#hasn't gone any deeper into the lungs

[whisperofthewaves]

gods this is just *groans* I've been at home sick for a whole week. did I get any rest from it so far? nooOoOo. why, would you ask. well, say I, that one post about fucking muckus being the body's answer to 99% of its problems was not exaggerating. and the cough impulse is fucking brutal when your respiratory system is already battered and raw.

[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 3

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

A/N: If I were you guys, I would hate me. This is so. I'm sorry. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Genre: Angst / Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, swearing, canon-typical violence. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

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"Mrs. Barnes, do follow me, please," Morozov demands despite his polite formalities. "And I advise you keep the baby to your side. You never know where she may wander off to if you're not watching," he says ominously.

You clench your jaw as you scoop Becca into your arms. She clings to you, little arms surrounding your neck. The poor girl is terrified, and you know you have to pretend you're not, too. For her.

You follow after Morozov and pray your phone hasn't died yet.

Please, Buck. Find us.

—

Morozov leads you down several confusing hallways that all look the same. You look for indicators to help you find your bearings, but there’s little to nothing there. You pray your phone still has some juice and is connected to a cell tower somewhere; you’re not getting out on your own.

Becca holds onto you with a death grip, her face buried in the crook of your neck to hide her eyes from the scary soldiers escorting you. Despite being an Avenger, you kind of wish Bucky was here for you to do the same thing.

“So, Mrs. Barnes, you’re wondering why we’ve brought you here?” Morozov asks, but his tone is more declarative. He does not wait for a response.

“Well, we’ve been tracking the Asset since I took over the Siberian HYDRA division, and that’s when we discovered that there was a Mini Asset! It was quite the pleasant surprise! We are well aware that the Asset’s trigger words have been removed—a shame, really. They took so long to install. So the original plan was to figure out how to reset the Asset, but with the development of the baby? Well…” He trails off, refusing to finish the thought.

Instead of providing further explanation for your capture, Morozov abruptly stops in front of a door, unlocking it and holding it open like a hotel concierge.

“Right in here.”

One of the guards pushes you in and you stumble a little. Straightening up and readjusting Becca in your arms, you turn and shoot a glare at the guard.

You quickly take note of your surroundings and realize you’re in a cell. This is when one of the guards and Morozov step in, closing the door behind them.

The cell is small and bare except for some shackles anchored to the wall. The soldier wrestles Becca out of your arms despite the little girl’s wailing and kicking and your onset panic. He then unceremoniously drops her to the ground and grabs your wrists, shackling you to the wall.

You lunge at the soldier, painfully pulling on your restraints.

“Don’t you dare touch her, you piece of shit!” You scream.

Morozov chuckles darkly, sending you an amused look, and crouches down to Becca’s height.

“Hello, miss,” he says, holding a hand out to help her stand.

Becca looks at his hand and then at you, unsure of what to do. You shake your head and she scoots away from the doctor and closer to you. Morozov only laughs again.

“You’ll be more cooperative in time,” he says simply, holding his hands casually behind his back. He turns back to you.

“And, Mrs. Barnes, I recommend you refrain from attacking or cursing at my men. It would be unpleasant.

“Now, please, ladies, make yourselves comfortable.”

Morozov turns and leaves the room, letting the thick metal door slam shut behind him and his soldier. You hear the locks click shut and you crumple in your spot, leaning against the wall, and try to get comfortable despite your arms restrained behind you.

“Mommy?” Becca calls, looking at your face.

“Yeah, baby?” You try to pull a comforting look onto your face but you have a feeling it looks more like a grimace.

“What’s the mean guy want?”

“I’m not sure, honey.”

“What’s ‘the Asset’?”

You frown, unsure what to say to her. You and Bucky had never explained to your daughter her father’s complicated past. In fact, you had intended to put it off as long as possible. You chew your lip nervously before you speak, carefully mulling over your words.

“‘The Asset’ is your daddy. A long time ago, before Daddy and I met, he was trapped by some bad people, and they made him do some bad things.”

Becca’s eyes widen.

“Do they wanna hurt Daddy?”

“I really don’t know, baby.”

“They hurt you,” she points out, small hands grabbing your face.

You lean forward and kiss her forehead.

“I’m alright, Becca. Promise.”

Suddenly, the small sliding door built into the cell’s door opens and a tray of food slides in. It closes immediately.

“Becca, can you bring that tray over here? It’s dinner time.”

The hungry toddler happily runs to pull the food over. For the first time since you were abducted, you feel a semblance of peace while you watch your daughter eat, and you giggle when she has you open up for the airplane.

—

You estimate you’ve been gone about a week, and your stay at the Siberian HYDRA facility has been less than pleasant.

They have refrained from taking Becca away from you, but they have happily tortured you in front of her. Frankly, you’re not sure which is worse.

Today has been brutal. Almost as brutal as when they found the phone.

—

The soldier’s cutting of your body—your body his canvas, his knives his brushes—is what led to the revelation of your phone. You’d been stripped of your shirt, leaving you in the sports bra. Your mistake comes in the form of a taunt, an ill chosen statement.

“That all you got?”

It was not. The soldier jammed his fist hard into your gut and you crumpled. You leaned forward, retching, and your phone happened to slip out of your bra onto the cell floor.

You froze.

Morozov lost it. The phone meant they were on the Avengers’ radar, and that was less than ideal. He grabbed the phone and hit the power button.

“1%. Hmm. We may have unwelcome visitors soon,” he said as he walked towards the exit. “Please show Mrs. Barnes how we feel about unwelcome visitors.”

With that, he left, and you quickly found out that they do not feel good about unwelcome visitors.

—

Morozov is always present, but he never strikes himself. He lets those around him get their hands dirty and helpfully asks questions from the sidelines.

Today, however, has been different. After all, everyone has their limit.

“Tell. me. how. the. hell. they. erased. the. brainwashing,” Morozov demands.

You scoff in his face.

“Go to hell.”

“You bitch!” He slaps you across the face.

Your face is forced sharply to the side from the slap, but you laugh as you turn to face him.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?”

“Not only do you look like you’re pretending to have power, but your slap lacks power, too.”

Taunting him is probably not your best move, you’re aware, but it’s been a week and all they’ve done is torture you for information about Bucky. And you were trained to keep your mouth shut.

Morozov stands up straight, smoothing out his ill-fitting military jacket. He takes the second to compose himself before he turns to the guard at the door.

“Grab the kid,” he says, smirking at you.

Your eyes widen.

“Don’t you dare touch her! I’ll kill you! I swear to god I’ll kill you!” You pull on your restraints, scrambling to find footing even though you can’t stand from the way you’re restrained.

Becca has been hiding in the corner of the room, petrified, as she has every time they’ve come to question you. She pushes herself further back into the wall as the guard moves towards her, but with nowhere to go, he easily picks her up and carries her to Morozov.

“You know, my strength may lack power to you, but I’m sure a punch to the baby’s gut would hold all the power it needs,” he muses, closing his hand into a fist in front of his face, observing it.

You struggle to get to Becca, tears beginning to escape and run down your face.

“Now,” he says, side-eying you, “tell me. How did they remove the trigger words? Because when we turn your daughter here into the next Winter Soldier—raising and conditioning her to serve HYDRA—we need to make sure she can’t defect like her traitor father.”

Morozov’s admission towards his plans for Becca flips a switch inside you. You’ve heard of mothers doing incredible things—like lifting cars off of their children—due to the child being in danger. It causes hysterical strength; you were never sure you believed it. But watching Morozov threaten your child? It was life or death. It was unforgivable. It made you hysterical. So Morozov even threatening to do to her what HYDRA did to Bucky causes you to act.

You scream something unintelligible as you yank yourself free. The chains are still bound to your wrists, but the anchor in the wall crashes to the ground. The cement moving with it. Before you comprehend it, you’ve gotten to your feet, jumped enough to hop the shackles and bring your hands to the front of your body, and have the chains around Morozov’s neck.

You pull the chain taut against his throat, and he chokes. You glare at the soldier holding Becca who looks incredibly unsure what to do (Does he save his boss? Does he hold onto the kid?).

“Let. Her. Go.” You tighten the chain on Morozov’s neck with each syllable.

Morozov subtly nods, signaling to the man to let Becca down. He does and you forget Morozov, leaving him to gasp for breath as you run to your daughter.

Skidding to your knees, you check over Becca as you scoop her into your arms.

“It’s okay, bug. You’re okay.”

You comfortingly run your fingers through her hair while she shakes with fear in your arms.

“Hmm,” Morozov muses as he rubs a hand against his sore neck. “Perhaps we might come to a compromise, Mrs. Barnes.”

You shoot an incredulous look at him over your shoulder.

“The strength you just exhibited? Extraordinary! Perhaps you might consider joining HYDRA’s cause,” he holds up a hand to silence you when you open your mouth to protest. “Perhaps you might consider joining HYDRA’s cause,” he repeats, “in exchange for your daughter’s release.”

You pick Becca up, letting her bury her face into your neck while she cries, and stand, turning to face Morozov.

“If you safely return her to her father and the Avengers, I’ll do it,” you say confidently. You absolutely did not want to work for HYDRA, but you could figure out your own escape later. Becca’s safety is your priority and only current concern.

“That can be arranged.”

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ko-fi

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Tags: @just-henny @jasminocano @browneyedgirl22 @barnesboo1967 @matchat3a

[theoceanoasis]

Megarod Au where Hot Rod is a predacon

Megatron is exploring the ruins of an ancient city that's rumoured to have fallen to a great predacon who is rumoured to be hiding in the ruins of the city. So Megatron is on a quest to find and try and tame the beast in hope it will be an advantage in the war.

So when he enters the lair of the sleeping beast he isn't expecting it to be well kept and full of trinkets that cover the floor and walls of the lair. In the middle of it all he is expecting a sleeping predacon who will lunge at him the moment it senses his presence in its territory. He didn't except to see a sleeping bot wrapped in old blankets and rags unaware of the intruder. Megatron stares in awe and confusion as he studies the stranger for a while unsure if he should wake them or simply leave however thanks to his clumsy peds he knocks over some of the trinkets. That seems to stir the stranger and he suddenly hears the sound of a T-Cog becoming active and the sound of plating shifting before being pinned to the ground by a large talon.

Hot Rod doesn't like visitors and he fully intends to make this large grey bot pay for trespassing. Such a shame the big grey tank is rather handsome, He might even let him live if he feeling nice.

He walked along the streets of Nyon. The ruins were supposedly haunted and if you're not careful the dead of Nyon will make you suffer the same fate. Keeping you trapped behind the cities walls to forever haunt it's broken streets.

There were all sorts of rumors about this place. Some people believe that it was destroyed by a fire while others believe it was a predacon.

Some believe the predacon still lives there to this day and that the rumors of Nyon taking more lives is actually the predacon.

He didn't know how accurate these rumors were. But with the war at an all time high and the Autobots gaining ground he needed all the help he could get even mythological. Which is how he found himself searching through the ruins of Nyon for any sign of a predacon in the hopes he's able to tame him.

So far he hasn't seen any sign of life. Which was strange with how long the ruins have been here. You'd think it would have been taken by nature by now. But everything seemed exactly the same as the day it was destroyed.

Looking around he didn't see any sign of the predacon. From the legends he's picked up it seemed people believed the beast lived in the mountains around Nyon.

He looked upwards trying to see if he could spot smoke or something. Scaling those mountains looking for any large caves would take time. Something he didn't have. Not with Optimus and his army gaining more land everyday.

Climbing the mountain side. He began to see signs of fire damage. He followed it gasping in shock when he saw large claw marks on the metal.

He was obviously on the right track and he followed the trail until he was led to a large cave. Weapons at the ready he slowly entered the lair.

He was expecting it to be a smelly cave with a pile of bones inside and nothing else.

Only to be surprised at how nice it was. Their were trinkets all over and he took a step forward admiring the place. It seemed warm and cozy in a way he wasn't expecting.

When he walked deeper into the predacons lair he was surprised to find a nice comfortable nest, that was well padded. With lots of blankets and pillows.

Walking closer he froze realizing someone was inside. Except it wasn't the predacon he'd been expecting. He stared at the strange mech in shock. He was beautiful with a mix of red, yellow, and orange paint. He looked tiny in comparison to the nest he was in and he looked around for the predacon.

He must have left and when he'd get back he'd probably eat the mech as a snack. He shivered debating if he should get him out of there before the predacon came back.

He knew if the predacon came back and realized his meal was gone. It would be harder to tame him but he also couldn't just leave an innocent mech get eaten by the beast.

Deciding to help he took a step forward only to stumble on some jewels. He looked up watching as the mech awoke. He found himself slightly relieved because it meant he didn't have to carry him out. That was until he heard the sound of transformation sequence and then he was being trapped by a large claw. As the predacon stared down at him. He froze in fear.

