ever met in his life, and he had the back door open in no time. He put everyone else to shame. The man couldn’t read, and sometimes he lost his place when counting things over about fifty, but he was good at a lot of other, more important shit.

“C’mon,” he said. “Still hot back here.”

It was as good a place to hide as any. Colette, Geoff said, would get there when she had her answers. Leave it to those two, Will thought bitterly, to have some secret, silently communicated plan of where to meet.

Except it had been fucking hours and it sure seemed like she should have already figured out what there was to know, which couldn’t be much.

Unless she, too, had gotten busted.

Will told himself it was inconceivable. She was Colette. She didn’t get caught. She didn’t get spotted. That was part of her whole thing. Geoff did the heavy, hard stuff. Jamie did the planning and pretended to be in charge. Colette bossed everyone around for real, and she was the one who sneaked into impossible places on light, stealthy feet. And Will? Will did the easy work that no one else wanted to do, because that was what he could be trusted with.

And for a long time, that was what had worked.

But then he’d been in jail, and with that, everything went upside down and backwards. Suddenly, he was the one who was trusted with everyone’s fates—their lives clutched in his shackled hands, and he’d held fast to the faith they’d had no choice but to have in him, and he’d kept his goddamn mouth shut. He’d fucking done it. He’d kept IA’s secrets. He’d kept his family alive. He was supposed to do the easy stuff, but it was the hardest goddamn thing he’d ever done.

Then there’d been Bree, and easy had gone right out the bloody window.

In fact, Will wasn’t sure he’d been the same old dumbass who called himself Fox for a long time now.

Because everything was fucking different. Even Jamie’s planning skills meant nothing now. He and his dumb fucking big-picture brain were gone.

If Will, who hadn’t even earned his place in the inner circle, was more than just the useless brother of the man who started it all…

If Jamie, after years of working so hard to keep hidden while IA operated in the shadows, was gone and soon to be unmasked…

If Geoff, ever stoic and entirely unfazed by anything life threw at him, was fracturing into pieces before Will’s eyes…

If all that had already changed and gone wrong, what if it meant Colette’s sneaking skills were about to fail, too?

He pressed his forehead into his knees, letting the residual heat of the cast-iron ovens seep into him slowly, banishing the chill of the rain.

What are we going to do?

He was half-asleep when Colette finally showed, looking like a right nightmare: soaked to the bone, covered in mud, and exhausted.

“Holy shit,” he said, the first words that came to mind, “what the hell happened to you?”

She laughed—an ill-natured, soggy, tearful thing, completely devoid of humour or anything close to it. “I chased a fucking wagon across this goddamn city. And then I chased a carriage across it again. I nearly got trampled twice. Do not fucking start with me.”

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat when the apology came out in a whisper.

They let her collapse as close as humanly possible to the ovens, and Will pretended not to hear the tiniest hiccup of a sob catch in her throat.

Geoff disappeared for a few minutes and returned with some burnt heels of bread. Colette took hers without complaint, and she nibbled at it while still lying on the floor.

Impatience burned under Will’s skin. She had intel. She had to. She had to, didn’t she? Why else would she be chasing horses all over the goddamn place, come back so late and so worn out and so drained?

“It’s bad news,” he finally said when he couldn’t wait a single moment longer. Slowly, Colette nodded in confirmation, wincing in pain when she sat back up. Her thick curls were nothing more than matted ropes, glued to her dress and to her neck. The speckles of darkness all over her clothes made Will feel sick. In the gloom, the mud might have been splashes of anything—reminiscent of something else that might stain one’s clothes with grimy black spots.

“Jamie’s fucked,” he guessed again, and Colette repeated her nod of assent.

Burning behind his eyes. Buzzing at the back of his mind.

No. No, he wasn’t going to break down again.

“Bree?” he managed.

Colette’s face screwed up tightly—like she was hiding some emotion she didn’t want him to see. Like she was hiding… No, he was imagining things.

Except he wasn’t.

“It’s not good news,” she said softly.

He swallowed, pretending her words didn’t send heavy, aching prickles through his entire body. “She’s in jail, too?”

Suddenly hesitant, she asked, “Are you ready to hear it right now?”

Will nodded, and all three of them knew he was a liar.

“You promise me?”

Another nod.

“She’s not in jail,” said Colette gently, and something relaxed in his chest.