When he tried to move the predacon roared in anger. Clearly unhappy that he woke him from his nap.

He didn't know what to say. Although the beast had just transformed from a mech. He didn't know how intelligent he was which complicated things.

This wasn't what he'd been expecting and he found himself caught off guard. He was expecting a mindless beast, that he'd tame with his might. Not whatever this was.

Hot Rod stared down at the stranger. Flicking his wings behind him. He knew he was there the entire time and was annoyed that he dared to enter his lair without his permission

If he'd found anyone this last mating cycle he would have put his eggs at risk. Luckily for him he didn't have any eggs and the mech seemed handsome. It would be a shame to kill him although he was going to be taught a valuable lesson about why no one should ever mess with him.

[goggles-mcgee]

Ashes of Rage: Act 1 - It Would Take A Miracle

Chapter 4 of the story for @miner249er

AO3 Last Chapter

Summary: Luka's heart had never felt so broken, his world so dark and his music so static. He hasn't had any motivation to do anything besides stay in bed. It would take a miracle to make him do so...or a sympathetic and determined kwami.

It Would Take A Miracle:

Static. 

All he could hear was static. 

There were no melodies, there were no solos, there were no symphonies. All it was was disheartening static and Luka didn’t know what to do. His life three days ago had been so loud and comforting but now it was silent, muddled and so dark. He felt listless and refused to get out of bed. It was a good thing that he and Juleka got their own rooms finally, it had taken a lot of convincing for his mom to let them clean out one of the storage rooms and turn it into his new bedroom. It had actually been Marinette who had convinced his stubborn mom and it had made Marinette all the more wonderful. She was always incredible, but seeing her out stubborn the most stubborn person in Luka’s life had only made him love and value her more. A fresh wave of tears washed over the forlorn teen at the thought of his crush and friend. His heart twinged with a twisted pain he was slowly getting used to. Pain. He was in so much pain. He wanted it gone. He wanted her back. But like every time before, his pleas and wishes were ignored and just led to more heartbreak. 

His appetite was all but gone and he barely ate what his mom made or bought him, he still drank though and maybe that was why she wasn’t pushing. He hadn’t showered in three days but with the way he was feeling he knew it would be longer. It was hard to get out of bed even if it was to use the restroom, taking a shower just felt like too much work. He would see the shower and a barrage of thoughts would crash into him, reminding him all he would have to do to feel clean again and it was like he was tranquilized or something because he would just feel this bone-deep tiredness that wouldn’t go away no matter what he did so it would just lead to him laying in his bed and starting the twisted routine all over again. It was like he was in one of those groundhog day movies or like his own power Second Chance, was glitching and not letting him out of the situation.

Luka’s emotions felt too big for his body, his skin itched with his frustration and the days passed without a shower, his teeth ached in his longing, his muscles screamed in his sadness, his heart clenched in its breaking and his lungs drowned in his guilt. As much as he craved to do something, anything he also couldn’t help the thoughts of ‘why?’ Why do anything at all when his world had crashed and burned around him? Why plead for things to be different when his prayers fell on deaf ears? Why get up when nothing he did would bring back Marinette? It was a lot and there was never a break form the never-ending torture. Not even his dreams were safe. Dreaming of Marinette led to more heartache even if the dream was normal to past ones he had had that had previously brought him endless joy. The nightmares were the worst but he would take them over the bittersweet ones that just made his longing deeper and his hope stronger. But reality would hit him once his eyes opened and he would cry for many minutes, maybe even hours. Time didn’t register to him really. 

The only reason he knew how long it had been since he had showered was because of his mom and Juleka. He knew they were trying to help but he had been angrier than he honestly expected after Paris learned of Team Miraculous’ Finale Fight, he hated it but that was what everyone had now dubbed it. It hadn’t been a fight, at least not from his and the rest of the team’s point of view. No one knew what exactly happened in the underground chamber since the only ones who could tell them were two comatose Kwamis and three villains who would probably twist the events. It was hard to come to the realization that Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste, even for Luka who had the unique skill of ‘reading someone’s heart.’ That’s what others referred to it as but according to his long talks with Sass, Luka seemed to be someone who could read a person’s aura which mixed with his Synesthesia. He had Chromesthesia, specifically, but his was more along the lines of seeing color and the color had a sound. He saw colors in a lot of things but it was constantly people, their auras and tones of voice would bring color and the color would bring the music. 

It did get overwhelming sometimes and it had been a big factor in him doing his schooling online for a while which turned into permanently. He just enjoyed it more than when he did go to school and his former teachers told him they saw remarkable improvement in his grades. He still met up with his friends, they still hung out and had study sessions, so he was still a social teen but he didn’t have to worry about migraines or coming across weird to other people who weren’t his friends. His former bandmates in Kitty Section had also been really understanding and never treated him differently and helped him when some days were just too much. But they changed, their music’s changed and it had been jarring, when he eventually left the band he knew it had been inevitable. There was no doubt in Luka’s mind that if he hadn’t quit he would have been ‘politely’ fired and he had strong feelings about that. The one constant had been Marinette, when the others changed she didn’t. She remained strong and melodious. 

Even if she was going through something her melody was still recognizable. He was still coming to terms with the fact he would never hear her song any time soon or ever. She had been there when he left the band, she had been there when he begun fighting with Juleka more than normal and she had been there when he decided to get to know his dad more. She had been such a strong light guiding him through some of the roughest seas he had ever experienced. Kagami had also been a constant presence before everything happened. She was a calming presence and often kept him and Marinette from getting lost in their projects. Both he and Marinette tended to get distracted easily and they both fed off each other’s energy and Kagami would be the one to keep them grounded and focused. Kagami’s music was a new sound he had gotten used to hearing and it was easily in his list of top ten songs from people he heard. When Marinette, Kagami and he would get together he would hear such wonderful melodies. 

Marinette had often joked that they were the Three Musketeers with how often they would hang out together when they could. Without Marinette it felt like a knife to the heart to use the group chat between the three that was titled as such so he and Kagami never touched it when they spoke. Phone calls were still too much for Luka at the moment so the two just texted each other but it still brought him comfort all the same. That was probably another reason why his mother wasn’t pushing too much, it probably would have been a different story if he had cut off all his friends but especially Kagami since his mom knew how close they along with Marinette were. But he still overheard his mom talking on the phone over how worried she was and how she didn’t know what to do. Luka always felt like telling her she was doing all she could and just comfort her but he didn’t have the energy. He suspected she was talking to his dad or Penny, most likely both. He knew from the sounds of it his dad wasn’t doing so well either with the news. 

“Snakelet…” 

The voice of his Kwami cut through the current haze Luka found himself in but he couldn’t bring himself to look at his friend but he did manage to hum as a response. 

“I have thought about what I could say that would make you feel better for ages. I came to the conclusion that no words I could offer would make you happy. Nor satisfied. But I don’t want to leave you with no words from me. I…I am lost. I have been through this situation more times than I’d like to admit and yet all those instances have left me with no answers.” Sass admitted in his soft voice as he flew to sit in front of Luka’s face on his pillow. Luka couldn’t look away, he wouldn’t look away, he knew it would hurt his small friend if he did so. 

“Though there are few words I can give you that express my condolences and support, I simply will say, I am here for you.” Sass said and did his best to give Luka a hug, though it was more like he laid himself on Luka’s nose. “I am here for you and I will continue to be here if ever you need me.”

Luka felt himself begin to cry again, which astounded him as he felt like he was all out of tears. “Sass…” He choked out, he tried his best not to sound like he was going to sob but he knew he failed when he felt Sass try to hug him harder. 

“What do I do?” He asked in a small voice once his small cry ended. Sass was no longer on his nose but instead sat in his hands as he finally sat up after what felt like ages. 

“ We do our best to move forward.”

“We?”

“I did say I will be with you. I mean it, every step of the way, I will be here.” Sass didn’t say he promised but Luka could hear it in his tone of voice. It was a promise but it felt like more. It felt like a lifeline. 

Luka couldn’t really think of an appropriate response without risk of crying again and he already had a cry-headache settling in. “What…What do we do?”

“We need to go to…Ladybug’s house, her room specifically.” Luka was about to protest that suggestion, because he was absolutely not ready to do that. He didn’t think he would ever be ready. “I know that is probably the last thing you want to do Snakelet, but I can’t communicate with the other Kwami to see if one of their holders can do it. The Miracle Box is sitting in…Ladybug’s room unknown and unprotected. If someone with ill intentions were to find it there would be great difficulties and more tragedy.”

“More?” Luka felt his anger rise at an alarming speed. “Hasn’t there been enough?”

“Luka…I understand you are in pain and worried. I…I am also going through the same. My friends  are unconscious and unresponsive…I…I can barely feel them even if they are in the same room.” At Sass’s words Luka’s anger all but left him in an instant. “Besides obtaining the Miracle Box and keeping it safe, I feel something telling me that Tikki and Plagg need the Miracle Box. I can’t explain and I know you are hurting, but-”

“Okay.”

“-it is…Wait. Okay? You…You will do it?” Sass asked and the wide-eyed hopeful look on his face broke Luka’s heart a little bit more. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he wasn’t the only one hurting even if it felt like it at times. 

“You and me, Sass, you…you said you were here for me and I’ll be here for you. We’re friends.” Luka said softly as he brought the Kwami to his chest in the best hug he could give, it was somewhat like the hug Sass gave Luka earlier. He wanted to make Sass feel as safe and loved as the Kwami had made him feel despite their size difference. After their hug Luka forced himself to get out of bed and ignored how weak his legs felt and softly said his transformation phrase. It felt weird being Viperion even though it really hadn’t been that long since he had last transformed but there was this odd feeling like being in his hero form was wrong without…Ladybug there to lead. Ladybug, it was easier to think of her as Ladybug, it didn’t lessen the pain but it made it just a bit more bearable. But now he was going to her house, to her room and he knew what it looked like, smelled like and there would be no way to think of her as Ladybug when he was in there.

He had to do this though. For Sass and for Ladybug, he would rather die than let the rest of the Miraculi fall into the wrong hands. He'd be damned if he didn’t protect the city that Ladybug loved with her whole heart and soul. So he made his way to her home, to her tower. He and Kagami often joked about Marinette being the princess in the tower and Mari-Ladybug only laughed. She loved her tower. Kagami once joked when it was the two of them that Kagami was M-Ladybug’s knight while he was her minstrel. He had laughed and agreed but later he would think about it and decided he would be a knight if she needed him to be. Though she had needed him and he hadn’t been there. Nope! No! He would not fall down that line of thinking as he was jumping across rooftops and using his lyre to help him along the way. It was a weird day when they found out his lyre could turn into a crossbow, the end of his “arrows” could also change into a grappling gun. 

Apparently he and Sass had been bonding pretty well and slowly harmonizing which is why his lyre upgraded to one of its forms. The arrows of the crossbow themselves were weird as he didn’t carry a quiver or anything but an arrow would be equipped if he needed it. Some had no arrowheads, some had normal arrowheads, others had barbed arrowheads, and sometimes the arrows had string attached to them. Whatever kind of arrow he needed, it would show up on the crossbow already loaded. Sass had told him that that showed just how in tune the two were becoming and that soon they would probably be able to communicate with one another while Luka was transformed. It was something he had been looking forward to. He was sure it would come in handy and besides, he already talked out loud when transformed, it may have looked weird but he had been talking to his kwami even if he didn’t think he could hear him at the time. He hadn’t but now he would, hopefully soon. 

Finally, Luka touched down on the roof of Ma-Ladybug’s tower and looked around in sadness as he noticed the plants up there had wilted. Before he could talk himself out of it he opened the hatch of the roof and jumped through and onto the floor of the bedroom. Some dust had begun to settle and it broke Luka’s heart more but he willed himself to take deep breaths before he dropped his transformation. He and Sass needed to be able to talk and they weren’t quite at that stage of being able to communicate with one another. As the transformation dropped he looked down at the dirty pink bag that he had taken to looking after and opened it to look at the kwamis who slept inside. Tikki and Plagg, as he had learned from Sass, were normally darker in their colors but looking at them they seemed shades or tones paler, well according to Sass.

“So what are we looking for?” Luka asked as he refused to look anywhere else but his kwami. 

Sass had opened his mouth, probably to respond but both of them froze when they heard thumps coming from the roof and the unmistakable murmur of voices. Luka scooped his kwami out of the air and quickly hid behind M- Ladybug’s .( Ladybug. Goddammit .) chaise. The light in the room was off and he himself had been wearing some of his darker clothes…er well, pajamas. Both kwami and teen held their breath as the hatch to the roof was opened and down came two? No, three, actually make it four, people. It took a minute for Luka to recognize them as his teammates. He didn’t know whether or not to greet them but that choice disappeared when a purple kwami and blue kwami flew out from somewhere and floated in the middle of the room. 

“Please don’t be scared!” The purple one pleaded. “I am Nooroo and this is Duusuu. I am the kwami of the Butterfly Miraculous while Duusuu is the kwami for the Peacock. I know that alarms you but please listen. I called my friends here and they probably don’t know why or just had a feeling they had to come here so you followed.”

Barely after speaking, the kwami - Nooroo, was sped into by Sass who flew so fast the two kwami shot off into the air. Luka figured there was no point in hiding anymore and stepped out from his hiding place and awkwardly waved at his teammates. They seemed to be in shock before Noc-Turtle mumbled something and their transformation dropped revealing Marc Anciel. Fox-Tail’s jaw dropped before he hastily said his detransformation phrase and there stood Nathaniel Kurtzberg who hurried over Marc and hugged him. Donryu had been looking at Luka the whole time and quietly made her way over to him, once she was in front of him she too dropped her transformation and there was Kagami. It shouldn’t have shocked him as much as it did but the two just stood there staring at each other before they heard an odd wheeze come from Bee-Witch who was staring at everyone with wide eyes. She too dropped her transformation and only to the shock of Marc and Nathaniel, she turned out to be Chloe Bourgeois. 

“I don’t know how to handle all these revelations at the moment but I can work through them later with my cat.” Marc said, clearly still in some shock. “Er-Nooroo right? Can you explain more?”

Nooroo who was in the middle of a kwami group hug along with Duusuu nodded and reluctantly left the hug. “Like I said, I was able to call you all here to meet, I had to borrow power from the other kwami in the Miracle Box though. I’m not at full power and even then my messages would have been more feeling than anything. Sorry, I’m rambling. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to talk so freely.”

“You are fine, Our Friend.” Pollen reassured while glaring at everyone else like she was daring them to argue. 

“Take your time.” Sass murmured from his spot next to his friend. Luka wanted to comfort the little kwami but he didn’t think it would help given how Luka could imagine he was treated by his former user. If Luka were him, he would be wary of humans no matter how well intentioned. 

Nooroo took a deep breath and nodded. “I…I don’t really know where to start. What I have to say is…shocking to say the least. I know all of us here have been through a lot…have lost a lot…but I felt like if I stayed quiet I would be betraying Ladybug just…just like Chat Noir did.”

It was quiet. So quiet. Until Nathaniel choked out a small, “What?”

Duusuu merely nodded in response along with Nooroo. “It was awful. Chat Noir and his father planned the entire thing. Chat Noir planned to be suspicious of Gabriel Agreste once more and had you guys purposefully find out he was guilty of being Hawkmoth. Ladybug was the big target and you guys would have been just…collateral. So when Ladybug proposed the ambush…”

“Uncle Gabe already knew.” Chloe stated in a voice full of disgust even if her eyes were filled with tears. 

“He did.” Nooroo confirmed. “Chat Noir played his role well and the ambush was happening so fast. Ladybug could barely try and fight back before she was secured to the chair. She was so angry…so heartbroken…she did all she could to fight against Gabriel and his son…”

There were some gasps among the humans at the information but Luka merely took a much needed breath in. He had guessed as much since the only ones in the house after the explosion had been Adrien, Gabriel, Nathalie and the body of Emilie Agreste. It just clicked. Sure Chat Noir could have disappeared like Marin-Ladybug did but that didn’t feel right. Chat had already been acting off before the ambush and confirming he was in fact Adrien was like the final nail in the coffin. Luka had had suspicions of who the Chat was and just whose side he was on but after everything, the confirmation was bitter. According to Sass, Luka had known who he and Ladybug were but the memories of their identities faded as a safety measure to keep the team’s identities safe. Luka would only have kept the memories if both heroes had accepted he knew and trusted him. It was weird but Luka just chalked it up to Miraculous Magic. 

He wished he had been able to remember, if he had then maybe all of this wouldn’t have happened. He wouldn’t be standing in M-Lady…no. He had to stop. It didn't matter how much he told himself, Ladybug was Marinette. Marinette was Ladybug. They were one and the same and denying it to himself was more likely to hurt him than bring him healing. He couldn’t delude himself anymore. It hurt, it hurt so much, but he had to acknowledge the truth because that was the only way he’d be able to move forward and help protect the city that Marinette adored. He missed her. He missed her so much, but he had to do the healthy thing and not try and separate her from herself. It would be like he wasn’t giving her, her due credit and Marinette deserved so much credit. “If Adrien and his dad got the earrings…then why did the mansion explode like it did?” Luka asked so they could continue. They could all mourn and scream and cry after, but right now they needed information.

“I’m not sure.” Nooroo admitted. “Everything was happening so fast. Gabriel was so close to making his wish and magic was everywhere in preparation. But I felt it, it was this enormous feeling of betrayal and anger that washed over all of us. Tikki looked so scared and worried and Plagg looked shocked. I had turned to where I felt the emotions and it was no surprise they were coming from Ladybug…but just as I looked at her, there was this awful cracking and whistling. Like something was breaking through the roof and flooring at high speed. I panicked as did the other kwami but Tikki looked…she looked like she recognized what was happening.”

“She looked like her heart broke.” Duusuu mumbled, their voice was soft and scratchy. They seemed to be in pain. 

“The room filled with this bright, bright red light and then next thing I know…the mansion exploded. Ladybug was nowhere to be seen.” Nooroo flew over to Luka and pointed at the open pink bag in his hands. “Tikki and Plagg know what happened, but because of all the ambient magic, plus the overwhelming emotions swirling in the air, and their own merging being interrupted, they were hurt.”

“Something like this hasn’t happened in a long time.” Wayzz admitted. 

“So there is a way to help them?” Kagami asked. 

Wayzz nodded. “Yes. But it will take time…a lot of time. I’ve never seen them so bad. The best we can do is return them to the Miracle Box. It will heal them, but the damage is great and as I said, it will take time. Nooroo, I imagine you called us here, not only to tell us the truth but also because of the Miracle Box.”

“That’s right. The Miracle Box will be vulnerable if there is no one to watch over it as it heals our friends. I sensed the box here and that’s only because Duusuu and I are both still being affected by the interrupted magic. We’re more sensitive right now.”

“One of our holders will definitely protect the box.” Pollen declared. “They are all brave heroes.”

All the humans looked at one another in disbelief. Marinette had been guarding this box all while being Ladybug? They knew she was amazing but this was something else entirely. Luka sadly guessed that this is why she was always so stressed. If they had to watch this box and protect it then so be it. He’d do it for Marinette, no matter the cost. Now all that they needed to decide was who to send the box with.

Next Chapter

[calliecreates06]

The Blade that was once your name.

You walk through the supermarket grabbing your daily essentials before you see a familiar face. A friend, an old bully, anyone really, and naturally, they say their "hello"s.

They know who you are.

They also, even more terrifyingly, know who you were.

They speak of it in one word, capturing all that once was of you into a blade, that slips through you, leaving a bitter taste you feel in your core. Your name.

They've said it before, but it was quick, harmless; a small knick of discomfort in an otherwise calm world. That's not your name, and they know that, right?

But you go home, and it lingers. You still feel that cut. A small part of you is left hollow.

Now, you feel it again, and remember that small cut. They knew. They made a decision, they chose to use that name. Was it intentional? Was this betrayal? Did somehow, they never found out? That isn't you. That's not your name.

You've grown, right? You think back to each cut of the blade, each time it was said. The blade cuts deeper each time, and your mind slows more each time. Stop.

Again, you remember they've only said one word. You've been stabbed, and time has slowed to a crawl as if to make sure you remember this moment, and to let you think past it. Remembering what that word means, you feel as though for a minute, you are that person. That was your name, and each terrible thing that pushed you to change it comes at once. A bitter, awful culmination of a person, no, a life you left behind.

The blade sinks deeper. What did you do to deserve this? Why was that name even bad? Why did you need to change it? Why are you cursed with knowing that it will never truly die, no matter how much you declare it as such?

Your lungs are empty, the world around you has gone black, you're floating in nothing but pure contemplation. What does this mean to you? Hours have passed in your mind, millions of questions have been asked, and none are answered. The color of the world around you slowly bleeds back in from the inky void, and the moments before flash endlessly in your mind as quickly as possible. You grab the hilt of the blade and with raw, Herculean might rip it from your chest.

You are not that person, you have grown and not only that, you are worthy to wield the blade that was once your name. You, with nothing but your own soul and perseverance have become who you today and have, yourself reduced that person before you into exactly what you see before you, a weapon. Every part of both you and the blade is relieved of the tension and for the first time in what has felt to be hours, you draw a single breath that fills you with the calm and recovery you've needed.

But now, the moment is over. And with the feeling of every moment going through you, you're lost. You don't know what to think. You hear the rest of their sentence, and respond as expected, before you go your separate ways. The blade has disappeared, but the cut, the hole hasn't. Again, you think back, to each time it's been opened before. You recovered, but you've always felt it after.

Remember, you are worthy of the blade that was once your name. It won't hurt anyone else, it wasn't made for them. But you can hold it. You can use it to fend off whoever and whatever may attack you next. You will feel the taste of that blade many times before you ever get the will to wield it yourself, but you can. And each time you feel it, that moment where time stops, will get longer and longer. You will feel more and more hopeless each time. It doesn't ever feel any better. But one day, when you have grown and retained that might and determination, someone will use it. Intentionally, unintentionally, who knows? But you will watch the blade as it flies towards you, directly in line to pierce both your ears and your heart. But that isn't you. That blade isn't and cannot be a part of you anymore. It phases through you, and you become able to wield it yourself. You are a new person, but who you were before will always be there to protect you, even when it is the very thing that hurt you enough to need it.

The blade is just that, a weapon. And when you realize that you're beyond it's reach, it becomes powerless to stop you.

It may not be your name, but it is you. And you are perfect, and only you can be allowed to take control of your life.

[viladlind]

there's too many things happening at once. with the arm lifted from the second wound by volo's waist, blood starts gushing, and fiyero scrambles to press her hands against it once she realizes that it's a lot more severe than she initially thought. it hadn't seemed as bad. any injury near the throat takes precedence, so she would've had to check the shoulder first anyways, and volo isn't spitting up blood, so his lungs must remain unharmed from the cut by his waist. trying to feel out whether or not any of his guts are hanging out, her head spins for a second. ' shit— '

   he spit the stick out. it's on the ground, alongside the phone. too far for her to reach, with her hands pressing into his skin. his skin is getting colder. red blooms from between her fingers.

   her focus slips. you seem troubled, my friend. part of her wants to hurl insults at him, tap into that anger left unused, simmering in her chest. it's been so long since she spit fire. there's a much larger part of her that's terrified to see volo die in her arms while she's unable to heal him, unable to bring him back. it's a sort of helplessness she hasn't experienced in months, and it rattles her. she's stuffed one wound. the other is so much deeper than she thought it was. she hasn't called help yet. the phone is on the ground.

   she brought towels.

   removing one hand to yank them from her shoulder, she immediately sets to halfway shoving it into volo's waist. he might bite his tongue, but his voice sounded so small, so distant, so unusual for a soul so large. she's hoping the pain will pull him back rather than push him further underneath. fiyero curses in infernal as she works, half-interrupted words and phrases that don't go anywhere. the towel doesn't quite fit, her grip on it not as efficient as the gauze, and she doesn't want to be too reckless, injure him worse. half of it reaches inside, and then she uses one hand to keep it pressed there. the blood's stopped dripping on the floor, but she can feel it soak the fabric.

   her other hand reaches for the phone. her hand is— it's slick with blood, and her talons are too long, and for a second her eyes refuse to focus. but then they do. she taps the number correctly after a few failed attempts. as it rings, she racks her brain for the address of this place, looks up at volo. his hand is on her shoulder, but his gaze isn't fully there, his neck lolling as he sways lightly. there's a smile on his face. she wants to kiss it, just for the sake of it, to make sure her friend is still breathing and here and not gone yet.

   ' volo. dear. stay awake. there's more help coming. i need you to keep trying until they're here. okay? don't close your eyes. you can feel me, yes? i'm right here. i'm not going anywhere. '

   then the person on the phone picks up, and fiyero's attention diverts as she prattles off her information.

It's just a scratch, he wants to say. Nothing too bad. Nothing is ever too bad for Volo. Nothing has killed them in the past four centuries. Why would it happen now? Both hands are too preoccupied to reach up and pat Fiyero on the head for a job well done ( a little thank you, but I would've been fine ). Nevermind the cloudy vision and the bleary light of the kitchen. Nevermind the stained clothes and torn threads. He'll be just fine. He always is.