That was good news, wasn’t it? Why would she preface such tidings with It’s not good news if it wasn’t true? Because anything had to be better than Baden Hatchett’s prison, didn’t it? “Where, then?”

He almost missed what she said, distracted momentarily by the memory of Bree’s teary eyes as she told him about how Hatchett had locked her up in her own bedroom. He pushed aside the ghostly echo of her voice. If that was where she was, it was still better than jail—and it offered significantly more opportunity for busting her out.

When Colette gave her answer, though, Will’s heart screeched to a stop. “No.”

It’s not good news.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Are you ready to hear it right now?

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “You’re fucking lying.”

This was Colette; she should have snapped at him about such an accusation. Should have demanded his respect, because didn’t he trust her information? Did she look like a liar to him? When had she ever given him reason to believe she would mislead him on something as important as this?

She’s not in jail.

Colette simply shook her head, and Will ground his forehead into his knees again, trying to remember how to breathe.

Hatchett hadn’t fucking sent Bree to jail, no. He’d decided he’d punish her another way instead. Why, it was the goddamn perfect solution. It explained everything—the only plausible reason a sweet, proper girl like Breanna Hatchett would ever get mixed up with a piece of shit criminal like Will Wardrew, the fox-thief of Iustitia aecum.

Colette’s hand brushed his shoulder, and he jerked away from her touch. She didn’t try to comfort him again.

Through the storm of furious thoughts, Will heard her ask Geoff how he was doing.

And Will was glad to be hidden in the darkness of his arms and knees around him, for it hid the dampness on his cheeks that slipped free when Geoff gave a wordless answer that sliced right through any armour Will might have thought he wore. It pierced the night, an anguished echo of the turmoil inside Will’s mind, a perfect reflection of soul-wrenching, haunting grief.

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Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

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[artyandink]

we could be more | dean winchester | finale

Summary: Ivonne Rainer was practically a trained killing machine. Stripped to the bone then built back up by her father in order to become one of the best, like he was. She was forced into hunting when she was nineteen, having developed powers that couldn’t be explained. That is, until she was paid a visit by Azazel’s lackey. Her powers were gone, she needed help, and that’s when she found her father’s journal. Pointing to Sam and Dean Winchester.

SERIES MASTERLIST

ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE: PART TWO

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : DARKSIDE - NEONI 

“Mini-“ 

“I don’t want to hear it.” I whispered, staring out into the unknown from the front porch of the house we’d taken rest in. “I just don’t.”

Bobby sighed. “You can’t blame yourself for Sam.” 

“I can. I was there. I could’ve killed Jake seconds before it happened had I just let go for a second like I did with Ava. And now? Sam’s dead.”

”You’re deranged, mini. You’ve done the best you can and considering the circumstances, you did a damn good job of it.” 

“Everyone’s dead except that kid Jake who deserves to be ripped limb by limb.” I growled, standing up. “I know I’m gonna see him again. And when I do? Hell, I’m gonna kill him. And I’ll make sure he regrets living before he goes into the fire.” 

“Hey!” He frowned. “Don’t lose yourself in this.” 

“I lost myself in hell, Bobby, I’m long gone.” I seethed. “Every gash, the torture, the watching others being tortured- it eats away at you. Tears you a new one. A worse one, and I loathe how I turned out. I can’t look at my family the same after learning what kind of a man I was born from. What my sister became- heck, what my brother could’ve been. It’s pure pain. Sam was… an out. An amazing, kind, caring out. A way to think about what relationship I could have had with my siblings if they were alive. Now Sam’s dead. I’ve lost that too. That means I’ve lost my fight.” 

“I know you must be feeling helpless.” Bobby appeased, giving me a sympathetic look. “Feel it, feel it all if you can’t help it, but Dean in there? He needs you more than ever.” He started to walk off, but I held his shoulder. 

“Where’re you going?” 

“Dean doesn’t need me anymore. He told me to leave, but you know where I’ll be.” 

“C’mere.” I hugged him tightly, and he allowed me to, thumping my back. 

“You’re a strong kid, mini. It’s not your fault your dad was a coward.” 

“It never will be.” I smiled, then watch him leave. I walked into the house, finding Dean at Sam’s bed. 

“Don’t tell me to bury him.” Dean snapped, his voice breaking. “Don’t tell me to torch him either.”

“I won’t.” I shrugged, sitting down beside him. 