Volo spits out the stick when the stuffing is over, watching it lay on the floor. Red smears across his face, a curl stuck to his cheek as he barely makes out a few words through the noise in his ears. Like cotton has been stuffed in them. He's always liked looking in Fiyero's eyes ( the shine of a silver coin under the gaze of the moon, he wrote in his draft back in the Shadow Cursed lands ), smiling back weakly, like a cat's slow blink. Volo can feel the way his shirt lifts from his waist, following his arm; cold and wet. And painful. But they can manage, half-lidded eyes watching distantly. The blood gushes freely, the wound deep, dripping on the floor.

"I'm not holding anything," voice weak and weary, confused, watching Fiyero's deft fingers. It's all he can really see, the contrast of red on pink, the white of Scratch's fur. His voice is distant; it sounds louder in his head than it does to Fiyero, like it's echoing in his skull. Better the sound of their voice than the pounding of their heart trying to compensate for all the loss. "A flesh wound. You seem troubled, my friend."

Almost unnervingly calm. Volo's head feels heavy, neck lax and swaying with every tilt. Too drunk on the pain to really feel it anymore. Against better judgement, Volo wants to take a nap. His eyelids heavy, exhaustion through every pore. He'd ask if he could move to a couch, but he wouldn't want to track more blood than he already has ( isn't it so amazing, just how much blood the average human has in their body?). A hand reaches up, freed from his waist, holding onto Fiyero's shoulder to keep steady. Volo blinks a few times, to keep awake. It's hard to tell if he's smiling for his sake or Fiyero's.

[anadelaney79]

Whenever he wants

Summary: Alfie comes back home. I know that's a pretty bad summary.

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Reader

Words: 1200

Warnings: 18+. Some blood, oral sex (male receiving), sex.

Title: Whenever he wants

You hear his footsteps down the hallway and you can tell for sure what's his current mood. That is how well you know him. And you are never wrong.

You sink a little deeper into the bathtub, letting the hot water covers you completely, and keep quiet, listening carefully to his heavy steps down the wooden floor. He is probably tired, you think. He's been out all day; when you wake up at sunrise, he was already gone, the bed empty and cold around you. But there is something more.

You hear him as he stops and opens the bedroom door, although he doesn't go in. He retraces his remaining steps to the bathroom, where you're engulfed in a cloud of soft steam and the sweet jasmine scent of the soap.

You squirm in anticipation. What Alfie provokes in you is indescribable. It is, at the same time, a padlocked box and an open book that you can read as if you knew it by heart. You know he adores you, even when he is so distant sometimes, or even when he comes home and doesn't talk for hours. You know that he is deep in his thoughts, but the slightest gesture lets you know that you are still there, deep inside him.

The door opens and his eyes narrows as he sees you. The warm light from the candles that illuminate the bathroom dances on his face, and his stern expression softens a little, almost imperceptibly.

He lets out a moan and rests his hat on a furniture next to him.

-Hello Alfie -your voice is low, almost like a whisper.

He looks at you, taking his time for his eyes to wander all over your body, sunken under the water. He doesn't say a word. He takes off his coat and waistcoat slowly, sets them aside, and pulls up a chair, sitting down.

-Do you want me to...? -you start to say getting up, but he stops you.

-Shhh... -he cross his index over his plump lips- Stay there.

You lie back in the bathtub and rub the soap on your arms. Alfie closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, a mixture of pleasure and relaxation, as if trying to slowly let his troubles drift away from him.

-Rub it over your breasts -he says, his eyes still closed.

You obey. You want to please him, to make him happy.

Your hands slide down your throat to your chest, and stop at your nipples. Alfie open his eyes, both dark pearls under his heavy eyebrows. His nostrils flare, capturing the scented air into their lungs. There is that fire on his look, a fire you know well.

Your nipples perk under the gentle touch of your soapy fingers, your back arches and you start to feel those well known flames in your core. And it's not because of your hands caressing yourself, but because his eyes over your body.

He grunts and adjust himself on the chair, his legs wide open.

-Come here -you say, but he growls as an answer.

-You look so fucking perfect there, sweethart -he strokes his beard, his eyes sparkling- Don't wanna ruin that.

You look at him, adjusting your eyes to low light . His face is splattered with blood, and there is a deep cut on his right hand.

-You're hurt... -you let the words out in a breath.

-It's nothing -he runs his other hand through his beard

You get out of the tub and wrap yourself in a blue silk robe. You grab a clean towel and wet it in the sink next to him, take some bandages from a drawer, and kneel in front of him, who hasn't stopped looking at you. You take his hand in yours and begin to gently clean the wound. He sighs, letting his warm breath fall on your head.

-It's deep -you tell him after cleaning the wound- Is there any more?

He shakes his head in denial and you wrap his hand in the bandage in silence. It hurts you to see him like this, but you say nothing. It hurts you more than hurts him, you can tell for sure. And he knows.

Alfie puts his hand under your chin and forces you to look at him. His eyes search yours, green over brown, deep, talking with no words.

You start to clean the blood on his face in silence, as you think how much you love him, how deep you love him. You always have. And even when you knew Alfie came with all of this baggage, you couldn't help to fall deeply in love anyway.

When you finish your fingers run slowly over the soft fabric of his bloodstained shirt, opening the buttons one by one. His chest is one of your favorite places in the world, and you caress it gently. He rests his hand on yours, and guides it down to his belt. You open it and he spread his legs wider, giving you more space between them. Your hand reaches for his erect manhood.

He takes a deep breath and his hands clench into fists as your mouth wraps around his cock. You want him, all of him, and start sucking softly but yet firmly, moistening it with your tongue.

-Fuck it -he says, and his palms rest on the sides of your head, leading the rhythm little by little.

You take him in as much as you can, from the tip to almost making you gag. The pleasure is his as much as yours.

His hands cup your cheeks and you stand in front of him, opening the ribbon that closes your robe. His fingers dig into the flesh of your waist, guiding your legs to his sides.

You sit on him, guiding his cock inside you, and you let out a deep breath as he slides inside with his eyes locked on yours, searching for clues to guide him on his next steps. You wrap your hands around his neck and he licks your nipples hard, alternating with his teeth, tugging at the sensitive skin, making you gasp.

-Alfie... -you say as you move up and down, slowly speeding up.

He says nothing at all, but he puts his arms around you so tight that you can only move your hips. His head rests on your chest, and you know he can hear your heart beating inside. You hug his head, running your fingertips through his messy hair.

The friction on your clit gets you closer every second to your liberation. Pleasure swirls in your center and it doesn't take long before you feel yourself pulsing on him.

-Come for me -are the only words that he says almost in a inaudible growl with his head still on your chest, and that is all it takes to finally release your orgasm.

Your head spins and it takes you a few seconds to come back to yourself. You take his face in your hands and lift it up to look into his eyes. Your lips caress his, and he opens his mouth to let your tongue invade his mouth. Alfie begins to move again, this time is harder, seeking his own orgasm, until you feel how it tenses under you, releasing completely inside you.

He rests his forehead on your chest, breathing hard, agitated.

-You don't fucking deserve this -he says.

-This? What do you...

-Waiting for me every night, not knowing if I'll even come back -he interrupts you- Cleaning up the blood from other people on my body. I don't fucking deserve you.

-Alfie, look at me -he slowly rises his head first, then his eyes searches for yours, bright and clear- I will always love you.

-Don't ever leave me -he whispers against your lips, as they open and seek for your tongue with his, lazily tangling again, his cock still deep inside you, hardening again.

[missredherring]

Omg, ok @psychedelic-ink , how dare you? I watched some of Liam's scenes (thank you forever @dornish-queen ) and hooo boy, he has a lot of potential. Tbf, I didn't finish it before "Self-control" and "Before it gets clean it gets messy, very very messy." Set me off. 🫠😂

So Liam keeps very tight control of himself, as we see in the gif you chose, and that probably transfers to the bedroom to an extent. He's always been quiet, out of necessity and efficiency. I can see him not having repeat partners often. He seems like an opportunity, one-night-stand kinda guy.

Until he meets you. You're the longest relationship he's ever had and there's some tension there that he can't pin point. Something is going to break and he doesn't know what it is. It's him.

The dam breaks when he's between your legs, his nose buried in your folds and his tongue circling your entrance.

You're gasping, one hand clutching the sheets while the other grabs at any part of him that you can reach. He lifts one of his hands off your thighs, takes your hand, and entwines your fingers together. You squeeze them and moan when he rests the two hands on your pelvis just above his head.

Your pleasure surrounds him. It feeds his own desire, bringing it to new depths he hasn't felt with other partners.

There's something intoxicating in knowing that if he swirls his tongue and presses just so along your clit... He huffs a laugh when your hips wiggle in an attempt to get the stimulation you want.

The twitch of your muscles, the sounds you make, the taste that coats his tongue and makes him salivate for more. It's all-encompassing and he's dizzy with it. He wants more, he wants to devour every drop from your body and then some.

Another undulation of your hips presses his face deeper into you and he can't breath. The air builds in his lungs until you move back just enough and it releases, moving up from his chest and out of his mouth, pushing sounds with it.

He moans into your pussy, the sound masculine and strange.

"Liam." You answer his moan with one of your own and he's lost.

"That's it, baby. Make my face messy with your pussy."

His voice is wrecked. No longer the steady thrum you're used to. The tone of command is gone and he's begging you now, another moan punctuating the request.

You're coming and he's moaning while it ripples through you, spilling out onto his waiting tongue.

(I think I blacked out. What happened?)

I just want to watch this controlled man fall to his knees apart.

Those Liam tags! 👀 The way he carefully rolls up the shirt so it's thicker in his mouth instead of just biting the hem gets me.

Following your thots:

He makes it a thicker gag because he knows once he's inside you he's not going to be able to keep quiet.

He's all the way inside you, hips pressing into your ass, and all you hear is a muffled grunt. Disappointed, you look behind you to see his nose scrunched up and his teeth bared where he holds his shirt clenched between them. It's a little awkward with the angle, but you manage to reach back and swipe the shirt away from his mouth. Another clumsy swipe and you're scrabbling at his neck, his shoulders, whatever you can reach.

He understands and drapes himself over you, pressing closer still. His groan is loud in your ear as he burrows it into your shoulder, his hips rocking against yours with the movement. You close your eyes, enjoy the sound. His noises are yours.

MA'AM DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HORNY I GOT AFTER I READ THIS I KNOW I STARTED FIRST BUT HOW DARE YOU

men whimpering and struggling to keep quiet >>>>>>>> everything else

okay okay but what if someone in his past commented about how loud he is so that's why he's trying to keep as quiet as he possibly can but when you start begging for him to let you know how good you feel via moans, groans and whimpers, he finally let's loose

like you said, he drapes himself over you and with every sound he makes he fucks deeper and harder into you 😩😩😩

[love-toxin]

a/n: here's a commission piece i did recently for the lads 💕

cw: male! isabelle (ivan), vampire thorn/vampire ivan, kidnapped/captive reader, cheating, noncon, bloodsucking, drunk sex, rough sex.

word count: 1.2k

"They're a little skittish,"

"Are they, now?"

"They're not fond of strangers. It will take a little time for them to warm up."

"Not a problem. I'm a patient man, as you well know."

The two men share a healthy chuckle in the corridor, the chatter both friendly and cordial at the same time. It's almost baffling to think that the man you're peeking around the corner to spy on, as jovial and carefree as he seems, has been keeping you captive for months now inside his sprawling castle. You don't even know where you are, who he really is, or what you could possibly do to escape him….but those worries have passed through your mind so often that they're more like a routine than anything else, they're normal. 

But the man standing beside Thorn is new. You've heard his name but never seen him in person, and you've never listened to the voice that drawls like honey and spills into your ears with a rumble, no matter how far away he is. You can hear it even as you scamper away back towards your bedroom, and by the time you get there the front door to the main hall has closed with that telltale thud, and you know by the silence that falls over the castle that its master has taken his leave. 

You don't know what to think, now. You clamber atop your bed and snuggle yourself under the covers, and drift off hoping you don't wake up to any unwelcome knocking at your door. 

Was it in the house guest rules to pass out drunkenly on the lounging sofa? 

You're not completely certain, but the sight you caught from the corner of your eye on the way to the kitchen was enough to make you stop and investigate. Ivan looks large and intimidating even as he lays out on the furniture, curls of raven hair fanned out over the cushions and bloodred wine splattered on the collar of his white button up, which has also been unbuttoned all the way down to where it's still half-tucked into his tight pants. He seems at peace, and only then do you think to sneak off and hope he stays there the rest of the night--but the moment you turn to tiptoe out the room, something hot closes around your wrist and yanks you so hard you stumble backwards, landing square in the sleeping man's lap. Or at least he was sleeping, right up until you let your guard down and he saw his opportunity through half-lidded eyes. 

"Comfortable?"