“Then? It was bad enough losing you at first, now Sammy? What are they gonna do, gank Bobby next?” 

“The kid won’t, but Yellow Eyes might.” 

“What d’you mean?” 

“He came to me.” I muttered. “Told me that this was a survival of the fittest deal. Then he said I wasn’t in it.” 

“Son of a… why weren’t you?” 

“He said that I’d rip each and every one of them apart if I wanted to. And god, I wish I’d ripped Jake limb from limb if I’d gotten the chance.” 

“Is that really Ivy talking?” He stood up, and so did I, holding my head. 

“It’s 100% me, Dean. I, cold blooded, shot Ava. I didn’t care about Lily and I was about to deliver a finishing blow to Jake with a metal pole but somehow I decided against it. Hell changed me. I don’t know what happened in there, but it changed me. Sam’s dead, I know, and all that’s replaying in my head is how Carter died and how I could’ve stopped that too but I was too damn weak to, and now Sam took a blow because of pure fate. Don’t let all this change you. Don’t do anything stupid, Dean, please just don’t.” 

“I won’t.” He agreed, and then he hugged me, detaching and leaning his forehead on mine, cupping my cheeks. “I won’t.” 

I walked in to find Dean prepping to go somewhere, and… Sam. 

Sam.

Alive. 

“Where we going, boys?” I asked, giving Dean a look. I know what you’ve done. 

“Bobby’s.” Sam smiled. 

“It’s great to have you up and about, Sam.” 

“Great to be up and about.” 

“To the Impala, then.” We went to the car, getting in and driving down to Bobby’s in silence. We went to the door, and Bobby opened it, his eyes widening a bit when he saw Sam. 

“Hey, Bobby.” Sam grinned.

“Sam. It's good to... see you up and around.” 

“Yeah ... thanks for patching me up.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Bobby then turned to me, patting me on the shoulder. “James knows you’re alive, but…” 

“I know.” I nodded. 

“Do what you’ve gotta do.” I took out my phone, dialling James. He picked up immediately on the other line, and I sighed. 

‘Ivy?’ 

“Yeah, it’s me.” 

‘You’re alive. Bobby was right. I-I thought that you…’ 

“I’m alive, yeah. My dad made a deal with a demon to save me.” I then bit my lip. “But now I’m involved in something big. End of the world big, and you need to be safe.” Bobby handed me a map of omens, and I spotted Southern Wyoming as a safe place. “Get to Southern Wyoming. Hide, take as much salt, holy water, iron, the works, as you can. Just get to safety.”

I could hear a sigh on another line. ‘We can’t see each other anymore, can we?’ 

“No, we can’t. At least, not until all this is over, which will take a hell of a long time.” 

‘I get it. At least I’ll know that my ex-girlfriend helped stop an apocalypse.’ 

“Stew in that, Lieutenant.” 

‘Gladly.’ He chuckled. ‘I’ll miss you, Ivonne Rainer.’ 

“As will I, James Rhodes.” I smiled. “Bye.”

’Bye.’ I then turned to Bobby. 

“What am I looking at?” 

“Omens are popping up everywhere.” He grimaced. “Everywhere but Southern Wyoming. It’s like demons are surrounding it or something. I need you and Sam to find out why while I chat with Dean.” 

“You better, before I give him an early ticket.” I gritted my teeth, then nodded. “I’ll do it. Figure something out.” 

I was mapping things out when Ellen came in with Dean and Bobby, and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Ellen.” I grinned, hugging her, and she returned it, trembling. “I’m glad you’re ok.” 

“I’m glad you’re alive.” She retorted. “I’m sorry about Mick.”

”He was better off dead.” I huffed before pulling up a chair. Ellen sat down, and Bobby poured her a shot of holy water. 

“Bobby, is this really necessary?” 

“Just holy water.” Bobby shrugged. “Shouldn’t hurt.” 

She swallowed the water, giving Bobby a look. “Whiskey now, if you don't mind.” 

I passed her a shot of whiskey, and Dean sat down, leaning forward. “Ellen, what happened?” 

“I wasn't supposed to get out. I was supposed to be in there with everybody else. But we ran out of pretzels, of all things. It was just dumb luck.” She sipped the whiskey with a scoff. “Anyway, that's when Ash called. Panic in his voice. He told me to look in the safe. Then the call cut out. By the time I got back, the flames were sky-high. And everybody was dead. I couldn't have been gone more than fifteen minutes.” 

“I’m sorry, Ellen.” Sam grimaced. 

“A lot of good people died in there. And I got to live.” She scoffed again. “Lucky me.” 

“Ellen, you mentioned a safe.” Bobby frowned. 

“Secret safe in the basement.” 

“Demons get what’s in it?” 

“No.” She put down a map, which had Xs on it. I picked it up, studied it for a second and then took a book out of my satchel, turning the pages. 

“Friggin’ hell.” I muttered, drawing a line connecting the Xs. 

“What?” Dean asked. 

“Each of these X's is an abandoned frontier church— all mid-19th century. And all of them built by Samuel Colt.” 

“Samuel Colt? Demon killing, gun making Samuel Colt?” 

“Yep. And from church to church, he built underground, hidden railway tracks, connecting every dot until…” I grinned, “he made a 100 mile Devil’s Trap.” 

“Beanie, you genius.”

”I've never heard of anything that massive.” Ellen breathed. 

“No one has.” Bobby shrugged. 

“And after all these years none of the lines are broken?” Dean asked. “I mean, it still works?”

”Looks like it.” I nodded. “Demon omens are circling this place. They’re trying to get in, but can’t.” 

“Why’re they trying to get in?” Ellen frowned. 

“Bang in the middle of this place, there’s an old, abandoned cowboy cemetery.” I pointed to it on the map, then looked up grimly. “I don’t think Colt was trying to keep anything out. I think he was trying to keep something in.” 

“Well, that’s comforting.” 

“Could they get in?” Dean asked. 

“No.” I shook my head. “They’d need something as powerful as an A-bomb, H-bomb, heck, even the Tsar Bomba could work.” 

“The Tsar What-A?” 

“Nuclear bomb made by the Soviets. Still the most powerful nuclear weapon to exist. Only something roughly like that could rip this apart. Unless you make someone who’s not a demon cross the line.” 

Then it hit me. 

“Jake.”

“Howdy, Jake.” Sam seethed, all of us surrounding him as he approached the crypt. Jake looked stunned, and I knew why. 

“Wait... you were dead. I killed you.” He stammered, but Sam chuckled. 

“Yeah? Well next time, finish the job.” 

“I did! I cut clean through your spinal cord, man. You can’t be alive, you just can’t.” 

“Okay, just take it real easy there, son.” Bobby warned. 

“And if I don’t?” 

“Wait and see.” Sam smirked. 

“What, you a tough guy all of a sudden? What are you gonna do— kill me?” 

“It’s a thought.” 

“You had your chance. You couldn't.” 

“Alright, then.” Sam nodded tauntingly. “It isn’t my mojo. But it’s hers.” He inclined his head towards me, and Jake spun around, seeing my eyes glow blue. 

“You’re not gonna lift anything.” He smirked, then turned to Ellen. “Hey lady, do me a favour. Put that gun to your head.” Ellen shakily agreed, putting the gun to her head. “See, that Ava girl was right. Once you give in to it, there's all sorts of new Jedi mind tricks you can learn.” 

“Let her go.” I demanded. 

“Kill him.” Ellen whispered. 

“You'll be mopping up skull before you get a shot off.” Jake taunted. “Everybody, put your guns down. Except you, sweetheart.” Everyone but me and Ellen put their guns down, me because Jake most likely didn’t know I had one. “Okay. Thank you.” He turned around, pulling out the Colt and putting it into the crypt. I immediately pulled the gun away from Ellen’s head, my eyes turning red as I held out my hand, my powers dragging Jake to me so I could hold him by the neck, rage surging through me like it was addictive. 

“Which way do you wanna go, huh?” I sneered, tilting my head with a grin. “I could switch off your brain, rip your guts out, but no, that’s too quick for you. I have a better idea.” I reached out, putting my fingertips around his heart. He started twitching, graining is pain as I retracted my hand, red wisps of energy following and slowly feeding small tendrils into what formed into his heart, pulsing, still beating. 

“Please.” Jake whispered. “Don’t do this, please.”

“Do it.” Sam snarled. “Kill him.”

“You’d rip them apart.” 

And I want to. 

“Please-“ I snapped my fist shut, bursting the heart and killing Jake, his body going limp as his head lolled forwards. I threw him down onto the ground without a second thought, my eyes returning to their normal colour. 

“Beanie?” Dean spoke up. “That you?” 