Those rumbly tones trickle down your spine like a liquid sun, shivers dancing up and down your back to the point that you can't even try to mask it. But neither can he, when he sits up and you jolt at the stiff thing that tents his pants and prods you right in the small of your back. Ivan's breath hitches as you try to get up and rub against him in the process, unintentionally--but his grip is ironclad and invasive, one hand holding your arm back while the other squeezes your chest through the pesky fabric of your comfortable slip. 

"Th-Thorn's gonna know about this-!" 

Your voice brimming with panic, because you know this is against your master's rules, you squirm even harder and squeak out the pathetic threat--but somehow Ivan has so much confidence in the face of danger, and tweaks your nipple through your gown just to hear your voice break into a whine. 

"Fuck him." 

Your vision spins as you're twisted around and thrown against the cushions, Ivan swapping your places to loom over you with one hand braced against the arm of the sofa, and one already reaching beneath your clothing to smooth his fingertips up your inner thighs. His skin is so cold, and you didn't realize until just now how red his eyes are as they stare so deeply into you…..but not into your own, rather his gaze drops to the two punctures in your neck that are just starting to heal from earlier today. The emotion on his face is indescribable, you can't glean nearly anything from it--up until the moment that he growls and yanks your legs apart, so hard that you feel a painful twinge in your thighs that earns him a yelp for his efforts. 

"He's already had you today, hasn't he….I can smell him on you.."

His mumbling only heightens the adrenaline as he shoves his waistband down, the v of his strong hips making way for pale skin gone flushed, and his cock slips out and bobs to attention like he's been waiting for this since the moment he arrived. There's no need to move any clothing aside, since Thorn never lets you keep your underwear to yourself--and though the thought of him terrifies you, your body freezes and stiffens in place as Ivan pushes the tip against you, trying to gain purchase until the moment comes when he slips in and the world slows around you. 

"I-Ivan-!"

The stretch is too much, it aches at first with the lack of preparation, but he keeps going and slides in deeper with a hand on your belly to keep you still. And though his expression betrays nothing more than a wicked smugness, you can feel the heat rising to his face the more he claims you, your walls pulsing around him like a saccharine rhythm that he's starting to get addicted to. He bucks once he's deep enough and there's no coming back from there--a shriek loses itself in your lungs as your throat tightens, and the lounging room is filled with gasps and the wet shucking sounds of him reaming you, along with a moan here and there when he hits one of those sinful spots inside you. 

"What? You're used to this, no? Or are you saying Thorn isn't quite this much to handle?" 

Ivan dips down close, your lips nearly touching, to murmur that thought out loud. You can smell the alcohol on his breath now, the way he slurs a word every so often….but he doesn't expect an answer, especially not when he lets out an unexpectedly loud groan and collapses on top of you, face buried in your neck and nothing but his hips still rolling to draw those beautiful sounds from your lungs. 

"I knew I liked you." 

The throbbing of his cock inside you feels as if it's curved right up into your belly, his drunken thrusts so powerful you dread to think of what he could do sober. But the soreness you know is coming ebbs away in favour of a new pain that suddenly blossoms in your neck, a sharp pinch followed by an ache you've only just felt a few hours prior--the scream bubbling up in your throat is strangled and snuffed out by his weight on top of you, and instead you lie cramped and bent to the curve of his bare hips as he sucks at your neck, blood flooding into his mouth and melting on his tongue as he laps at the wounded skin. The pain of his fangs sinking into you nearly distracts you from his near-bruising thrusts as he chases his end too, and the burn of having your blood sucked away is almost soothed by the warm bursts of cum splattering inside you. 

Ivan tiredly kisses the spot better, new punctures replacing the ones that Thorn gave you before he left for his trip this morning--and only one thought remains as you feel dizziness take over and your vision fade to black: "God, please don't let Thorn find out."

[solaaresque]

you always come through for me whenever I post snippets of kavetham fic I am kissing you gently on your forehead and pressing the prologue into your hands

-

"Prince! Prince, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help, please- where is my father?" Kaveh shook water out of his eyes, squinting at his surroundings.

The rain was pouring down, but when it touched the ground, it changed, gaining a thick, oily film and coating every blade of paper-yellow grass. And the smell, Archons, the smell. It was like a garden full of rotting mulch left out in the sun for hours, with a strange metallic scent that Kaveh couldn't place.

Kaveh's horse whinnied nervously, already tired with the flat-out run that Kaveh had urged her into in an attempt to get here faster. The Withering certainly didn't make things any easier on the mare.

The guard chanced a look back, where the noxious red mist was the strongest and the sound of clashing metals and yells echoed faintly.

"Your Highness, you have to go back, Master Tighnari and the King has it under control," he said urgently. Kaveh pushed his hair out of his eyes and shook his head stubbornly.

"No, I'm not leaving without seeing my father!" Kaveh argued. "Wait, look over there!"

The guard whipped around and quick as lightning, Kaveh urged his horse into another run, snapping the reins. He plunged into the fray, unsheathing his sword. His blade caught against a greying fungus, and it took off its head.

He swung wildly, cutting a path through. Even in the dim, poisoned air, he could see his father's crown glinting dully, and it was this that he cut a path towards.

"Father!" Kaveh screamed. "Father, I've come to help!"

"Kaveh?" The King turned, his face morphing into shock. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help you! Please, father," Kaveh begged. "Come home."

"No. You know I can't." His father turned back, fighting deeper and deeper. It was just the two of them now. All the guards were gone.

"Please! It's not too late to turn back!" Kaveh was walking. Why was he walking? Wasn't he on a horse?

"No." The King took a deep breath, and Kaveh realised that his breaths were starting to rattle. "No. There is no going back from this."

What?

The King looked tired. But more than that, Kaveh realised that he couldn't recognise his face. He knew instinctually that that was his father, but his eyes didn't see his father's face. There was no face.

He tried to speak and realised he couldn't. Then he couldn't see. Couldn't smell.

He had no face too.

Like father, like son, he thought as he suffocated, his screams trapped in his throat and weighed down by his tongue.

"-up, Kaveh! For Goddess's sake, wake up or I'll-"

Kaveh jerked up, dragging deep lungfuls of air into his throat. Each breath tasted metallic, and he squinted up at the face that was slowly coming into focus.

"Ti'nari?" He croaked.

"Good, you can recognise faces. That means the Withering hasn't taken your tiny brain. There's hope for you yet, Your Majesty."

"The Wither'ng?" Kaveh mumbled. His tongue wasn't working. Why wasn't it working?

"You don't remember?"

"Nuh."

"That's… not supposed to happen." Tighnari sounded worried. "But you were hit by the Withering. For some reason, you ran out of the castle, straight into the heart of one of the largest Withering zones in the forest. Your father followed you in."

"Nuh-"

"Kaveh, listen to me-"

"Noh! Tha' cah't be thrue!" Kaveh yelled, tears closing what little airspace he had. He choked on the metallic taste of blood, and his vision blurred.

"Breathe, Kaveh." Tighnari rubbed his back, putting Kaveh's hand on his chest and taking exaggerated breaths. "Look, follow me. In, and out. In… and out. Yeah, that's it. Keep going."

Kaveh keened, dragging in air reluctantly. "Will I recov'r?"

Tighnari sighed. "Possibly. You'll be far more suspectible to the Withering now, though, but I believe you'll make a full recovery. You're too much of a stubborn bastard not to."

"Th'nks." Kaveh smiled, working his jaw to try and loosen the muscles. "Anything else?"

Tighnari looked Kaveh dead in the eye, all joy leeched from him in a snap.

"The king is dead."

oh. oh my god. oh MY GOD IM ?!?@!#? ur writing is killing me im dead im dead im deceased holy shit fuck. ROYALTY AU OMG PRINCE KAVEH ON HIS HORSE??? and tighnari being concerned and annoyed at the same time they. they are Friends ur honour!!!!

BUT OH MY GOD THE ENDING LINE???? CHILLS!!!! C H I L L S

also when u said. he had no face i thought of the faceless ayato thing im sorry </3 BUT IT WAS SO GOOD THO I CAN'T WAIT FOR MORE!!!!!!

[thebleuroseproject]

On Helena: #1

Context: I am playing Helena in a Vampire, the Masquerade game. Setting is Boston, Necropolis, 2015. Helena is mortal, currently a ghoul to another player character (Klaxon). The player characters are Klaxon (Nosferatu), Elyas (Tremere), Keri (Gangrel), Garreth (Gangrel). Our DM is Gore. Some of this conversation will be edited out as I have done this to focus on Helena and her character.

Garreth OOC: -points to Helena- baby

Alex: Helena agreed, but is also aware Garreth is also baby, so it's like the same feeling you have for the baby sitter that's two years older than you are.

***

Gore: Garreth and Klaxon have to make it out alive as they went into it. But y'all split the party on me so I can't gaurantee that.

Alex: Helena will probably come rushing back. I don't think she will move in just due to how complex her plant/heat lamp set up is.

Gore: She could leave them with her plant dealer, Gus?

Alex: She could but it's like leaving your cat with your best friend. You trust them but that's your baby, and you will worry constantly.

***

Alex: She wouldn't cope well with Klaxon having monster sex- she heard something about him fucking a demon, and having also SEEN Necropolis...so she looks at her dorm and values the quiet.

Gore: He can't bring them topside, so Helena's safe.

Alex: I don't think she knows that.... but I do think she'd miss him then.Oh my god is she the mum friend? I think she is! "AT WHAT TIME DO YOU CALL THIS?? YOU DIDN'T TEXT ME I WAS WORRIED?". Either way, she's still on the fence about her dorm and I can't push her any which way.

***

Gore: Has she heard stories about how brutal U.S cops are?

Alex: No, she's pretty shut in. She came to America for study and books, so thats EXACTLY what she's doing.

Gore: She's not aware of the political climate of it?

Alex: No, she's one of those 'I don't read the news'

Gore: Aight

Alex: I never really thought about it but I guess she is autistic. The 'outside' world doesn't really interest her on a larger scale. She's more about tasks and interests. The only reason I'M not like that is because of my flavour of anxiety being worried that I'm not a good person. I think Helena's is more about just interacting with people and her routines. She DOES love the World and humanity, but she's much more of a fan of nature because she's always found it hard to connect with people. This doesn't mean she's NASTY, she's nice to everyone and wouldn't hurt a fly - she just simply doesn't understand things like racism/homophobia on an emotional level. Historically though, of course she does.

***

Gore: What happens if one of her friends gets hurt?

Alex: She's never had that problem before really. The best example so far is with Patrick (NPC)when she was like OH GOD OH NO. Her first thoughts were practical though "I have to find him and give him first aid or whatever I can do". She has her panic attacks but like when Klaxon had his she throws it out the window and focuses on what needs to be done. She wants to be useful, she wants to help if she's needed in a people situation. Those situations are rare though, she's always been in her own little world, her parents hoped she'd get better with this but she's managed so far.

***

Gore: What if (helping) gets her into more trouble?

Alex: Hm. I think she takes things as it comes. If she was an element, she would be Earth. She's not selfish, she weathers the storm as best she can. THAT attitude has got her into trouble though, as she's still learning to be like "I need sleep" and "I don't want this.

***

Gore: Sometimes the Earth gets shaken. Would she take a direct attack to defend one of her new friends or have one of them defend her?

Alex: Hm, she would take a hit. She is vaguely aware people usually need to defend her, and feels bad about it. She's still never really had friends though, so this is new...AND in her mind she can always patch them up - even if that isn't strictly true.

***

Gore: How far can she go w/o realising she needs to patch herself up?

Alex: I mean she rushed out the door to help someone else at MIDNIGHT. For comparison, I would call the authorities and get some sleep since I would be useless sleep deprived. Helena doesn't even really put that as her first thought because she hasn't had anyone to really rely on (aside from her parents) so she feels like she has to do everything herself. She is Very respectful of authority figures but doesn't expect them to solve her problems, even with her parents, she realises in their old age she can't rely on them anymore. As a result, I think she'd go pretty far because she KNOWS the body and how it works. She will always think she can take a little more, but in reality she can't predict the impact and just how hard the next hit will be.

***

Gore: So if her legs are gone, she would still crawl to others to heal them?

Alex: Oh yeah, if she can move and has bandages. If not, she would at least move to be with them. Helena would be happy to go and then come straight back if Klaxon told her to and if she was given a use. Go there and come straight back we need to you to X for this thing.

***

Gore: You are a Brit in Boston in 2015 I gotta say that as well...

Alex: She's been fine at Uni

Gore: Up until now

Alex: It's only been a day for her, she doesn't get that yet. At Uni she does largely what she's told if given a clear reason.

Gore: Yeah but here's the thing about med school. It is highly competitive and people are always looking for excuses to flunk people out.

Alex: True. But she is VERY GOOD at what she does. I imagine that does annoy others but also it's hard to be mad at her because she's quiet about it as well as sweet, lovely and helpful to most people she meets. She knows her place with people in general, and it is at the bottom.

Gore: Some Boston people would say that you belong in the harbour with the tea

Alex: and she would clam up and walk on by.

***

Alex: Teachers like her because she's polite, studies hard and is VERY earnest in what she does. Helena making a mistake is rare, so when it happens, some shit is going down.

Gore: It sure will be

Alex: She's going to have to rush in and lie to teachers, she won't like that at ALL. Helena is a good girl but she ain't saying shit about Necropolis. She doesn't fully understand why, but she feels it in her heart to shut up.

Gore: Why?

Alex: Klaxon said they've (kindred) been around forever and have functioned this way. The heart doesn't know the lungs exist but functions anyway, yet NEEDS those lungs. She isn't loyal to humanity like that, her interest lies in medicine and they (kindred) don't seem malicious, from what she's seen.

***

Gore: Wouldn't it be a great medical advancement to study those undead and cryptids?

Alex: Yeah, but not on a huge scale. She knows about medicinal cruelty. How many have been mutilated or hurt in the name of study? With the world as it is now, no. Sure, an ideal world in Helena's mind would be all species working and living together but she KNOWS that isn't going to happen.So she will study by herself, and she's fine with that.

***

Gore: If embraced, would she study herself

Alex: Yeah, absolutely.

Gore: To what degree?

Alex: Not to like 'remove arm' degree, she would do it as needed. Like when they test new skincare on humans "I put this swatch on to see how it works". Blood samples, skin samples, bone study - she would see if she could get books on anatomy for surgery and healing.

***

Alex: The idea of studying forever appeals to her, but the passage of time scares her. She's not ready to be a vampire but she might be if she lost all her connections on the outside. I don't think it would be healthy for her though.

The joy of a mortal life is that you (hopefully) realise eventually that you have to self actualise or you WILL DIE and things will be WRONG.

Gore: What value is your own health when there's injured people?

Alex: Exactly. But I don't think she'd be her own person, she'd dedicate her life to a cause.

***

Alex: She's still developing as a person

Gore: You can develop as a kindred, it happens.

Alex: I think she thinks she might get there (being a kindred) but not at the drop of a hat.

Gore: Funny thing about death, you aren't always ready for it.

Alex: I know that, and she knows that a little. But Klaxon said she could choose, and she would like to. When it comes to big decisions I think she's slow and deliberate, like a plant. She really doesn't like change all that much.

***

Gore: You can't trust those Tremere, they can and will sell you out or use you for a ritual.

Alex: She won't see it like that, she is individual by individual. Like with her plants. HER Aloe Vera is not like any other aloe vera if you look on a deeper level, which she does.

***

Gore: She wanted to be a war medic right, has she done any internships at that level?

Alex: Not yet. She wanted to do her degree first for the skills, learn as much as she could by the boos because it's not something you can or should wing.

***

Gore: Would she squee if she met a moss or grass person?

Alex: Probably. Absolutely. Maybe quietly. She would probably love to learn to help them if they get sick. In retirement I can see her as being the best GP ever. The nurse that gives you breathing room if you have needle anxiety. The doctor that believes you and gives you a refferal. She is GOOD and I love her.

[fanwarriorfictions]

One-

A Stranger Things Fanfic

Chapter Three- Part Two

After school, Phina found Nancy on the phone outside the school. Phina walked up to her sister, catching the last bit of the conversation.

"She's at the library," the lie was plain as day to Phina, "yeah, yeah, I will. Sorry to bother you."

Phina looked at her sister worriedly, "Barb's mom hasn't seen her?"

"No. Phina I'm worried, what if something happened," Nancy said sadly.

"Don't think like that! We'll go look for her, right now," Phina consoled her sister.

Phina patted Nancy's shoulder and turned to walk, knowing her sister would follow. They walk to the parking lot together and Phina instantly spots the group of people next to Jonathan's car.

"What the hell," Phina whispered, grabbing her sister's hand and pulling her towards them.

"What's going on," Nancy asks as soon as they get to the group.

"Here's the staring lady," Tommy smiles cheekily at Nancy.

"What," she asks, confused.

Phina walks over to stand by Jonathan, ready to protect him at any cost. Whatever they were here for, it wasn't good, and she was ready to fight if necessary.

"This creep was spying on us last night," Carol says, "was probably gonna save this one for latter."

Carol hands Nancy a photo, which Phina catches a small glimpse of. It was of Nancy through a window at Steve's house taking off her shirt. Phina glances at Jonathan, knowing him well enough that he didn't mean it in a perverted way. He meets her questioning gaze, but can't hold it.

He looks down, and away from her, slightly embarrassed because he can't explain himself while they are around Steve and his cronies.

"See, you can tell all that he knows it was wrong, but," Steve started, making Phina's glare settle on him, "man that's the thing about perverts, it's hardwired into them."

Steve grabs Jonathan's shirt, pulling him around with it, before wiping away imaginary dust, "you know, they just can't, help themselves."

Steve then rips apart the photos in his hands, and Phina curls her hands into fists, ready to punch the doucheness out of him, but Jonathan grabs her wrist, stopping her.

"So, you just have to take away his toy," Steve smirks.

"I swear to god, Steve, stop right now," Phina snaps.

"I wouldn't stand so close to him Phina, there is no telling what a perv like him will do to you," Steve fires back.

"Harrington," she growls, "don't you dare talk about him like that."

Steve ignores her and grabs Jonathan's camera, Jon finally speaks up when he does, "no, please, not the camera!"

"Don't you dare Harrington," Phina snaps, "don't you fucking dare!"

Jonathan goes to stop him but Tommy pushes him back, Steve calls him off, like a dog, "wait, no Tommy, Tommy. It's ok."

Steve grins mischievously, holding Jonathan's camera out to him, "here you go man."

Jonathan reaches out to grab the camera but Steve lets it fall from his hand. Phina lunges for it but it hits the ground, breaking, before she can catch it. Phina continues forward and falls to her knees in front of the camera, scrapping her knees through the rips in her jeans. Tommy lets out a laugh and Phina glares up at him.

"You're such an asshole Steve!" Phina stands up, angrily storming towards him, poking his chest roughly, making him stumble back a few steps. "Do you even realize how much of a complete douche you are?"

"It's not my fault your little pervert stalked us," Steve snapped back at her, glaring at her as well.

Steve and Phina have a glaring match, everyone around them shuffling awkwardly. Her emerald eyes lit up with rage, the small golden ring around her pupil glowing. After a few moments under her intense glare, Steve found himself not able to look in them any longer, guilt building up in his stomach.

He breaks, "come on, let's go, the games about to start."

Steve looks at the ground, leading the group away. Phina shrieks in frustration.

"What! To afraid to face me Harrington? Huh! To afraid to admit you're wrong? Fuck You Harrington! Fuck you," she yells after him, "I hate you!"

Steve turns around sharply at that, the words striking him deeper then he'd like to admit, but as soon as he meets her angry, tearful gaze, any fight left in him disappears, "hey Nance! Come on."

Phina turns around, seeing her sister stand up, with a few torn pieces of the pictures.

Nancy looks at her sister, but Phina nods towards the school, "go, meet me here when you ditch the disappointment."

Nancy leaves, shoving the photo into her bag. Phina turns back towards Jonathan, now sat on the ground, defeated. She smiles sadly at him, kneeling down next to him. She wipes away her angry tears, trying to control herself.

"I'll get you a new one," she whispers.

Jonathan shakes his head, "no, I never even repaid you for this one."

"Jon, that was a gift, you didn't have to repay me at all." She nodded towards the broken camera on the ground. "And I'll buy you a new one whether you like it or not. Well I would hope that you liked the camera at least."

Jonathan smiles at his best friend, pulling her in for a hug, "what would I do without out you Seraphina Wheeler."

"I hope we'll never find out Jonathan Byers," she smiles back, wrapping her arms around him.

They part from the hug, and Phina starts to grab the broken pieces of the camera.

"Here, let me do that. I gotta go home anyway," he sighs.

"How's your mom," Phina asks, continuing to pick up the camera.

His face falls, "she's going mad Phina, she won't leave the house. The stress of it all is just getting to her."

Phina's heart aches, "I understand, Jon, please tell her that I love her, that I'm here if she needs me. I can't let her, or you, be alone through this. My mom currently won't let me leave the house, but I can make up some story....."

"Phina stop, you don't have to do anything for us," Jonathan tells her sternly.

"Yes I do Jon! You're my best friend, and she is more a mother to me than Karen will ever be," Phina said, pulling him up as she stood.

"Now you need to go check on your mother, and deliver my message, got it Byers," she sternly told him, pointing at his face.

He laughed, "got it Wheeler."

They shared one last hug before he got in his car and left. She watched him for as long as his car was in sight, and when it finally left her sight, she sighed and walked to her bike. She would wait for Nancy, so they could go searching for Barb.

   Phina sat on her bike, the anger in her bubbling up again. Steve Harrington, she hated every little thing about him. How could he be such a monumental ass and break that camera. Phina had spent several months mopping the arcade floor for money to buy that for Jon, and now it was gone.

Quicker than Phina had anticipated, Nancy came out of the school and made her way to Phina. Nancy didn't talk, just got on the bike behind her sister.

"Where to Nance?"

"Where Barb parked last night," she answered quietly.

Phina nodded and started up her bike, taking off quickly. Nancy wrapped her arms tightly around her sisters waist, and shielded her eyes from the frigid wind in her back.

Phina quickly made her way to the street of which they had parked last night, and as soon as they arrived, Phina's heart dropped.

Barb's car was still there, it hadn't moved at all. Phina pulled up behind Barb's car and parked.

"She hasn't been here Nance," Phina told Nancy sadly.

Nancy looked at the car and sighed, hoping off the bike. She walked over to the car, looking in the windows. Phina didn't know what for, as if Barb would just be laying in her car, waiting to be found. Phina looked at her sister sadly, knowing how hard this is on her.

Phina glances around the woods, looking for Barb, even just a sign of her being there. But she was met with nothing but trees, and the bad feeling getting worse. She stopped ignoring that feeling, it was right the last time she felt it, she bet that it would be right again.

Nancy starts yelling Barb's name, a sad attempt to find her best friend.

"Do you want to go check around Steve's house, his parents still aren't home," Phina said softly to Nancy, not letting her worry for Barb show in her voice.

Nancy nodded and got back on the bike, giving Barb's car one last look befor they drove away.

Phina pulled into Steve's driveway, looking around suspiciously. Nancy got off and Phina swings her leg over the bike, standing straight up.

They sneak around the side of Steve's house, and through their gate into the backyard. Nancy goes through first and instantly starts calling out Barb's name again.

Phina closes the gate behind her and looks around, "Barb!"

A small noise comes from the forest, both girls flinched. They glanced at each other, then back at the forest. Phina takes Nancy hand in hers.

"Stay behind me, if something happens, run," Phina whispers.

Nancy looks at her, confused. She looks like she's about to object, but a glare silences her. If the bad feeling Phina had was right, she didn't want her sister in danger.

They creep into the forest still keeping Steve's house in sight. Nancy calls out for Barb a few times. Phina looks around, her heart beating rapidly.

"Barb!"

Then, a large creature ran between the trees, the girls only glancing at it before it disappeared. Nancy trips, falling down. Phina grabs her sister, lifting her to her feet with little effort.

"Run run run," Phina shouts, scared out of her mind.

That thing, was no normal animal, and least not one Phina had ever seen. Phina looked back, to try and find it, though it was gone. Phina almost fell with the horrifying realization that this thing they saw, looked strikingly similar to her drawing.

They run out to Phina's bike, scrambling to get on as fast as possible. Phina turns on her bike and whips around to get out of the driveway. They speed away from Steve's house, faster than probably necessary, but neither of the girls cared.

As soon as they were a reasonble distance away, and the bad feeling in her stomach settled, Phina slowed down.

"What was that thing," Phina whispers.

"I don't know. But I have a feeling it's what took Barb," Nancy said, her eyes filling with tears.

   The girls pulled up to their house, both of them shaken to the core. Nancy was still crying, nothing Phina said could soothe her worries. Phina tried to convince her that they would find Barb, and that she was ok, but they both knew she was lying. Phina knew, that if that thing in the woods was anything like the monster she drew, there was little hope for Barb.

   The girls entered their home, holding each other's hands tightly. Karen, who was in the kitchen heard them.

   "Hey, you're home early. How was the game?"

   Karen looked up at the girls, instantly seeing that Nancy was crying.

   "Nancy? What's the matter," she asked.

   Nancy looked at her sister then back at her mom, her voice thick with tears as she said, "it's Barb. I think.... Something happened. Something, terrible."