“Who else?” I snapped, staring down at Jake’s body before stepping over it. The two runes on the crypt spun in different directions before stopping, and a sense of apprehension immediately took over me. 

“Oh, no.” Bobby whispered. 

“What is it?” Ellen asked. 

“Hell.” Dean pulled the Colt from the crypt, and we all stepped back as we heard a lock click. “Take cover— now!” We dived behind headstones right as a door burst open, clouds of black smoke flying everywhere. 

“What the hell just happened?!” Dean groaned, taking cover next to me. 

“That’s a Devil’s gate!” I yelled. “A damn door to hell!” 

“Come on! We gotta shut that gate!” Ellen cried out. 

“If the demon gave this to Jake…” Dean muttered, fiddling with the Colt, then maybe-“ The gun flew out of his hand and landed in Yellow Eyes’, who smirked. 

“Boys shouldn’t play with Daddy’s guns.” He sneered, throwing Dean aside. Then he turned to me, chuckling. “I knew putting you in the game would be unfair. Poor Jakey didn't stand a chance. And now his heart's gone." 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m gonna make you in the meantime.” He forced Sam and I against trees, shrugging at Sam. “I'll get to you in a minute, champ. But I'm proud of you— knew you had it in you.” Then he faced Dean, throwing him against a post. “Sit a spell. So, Dean... I gotta thank you. You see, demons can't resurrect people, unless a deal is made. I know, red tape- it'll make you nuts. But thanks to you, Sammy's back in rotation. Now, I wasn't counting on that, but I'm glad. I liked him better than Jake, anyhow. Tell me— have you ever heard the expression, ‘If a deal sounds too good to be true, it probably is?’” 

“You call that deal good?” Dean scoffed.

“Well, it's a better shake than your dad ever got. Michael never got a good one either. And you never wondered why? I'm surprised at you. I mean... you saw what your dear Ivy just did to Jake, right? That was pretty cold, wasn't it? How certain are you that what you brought back, is 100%, pure, Sam? After all, Beanie came back a changed badass, didn’t she?“ He chuckled. “You of all people should know, that's what's dead, should stay dead. Anyway... thanks a bunch. I knew I kept you alive for some reason. Until now, anyway. I couldn't have done it without your pathetic, self-loathing, self-destructive desire to sacrifice yourself for your family.” He pointed the Colt at Dean, but I saw the ghost of John Winchester creeping up behind him. And he wasn’t alone. 

Carter’s ghost was with him. 

They grabbed a hold of Yellow Eyes, making him drop the Colt. I broke free from his telekinesis with a burst of blue light, picking up the Colt and aiming it at him. 

“I shot the wrong guy with this when I first used it.” I seethed. “Not this time.” I fired, and it hit him right in the heart. I ignored the falling body, instead turning to Carter, who I realised I was walking towards. He gave me a smile and joyful salute, and I did the same, wiping a tear from my cheek as he disappeared with a white light. 

When we got to a motel, before we went inside, I took Dean by the arm, smiling at Sam like nothing was wrong. “You go in with the others, Sam, we’ll catch up.” 

“Ok.” Sam nodded awkwardly, then headed inside with Ellen and Bobby, both of whom nodded in a way that said ‘give him hell.’ 

And hell I gave him. 

The moment he was inside, I spun Dean to face me and decked him in the jaw, making him hold it with a groan. 

“Again?!” He hissed, but I didn’t care. 

“You did it, didn’t you?” I fumed, and he looked startled. 

“Wh-“ 

“Don’t you dare ‘what’ me, Dean, it’s a simple question, yes or no. You did it, didn’t you?” 

“Yes, I did!” Dean burst out, throwing his arms up in the air. “I put my profile in a box, buried it and sealed the deal.” 

“After I told you not to do anything stupid?!” I scoffed. “Dean, that goes beyond the laws of stupid! How much time do you even have left?” 

He remained silent, turning away. 

“Dean.” 

Still nothing. 

“Dean!” 

Why wasn’t he saying anything? 

“ANSWER ME, DAMNIT-“ 

“A YEAR!” He yelled, turning back around. “I have a year, ok? The damn demon wouldn’t settle for anything else!” He saw me just standing there and held out his hands, waiting for an answer. “Ivy?”

“YOU FRICKING IDIOT!” I screamed, pushing him. “Are you that desperate to limit your chances of living? Do you think that low of yourself? I know what your dad’s done to your protective instincts, Dean Winchester, but he seems to have done nothing for your own survival.” I pushed my finger against his chest, my eyes flickering red for a moment. “Because you feel it’s so necessary to protect Sam and I and blame yourself if we get hurt- just cut it! Because I’m done! Time and time again- I can’t stand it. I’m not going to sit here like your dad did and watch you throw away your life-“ 

“Then don’t.” He whispered, but it cut through my words like a yell. “Leave. Don’t watch me throw away my life.” 

I instantly deflated, setting my jaw. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Deadly.” He seethed, gritting his teeth. 

I shook my head, the winding coil in my head snapping suddenly. “Fine. Congratulations, though, you just killed yourself.” 

“I did it for a reason! Sam is my family, but you wouldn’t understand that, would you?” 

“You’re right, I wouldn’t.” I shrugged, biting back tears. “Even though I had two boys who I’d give my life for in a heartbeat. Or at least I did.” I turned on my heel, walking back into the motel. The first thing I did was grab my spare clothes from Jo, Sam’s eyebrows furrowing in confusion once he saw what I was doing. 

“What happened?” He asked. 

“Ask your brother.” I retorted, taking out the keys to my Mustang and getting in, flooring it. 

“Dean, what the hell?” Sam turned to Dean, gesturing in the direction of where I drove off. 

“I don’t know.” Dean whispered, breathing heavily and unable to take his eyes off where my car once was. 

“Seriously, man, what the hell?” 

“I don’t- I don’t know.” He gulped, running both hands through his hair. “What have I done?”

PREVIOUS

[recluselecter]

Be Hers.

Joel Miller x Surrogate kid! Reader

Summery: After Joel and Ellie fight, Ellie's sibling felt that they needed to explain some things to Joel. Warnings: Angst, Joel cries, entirely self indulgent, Ellie's older sibling! reader, mother death mention

“Ellie’s not the only one who’d be scared.” I said quietly. Joel turned toward me, startled at the realization of my presence. His eyes held genuine despair at the sight of me. The door to the room had been closed by my sister after she left, and Joel looked like he’d have run by now if it wasn’t. I leaned against the wardrobe filled with moth-eaten scraps of children’s coats. 

“It’s true, you know.” I sighed. “Everyone has died or left us.” Joel’s eyes scathed the floors. “Except you, Joel.” He nodded and scoffed. 

“Don’t put on your bullshit stone-cold bitch face, Miller.” My voice cracked even though I had prayed it wouldn’t. “You don’t know what it’s like, man.” Pacing, I began to ramble to the older man. “You don’t know what it’s like to be fucking abandoned by the father that forced you to raise your little sister. You don’t know what it’s like to watch your mother get eaten alive by Infected. You don’t know what it’s like for the one person you have to get bit, and suddenly survive. Ellie is all I have, Joel. She didn’t have parents. I did.” His blue eyes watched me carefully. “And Joel, that man hated me. He blamed me when Ellie cried, or threw up, or slept at the wrong time. When he left, all I could feel was relief. Until my mom got ripped apart. Limb from fucking limb. I had to carry a crying baby through Clickers until the Fireflies found us. I thought they’d help us, but once Ellie got bit and proved herself useful, we were screwed. They beat her, Joel. They beat me.”

Joel flinched. “I’m sorry.”

I ignored him. “But I stood vigilant. I kept her alive as best I could. I took her beatings. I gave her my food. I even killed those fuckers for her.” I paused, taking a deep breath. “Marlene found us and brought us to you. You are the only one to survive our attachment. You know how Ellie sees you. She never had that, and you gave her a taste, so don’t you dare take it away from her. You can hate me all you like, sell me off to some pervert, I don’t care. All I ask is that you save her. No matter what happens. You save her Joel Miller, because if you don’t, I will never forgive you. And neither would Sarah.”

The man I’d come to see as a father looked at me with tears soaking his face, drops of the salty liquid darkening his blue flannel. “I’m not your little girl. And you ain’t my dad.” I felt my own tears fall. “But I need you to be hers.” Joel nodded, wiping his face and sniffing. 

“Joel!” Tommy burst into the room with Ellie, swinging the door shut behind them. “We got company.” Joel nodded and snatched his rifle from his bag, while I grabbed my pistol. When I checked my ammo, I realized I only had about five shots left. I had to make them work.

Time to get home.