   Karen instantly went over to Nancy, to console her distressed daughter. She pulled her into a tight hug, which unleashed even more sorrow from Nancy.

   Phina's eyes started to water as well, Karen notices and pulls the older girl into her arms as well. The three Wheeler girls hugged each other tightly for what seemed like hours, until the teens had calmed down enough to explain to their mom what had happened.

   They sat around the table and started from how they lied to Karen about the assembly.

   "We didn't go to the assembly, we actually went to Steve's house for a party," Nancy begun.

   They explained everything, from how Barb didn't want to go, all the way to what happened that day, with the animal in the forest.

   It had gotten dark out when they were finally finished, all of them going silent. The entire house was silent, until a distraught Mike loudly opened the door.

   Phina quickly stood up from her chair, "Mike? What's wrong? Are you hurt," she asked, rushing over to the crying boy.

   "Will," was all he said through his sobs.

   Phina felt her heart stop, she numbly grabbed her brother into her arms and held him. Tears formed in her eyes, Will Byers was dead. The little happy boy that she had grown up babysitting almost all his life. Her brother's best friend. Her best friends little brother.

   Her eyes shot wide open, "Jonathan."

   Mike understood immediately, leaving her arms and going into his mother's.

   "Jonathan," she sobbed out, grabbing her keys and rushing out the door.

   Phina heard her mother call out after her but she was already on her bike and gone in a matter of seconds. She drove as fast as she could to the Byers' house, not giving a damn about any speed limit there was.

-2255 words-

[littlesupernaturalwords]

Not Him Part Two

Written for SPN Hiatus Creations | Week 4

Warnings: DARK!FIC, angst, torture, mental and physical abuse, manipulation, kidnapping, held captive, non-descriptive forced sexual encounter, non-con, rape, forced nudity, arguing, swearing, low self-esteem, self-doubt, DON'T READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY ANY OF THIS, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Pairing: shapeshifter!Dean x reader (pre-established Dean x reader)

Prompt: “Vampires, Werewolves or Shapeshifters”

Word count: 5 269

Summary: You left the Bunker after you'd had an argument with Dean. Soon enough, you find yourself regretting ever stepping a foot out of your home; your mind fuzzy and your body weak, a monster with your lover's face finds its way into your life in a way you will never be able to forget.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Dean loved you.

You kept repeating that like a mantra to yourself, not letting fear overcome you, as your lover sliced your skin. A shiver ran down your spine. Dean pulled back to look at you, smiling lovingly, before he put the knife against your collarbone and pushed. Your heartbeat quickened as you tried to breathe through the pain, willing your muscles to stay relaxed. A jolt of pleasure cursed through you along with the sting once Dean withdrew the knife, and you closed your eyes to cherish the strange sensation, your brain high with adrenaline and endophins. Dean hadn't cut you too deep; he'd just drew enough blood so it would trickle down your flesh and mix with the liquid already drying on your skin.

But you were trembling nonetheless. Your body was in shock from all the constant pain that began to overpower the pleasure, shallow cuts gracing every part of skin Dean could reach. You weren't smiling anymore, but tried not to react when he pushed the blade a little too deep and pain shot through your shaking thigh. Your clothes were in pieces, hanging on you just by threads, but you didn't even think about covering yourself.

This was Dean. He loved you. And he was doing this for you.

"Where's Y/N?" Dean asked impatiently the moment Castiel came through the door to the Bunker.

The angel frowned, walking down the stairs, and came to a stop by the table in the War room. "She is not with you?" Cas asked, tilting his head to the side. Dean inhaled sharply and turned around, running his hands through his hair. You'd left the previous night and they hadn't heard from you since. Dean was becoming anxious and more impatient with every passing second.

"You mean she hasn't prayed to you?" Sam asked, trying to stay calm. He'd made Dean get a few hours of sleep until their angel friend got there, but started to regret that decision. He'd tried to track your phone, but you either turned off the GPS or broke your phone all together.

"No," Cas replied hesitantly, his eyes drifting between the brothers, "not since you hunted the ghoul in Missouri." There was a loud smack which made Sam's and Castiel's head whip towards Dean as he sent everything that had been on the table flying to the ground. He threw his phone into the opposite wall with a pained shout and the small device shattered to pieces.

"Dean-" Sam began, but his brother cut him off.

"It's my fault," Dean said so quietly it was barely above whisper, his voice laced with despair. Sam shared a look with Castiel, but neither of them said a word; they knew it wouldn't change anything. You were gone and Dean wouldn't stop until he found you. And he didn't care who stood in his way.

"Dean," you breathed heavily, but your lover didn't stop. He dove the knife into you with a twisted smile, uncaring of your trembling body. His slices became deeper, more sadistic; Dean kept pushing until tears started streaming down your cheeks and you strained against the ropes binding you. There was no more pleasure in what Dean was doing to you. His hands were rough, smearing blood across your skin and pushing on already scabbing wounds until they started bleeding again, and you wanted to tell him to stop; wanted to shout at him, tell him he was hurting you. But then he looked up at you with so much love in his eyes and caressed your cheeks so gently, you couldn't help but lean into the touch and smile even through your tears.

He loved you. He was doing this for you.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Dean asked you softly, crouching to be at the same eye level as you.

You swallowed a sob. "It hurts," you whimpered pathetically, wanting it to stop, but wishing to be good for Dean even more.

"Oh, I know," he murmured and leaned so close your foreheads were touching. You closed your eyes and immediately relaxed, the simple touch enough to calm down your aching body. "You're doing so good," Dean praised you, stroking your hair. "Such a good girl for me." Blush stained your cheeks and you smiled, leaning forward to press your lips against his. The kiss was gentle, loving, and said more than any words ever could. You didn't pull back, not even when your lungs started burning from lack of oxygen, and it was Dean who had break the kiss before you lost yourself in him completely. He stayed close, your noses touching and his hand cupping your cheek. "Just a few more, sweetheart. Just a little more, okay?" Dean asked against your lips.

You swallowed a whimper. Your body was aching, screaming at you to stop the pain, to stop the constant stinging and throbbing you felt in each cut with your every heartbeat. It was hard to breathe, hard to focus, hard to relax your muscles so it wouldn't hurt more. But you wanted to be good. For Dean. He loved you, he would never hurt you if he thought there was any other way. You took in another shaky breath before answering. "Okay," you breathed and reached for another kiss. Dean kissed you back hungrily and licked at your lips with his tongue. You granted him entrance without second thought and tried to get even closer to him, until the ropes cut into your wrists so much you knew there would be burns from them later. You whined when he parted from you, but Dean only smiled at you lovingly and got up. He grabbed his knife from the table, withdrawing something from his jacket. It was a small glass bottle, barely more than an inch tall, filled to the brim with milky liquid and secured by a cork. You watched as Dean pulled the cork out and dipped the blade into the fluid before he set the bottle down and came closer to you.

Your heart was racing in your chest and more tears filled your eyes, but you still tried to smile at him. There was so much love in his eyes when he brushed your hair back and brought the knife to your shoulder. Dean stilled the knife against your skin, but didn't break it, a questioning look on his face. He was giving you an out, you realized. Emotions rushed through your body as tears of joy fell through your eyelashes and a quiet sob left your lips. Dean loved you and he didn't need to say it out loud - you saw it, clear as day. You gave him a single nod and that was all the premission he needed. Acid smell filled your nose only a second before Dean cut through your skin and quickly lifted the knife. The cut wasn't deep, but you couldn't say it stung - it burned you alive. Fire filled the shallow wound the moment Dean broke the skin and spread through your whole shoulder. You screamed. Ropes cut into your wrists and ankles, your body trying to get free, twisting and writhing in the chair, but it was no use.

You didn't notice Dean bringing the knife to your stomach and only registered he did so after fire consumed the whole middle part of your body. You screamed and panted, not even trying to stop your tears, pulling and struggling, twisting your head to tell him to stop. It was too much. Everything was too much. The light suddenly became too bright, the ropes too tight, your head dizzy. It hurt. There was no pleasure, not a single thought about pleasing Dean. You needed it to stop - and you needed it now.

"Dean, please," you sobbed quietly, writhing in the chair in a desperate effort to ease the pain, to soothe the fire that spread through your body like acid filling your weins. Your vision was blurry with tears, your skin overheated and sweaty in your body's hopeless attempt to cool it down.

A warm hand cupped your cheek. "Just one more more, sweetheart," Dean answered your plea softly and you found yourself nodding automatically. You didn't want it. You wanted, no, needed him to stop. And yet, all you did was close your eyes and lean into his touch, trying to distract yourself from the pain. You felt the cold blade on your thigh and struggled to relax. Why did it hurt so much? The cuts were barely deep enough to draw blood, but what you felt was like fire - consuming and overwhelming. You held your breath.

The tip of the blade broke your skin and your effords to be quiet died along with everything else you'd thought was important. Agony. That was the only way you could describe what you were feeling. You were screaming and panting until your voice broke and your mouth stayed opened in a silent scream. You bucked against the ropes, whining and sobbing openly, trying to get away, trying to get it to stop.

"Please," you begged, struggling to breathe, "Dean, please. I can't- I can't." Sobs wrecked through your shaking body as tears formed behind your closed eyelids.

"Shh," Dean soothed you and cupped your cheeks with his hands. You didn't get lost in him this time. It was too much. Too many sensations rushed through your body and mind; burning, sweat, tears, heat, even Dean's voice were too much. "You did so good," he whispered in your ear, wiping away your tears and nuzzling against your neck. "You were so good for me, so brave. I'm so proud of you."

There was no satisfaction when you heard the words. No pleasure, no joy, nothing. Nothing but the constant pain and throbbing of your aching body. Broken. You felt broken and weak, quietly sobbing even as Dean kissed your forehead and stroked your hair, stuck to your sweaty skin. You couldn't keep your head up. It fell limply against your chest, ringing filling your ears and black spots dancing in your vision. A foreign noise sounded somewhere in the room, but you were too far gone to recognize it. You welcomed the darkness that threatened to take you, seeing it as release from your pain.

Dean gently lifted your head. "Come on, sweetheart, you can't fall asleep now," he told you softly, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. "Open your eyes, Y/N," Dean ordered and you didn't dare disobey. Your eyelids were heavy, but you forced them to open and blinked several times to try and clear you vision; it didn't help. "There you go," Dean whispered against your skin and kissed your forehead again. The elder Winchester slowly withdrew his hands from your face, making sure you would keep your head up by yourself, and moved to the ropes on your wrists. He quickly untied you from the chair and kissed the burned skin, whispering gentle words and praises, but you were too tired to actually hear them. You didn't move your hands when he crouched to untie your ankles, just sat there in what remained of your clothes, covered in blood and sweat. "I'm so proud of you," Dean repeated as he rose up and kissed you deeply. You didn't respond to him. You didn't react even as he slipped his hands over your back and under your knees and picked you up like you weighed nothing.

You curled into yourself, still on fire, and whimpered into his chest. Dean carried you to the bathroom and carefully set you down on the toilet. You fell back against the wall, too weak and tired to hold yourself up. Dean carefully undressed you from your ruined, bloody clothes and kissed every single patch of skin he uncovered, humming and mumbling against it. You thought you should feel violated, being stripped by him, but you didn't; you didn't have enough energy to do anything. Everything hurt. You hissed even when the soft fabric of your shirt scraped your arm. You had no more tears to spill, no more words to say. Emotions rushed through you, but even as they did, you didn't know what to do.

Dean pulled you from your thoughts when he came up to brush his nose against yours and gave you a quick kiss. He didn't wait for your reaction and scooped you up into his arms. The same noise you'd heard before filled your ears as he carried you to the bathtub and slowly lowered you into the water. You didn't scream. Small whimpers and whines escaped your lips once the too-hot water hit your skin, but you didn't say anything.

"I know, I know," Dean said in a low voice, trying to soothe you. "Shh, I've got you." Dean closed the tap and you realized that it was the strange sound you'd heard. Your blood mixed with the water and turned it a dark pink colour, but you didn't notice. Everything stung and ached and Dean was holding you up so you wouldn't drown. His fingers were gentle, running over your damaged body and washing the blood away, until the water became too dirty and Dean had to refill the tub to make sure you were clean. He massaged your scalp, working shampoo into your hair, and mindfully washed it with clean water before he put the conditioner in. Gentle, oh-so-careful, fingers cleaned your body with soap and you whimpered and gripped his hand tightly. Dean didn't stop you, only leaned closer and caressed every part of your skin that wasn't injured, letting you squeeze his hand as a way to deal with the pain. The fire lessened, but it was still there, burning you from the inside, and you realized it was the liquid Dean's dipped his knife in that made it so bad.

Why had he hurt you like that? Because he loved you, you replied to yourself. But why would he do that? To make you stronger, make you brave for him. But you didn't want this. Didn't you? Didn't you want to be a good girl for him? You knew the answer, but didn't know what to think.

Your hands loosened and Dean quickly finished washing you and brought you back to the room, uncaring of the water that wettened his clothes as he laid you down on the bed and quickly dried you with a towel. Your skin was painfully tight, the cuts pulsing and itching, and you writhed in discomfort. Dean lay next to you and pulled you to him with his hand around your waist and your back pressed to his chest.

"Shh, sleep, Y/N," he whispered in your ear. You laid your hand over his and laced your fingers. Dean knew how much you liked to sleep like this, how safe you felt in his arms, and a happy smile pulled on your lips. You closed your eyes, willing yourself to ignore the pain, and inhaled Dean's scent deeply. And that was the moment you froze; he didn't smell like Dean. There was no leather, no gunpowder, even no oil in his scent. The man behind you felt you tense and pulled you closer, whispering praises in your ear. But you couldn't hear him. Everything came back to you.

He was a shapeshifter. He'd persuaded you Dean didn't love you, didn't care about you. He'd manipulated you into needing him. Manipulated you into craving him, kissing him. You felt sick to your stomach. The arm around your waist tightened, making sure you couldn't move. You were trapped.

Dean sat at one of the tables in the library, his hand itching to reach for the bottle of whiskey he kept next to him, but stopped himself; you needed him. Sam was scanning every single route you might have taken and Castiel was sitting at the table with his eyes closed, straining his ears to hear anything on the angel radio, waiting for you to pray. Dean felt useless. He was the one who'd made you leave in the first place, but there was nothing he could do to find you. Frustrated tears prickled his eyes and he had to resist the pull the alcohol had on him not to drown the whole bottle down.

Castiel straightened his back suddenly and his impossibly blue eyes fell open, landing on Dean. The angel spoke before either of the brothers had time to ask. "I found her."

You didn't know when or how you fell asleep, but you woke up suddenly by someone calling your name. Your eyes shot open and you tried to sit up, only to pull at ropes, your wrists tied together and secured to the headboard.

"Y/N!" somebody called again and you whipped your head to the sound. Dean was standing above you, his eyes wide and full or concern. "Don't worry," he said when he noticed you were looking up at him, "I'm gonna get you out of here." He quickly reached above your head to pull at the ropes.

You eyed him warily, not sure whether he was the real Dean or the shifter. His demeanour was different; his face twisted with worry, dark shadows under his eyes. He cursed when the knot didn't loosen.

"Dean," you whispered breathlessly, tugging at the ropes.

His face softened. "You're safe with me," Dean assured you and you nodded. Your eyes fell on the door to the room and you realized you had no idea when the shifter would return. A whimper left your lips, urging Dean to hurry, just as he mamaged to untie you. You shot up and wrapped your arm around him. "I've got you," Dean said and helped you up to your feet. You were nude, covered in scabbing cuts, and your whole body itched, urging you to scratch the fresh wounds.

You made a wary step, biting your cheek to suppress a cry, and pulled at Dean's arm, urging him to move. You had to get out of there before the shifter came back. But Dean stayed still, his head down. "Dean, we have to go," you whispered quickly.

Dean looked at you with a disappointment frown. "Would you really leave me, Y/N?"

Your blood ran cold. This was the shifter. You took a step back, but he caught your upper arm and squeezed, his nails cutting your skin and opening your scabs. You clenched your teeth and tried to yank your arm free, but he gripped your hair and pulled your naked body to him.

"You would leave me, huh?" the shifter growled lowly. He squeezed your hair tighter, your scalp burning with pain. "Your Dean let you leave, but I won't let you do that." His grip on you loosened enough for you to look up at his face; it was twisted with hurt. "Why did you try to do that?" he asked softly. "Why would you want to leave me after being so good for me?"

You didn't answer. His praise had no effect on you this time and you swallowed hard, trying to find a way to overpower the shifter with Dean's body. He was stronger than you, but you were faster; but at the position you were in, you were helpless - one hand in your hair and other on your arm, pressing you to him, locking your arms between your bodies.

The shifter sighed. "Will you be good for me?" he asked and you nodded. If he let you go, this would be your chance and who cared you were naked; you needed to get away from him. He smiled sweetly, guiding your lips to his and kissing you until your lungs burned for air. You couldn't pull away, the hand in your hair stopping you, and he let you go only after you struggled against him. You panted, trying to catch your breath, when his hold on you loosened. "Get on the bed," he ordered and your eyes widened. He chuckled at your reaction, but caressed your cheek with the hand that had been pulling on your scalp only seconds ago. "I have to punish you for what you did, sweetheart," he explained, still keeping his touch gentle. "Now, get on the bed."

You nodded, keeping your head down and waiting for the right moment. You needed him to loosen the hand on your arm just a tiny bit and you were confident you could get out even in your injured state. The shifter withdrew his hands all together and you took your chance. You turned and sprinted to the door, uncaring of your injuries. Your hand landed on the knob when the shifter's hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you off your feet.

"No!" you shouted and kicked your legs. You tried to slam your head into his nose, but he was holding you too low for you to even reach his chin. He roughly threw you on the bed. You tried to squirm away, but he quickly covered you with his huge body, pressing you down with all his body weight. You slapped him and went for his eyes before he caught your hands with a growl and brought them over your head. You recognized the rough ropes the moment they touched your skin, but couldn't do anything as the shifter tied your wrists back to the headboard tightly. He forced his knee between your legs and checked your hands were immobile before moving down your body. The second you saw the rope tied to the bottom corners of the bed, you screamed louder than ever before and kicked your legs desperately, hitting him square in the jaw.

He roughly grabbed your ankle and brought it to the edge of the bed, keeping your other leg down with his knee. You squirmed and shouted, pulling at the ropes so hard you were bleeding even before he was done tying the first ankle. You fought him with all you had as he tied your other leg, keeping you open for him, completely at his mercy.

Tears filled your eyes and a sob left your lips once he straightened up to look at you. "Please," you begged, but it was as though he didn't hear you.

"So beautiful," he breathed and ran his fingertips up your legs. Your skin felt like sandpaper - rough, dry and peeling. His hand came close to your womanhood and you desperately tried to close your legs, but he passed it and touched your stomach. His mouthed went the same path, kissing up both your aching legs, up your stomach where he sucked at your belly button and up between the valley of your breasts. You twisted and squirmed beneath him, shouting and crying the whole time, but the shifter posing as Dean overpowered you easily. "So beautiful for me," he whispered as he kissed your neck.

"Please," you sobbed, "please, stop. I don't want this, please."

"Shh," he shushed you and kissed your lips. "I have to punish you, Y/N." You whimpered and turned your head to the side, but he only moved to kiss along your jaw. Warm hands were running over your body, squeezing at your abused flesh and it only made you cry harder. "Don't worry, sweetheart," the shifter purred, "I'll make it good for you."

You fought with all you had, squirming, twisting and stretching until he had to hold you down by your neck, cutting all your air supply as he thrusted into you. You screamed and cried, clawing at the ropes, praying somebody would just come through the door and save you from the monster with your lover's face, forcing its way into your body, but nobody ever came. He nipped and pulled at your skin and you screamed until you couldn't anymore, your voice breaking and turning into hoarse grunts as he broke your skin with his brutal pace and blood poured down your body and onto the sheets. You couldn't look at him. As the last screams died in your throat, you turned your head away, letting your body go limp and tears run across your nose and into your hair soundlessly.

It wasn't Dean. This wasn't Dean. And yet, every time your body shook with his assault, you felt his fingers digging into your hips. It was his voice whispering how much he loved you. His lips kissed and nipped and bit at your skin. And it was his face you saw; the vibrant green eyes, the beautiful full lips, the tiny freckles you so loved. He fucked you, thrusted into you so violently you thought he would split you in two. He was getting close. You could feel him twitch inside of you and he came with a shout, pushing you over the edge with him. You didn't want it. You didn't want the orgasm that made your toes curl and your back arch. Sobs wrecked through you even more powerfully than before.

You closed your eyes when he withdrew from you. He tortured you, manipulated you, raped you and yet, there was only one word that could describe what you were feeling as emotions swirled through you: nothing. You felt nothing. You waited for the anger, for the hate or shame to fill you, but it never came.

You didn't move when he untied your ankles, kissing the burned flesh. You didn't react when he kissed his was up your body, paying attention to every bruise and mark he'd left on you. You didn't look at him when he turned your face to him to kiss you, your gaze remaining unfocused. And you didn't do anything to escape even once he freed your hands and helped you put them by your sides. You only turned to the side and brought your knees up, still staring blankly into the wall. The bed dipped next to you and the shifter turned you to your other side easily and pulled you to him without resistance. He didn't speak for a long moment, only held you to his chest and kissed your head.

"You're so good for me, Y/N," he whispered into your hair, but you didn't even blink. He raised his head to look at you and sighed once he noticed your unfocused gaze. "Get some sleep, sweetheart," he said and laid a hand over your eyes. You didn't do anything to shake it off, didn't even flinch when his hand made your whole world turn black. You only stared into the darkness, feeling your spendings begining to dry between your thighs.

The Impala came to a stop in front of a motel three hours from the Bunker. Dean spotted your truck immediately and wanted to jump out of the car right away, when Sam put a hand on his shoulder.

Sam struggled to find the right words and sighed. "Just don't do anything stupid," he said finally and Dean only nodded, loading his gun. He got out of the car, Sam and Castiel following only seconds after him, and went to your truck first, his fingers laced around his gun. Your truck was dirty and cold, indicating you hadn't used it in at least a few hours. Dean looked inside, but found nothing out of the ordinary.

"She's inside, you know," came a voice that made his heart skip a beat.

Dean turned abruptly, pointing his gun at the man in front of him. Only he looked exactly like Dean - his face, hair, even clothes were the same. A shifter, Dean realized and clicked the safety on his gun off.

"Who are you? What did you do to her?" Dean shouted. Sam was by his side in a second, Castiel behind him with an angel blade in his hand.

The shifter smiled darkly and brought his hands up in surrender. "She killed my mate," he said angrily, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean "I didn't do anything she wouldn't deserve."

And with that, Dean shot him in the heart.

The spot next to you was cold. Everything hurt. You stayed curled on your side, but every cut and bruise the shifter had put on your skin reminded you of him. You knew there were bruises on your neck, making it hard to breathe, but didn't care. You had no tears to spill, no sobs to let out; you only lay in bed, curled up in blanket, and kept your eyes on the wall opposite to you. You hadn't slept, but couldn't remember when the shifter had left you.

Nothing - that was what you felt. No emotions, no thoughts, no plan, nothing. You knew it wasn't Dean who had hurt you, but his face, even in your happy memories, haunted you. And yet, there was no hate towards him - simply nothing.

The door to the room opened, but you stayed still, readying yourself for whatever he might do to you. The mess between your legs had dried on your skin, reminding you of what he had done, and it made you pull the blanket higher in a desperate attempt to protect yourself. Footsteps echoed through the room and came closer to you.

You didn't react when somebody put their hand on your shoulder and pulled the blanket down slightly.

"Son of a bitch," you heard Dean say and curled into yourself more. You'd thought you couldn't cry anymore, but you had been wrong; the moment his deep voice filled the room, the dam in you broke and there was nothing you could do to stop your quiet weeping. You didn't want him to hurt you any more, didn't want him to touch you.

His hands pulled the blanket lower, uncovering more of your abused skin, but you did nothing to stop him, only lay there soundlessly, praying to Castiel to come and save you, to put a stop to your misery. Dean turned you on your back without resistance and you gripped the blanket tighter, not wanting him to see more.

A single look at his face had you trembling and sobbing. You closed your eyes, pressing hands over your ears, so you wouldn't hear the voice of the man you loved.

Dean didn't know what to do. He reached to cup your cheek, but you only sobbed harder when he touched your skin. "Y/N, it's me," Dean said, but you didn't hear him. But he didn't need you to say anything to know what the shifter had done; purple, finger-shaped bruises blossomed on your neck, cuts covered every spot of your skin he could see along with bites and marks.

Dean hadn't noticed he'd been crying until tears blurred his vision.

You couldn't look at him. Sobbing and shaking, you tried to hide under the blanket, but found you couldn't move; your body was spent, too weak and tired to do anything other than just lay and wait for what your rapist would do next.

And Dean suddenly understood; you'd killed the shifter's mate, but what he'd done to you was so much worse. He made sure you couldn't be with Dean anymore. Ensured that when you saw Dean's face, you wouldn't see the man you loved, but the abuser the shifter had been. Dean realized you would always see him as the monster you both knew deep down he really was.

And it shattered his heart.

A broken whimper left your lips and you realized the shifter had been right all along; Dean didn't love you. He didn't care about you.

Because if he did, wouldn't he have come for you already?