#i barely remember the drawing process all i know is i was possessed by demons

[angela-rosauwu]

thnks i made them while heavily sleep deprived at like 5 am

*Trips and falls nd dies, nd i drop 2 lil doodles from my inventory*

Yoo these are beautiful, I love these! ❤️

[mariyekos]

Fic preview for DMC friends. Takes place post DMC5, Dante and Sparda centric, and is very much unfinished. This is only the first 2200 words of a currently 3400 word also unfinished fic, but I thought it would be fun to share the beginning before I lose all steam!

The seal shatters.

Sparda lets out a sputtering breath, falling to the floor. 

Finally, finally, he is free.

Everything exists in a haze, the lingering remnants of the spell which had captured him locking away memory and reason, the length of his capture, the method by which it was achieved, and the purpose of it sitting outside the distance he can reach, but it matters not. He is free. He is free. Escape is within his grasp.

Energy spills forth from the fragmented bindings that once held him, the remains of his prison disintegrating around him as whatever magic had kept them in place finally, ultimately, fails. His hands shake as he raises them, the light of a magic circle flickering at his feet until it too dissipates, an unknown length of time having sapped enough of Sparda’s strength that he’s unable to make out anything but the presence of a blurry glow before he is left in total darkness. Shudders wrack his too-thin frame as a power exceeding his own barely-there energy cowers at its touch. For a brief moment, the glow beneath him roars to life, a screech grating against his eardrums as a dying seal attempts to draw strength from the leylines crossing under this place. 

Yet the hum of the circle quickly dies. The world around him goes silent. Power flows back into the earth and away from this place, leaving it empty and cold. 

There is no presence but his own. Whoever had sealed him is gone, the air still and stale and unnervingly empty. 

It matters not. The method of his entrapment has failed. Whether it is a temporary failure or permanent one he does not know. He cannot risk being captured- siphoned from? Perhaps? His body is weak, his flesh sallow, his head pounding, and the demonic energy which he’d always retained to at least some extent since he’d sealed the vast majority of his power along with the Demon World is near absent, the faintest of faint threads of it so meager as to perhaps be naught more than a memory- and thus cannot stay to investigate. Whoever caught him- by whichever means they caught him- he has not the strength to pursue. 

Nor does he have the true desire for it. For now, drained as he is, all he wants is to hide and sleep. To nest and recover. To lie undisturbed for an age as his strength returns and the world moves on without him or his power. He can’t afford to lose any more. Not with the way his body trembles and his chest aches in a way it has not in millennia, demonic senses dulled to the point they’re unable to supplement the failing human hearing and vision this form possesses. 

The world is muffled and blurred. He feels numb. He is not safe. He cannot remain where he is. He needs to find shelter. He must escape.

As he emerges from the cave in which he’d been trapped, something in the distance calls out to him. 

A remnant of his power. A familiar energy. A Beacon.

Safety. Security. Recovery. Health.

He stumbles forth. 

LINEBREAK

Sparda cannot say how long he walks for. 

Weak as his body feels, drained as he is compared to the state in which he should be, he is nonetheless more durable than a human, and his steps continue past a setting and rising sun, the number of which he’s too dazed to count, aware of the difference in the light, but not able to truly process or remember enough of the passage of time or even the motions of his own flesh to be certain of the count.

He passes by human settlements. Through one or two. Along a road with rushing vehicles which for a miracle do not hit him. Whispers and shouts fade out of his memory, unnecessary to the purpose of his trip. The rush of air from a giant mass of steel narrowly missing him doesn’t shake him; normally were he to be hit, it would cause minor damage at most. He has not the energy to consider what excess damage might be caused were he to be hit in his current state. 

In time he enters a city, the buildings looming over him tall and unfamiliar. He does not care for places like this. With his wings unavailable to him, he feels trapped.

Yet it is in the city that the Beacon lies. 

And so he stumbles forth, step by step, strength fading, his trip having drained him of what little of his energy reserves remained after his capture.

He will reach it. The Beacon. Safety. Security. A place to recover. A place of his power. A relic he’d imbued or an old hideaway of his, he thinks through the haze that has enveloped him. Something precious to him. Essential. Unbelievably strong in his weakened state. 

It will protect him as he recovers. If he can merely latch onto it- reclaim the power he imbued it with and take it into himself to heal his wounds and restore his lost power- he will be able to return to a state in which his body is not failing him, in which he feels himself and not a mere ghost, in which memory and reason are more than just dreams, and so pursue it he will until his legs fail him.

He reaches a building.

He pushes over the door.

The Beacon is inside.

As the last of his strength leaves him, he hears a shout, feels a familiar brush of power, and then knows no more as the realm of unconsciousness lays down its claim and a blackness different to that which he’d been trapped in for so, so long settles around him.

LINEBREAK

Twice does consciousness brush against Sparda before he wakes. The first is to the rumbling of a human voice, low and indiscernible through the static of the void in which Sparda resides, viscous and heavy and unwelcome to the idea of wakefulness. He makes out no words before sleep claims him once more. To his tired ears, the voice is little more than colorful sound. The second is to a brush of energy so like his own, yet- tainted, somehow, or rather different, the quality or morality or justification for it indeterminate through the fog of sleep, not nearly as heavy as before yet thick enough still to keep him downed. Despite the difference between the energy that brushes over him and the energy slowly building in his own core, there is something that feels right to it, as if the energy was meant to morph, meant to change, meant to turn into something no longer Sparda’s but its new owner's own. The realization takes much out of him, and with it does Sparda drift off once more.

When he finally does wake, it’s to the thrum of a machine, mechanical and uneven, as if the thing is struggling to stay on. He is warm- truly warm, a warmth that not only sits in the air and blankets his body, but bubbles in his core, the chill that pervaded every inch of his being during his imprisonment replaced by a sense of calm and welcome. He is healing. Slowly, but assuredly. Though his trek may have drained the last of his energy reserves, they will replenish themselves with time. Especially now that he's found himself-

His eyes, having struggled not to close as the lull of sleep tried to claim him even as wakefulness fought its way forth, snap open. Realization washes over him.

This place feels familiar, yes. 

But he has never been here before. And it is most certainly not his domain. It quite distinctly bears the claim of another. 

“Morning, Sunshine.”

Sparda's breath catches in his throat. He's sitting up at this point, left hand clinging to the bed while his right clenches the sheets that have bunched at his waist. A wave of dizziness washes over him; his strength yet wanes, and the quick movement nearly overwhelmed him. 

The one who spoke is to his left. Sparda's vision struggles to focus on the speaker- on the Beacon, that thing that feels so much like him yet a thing all its own, that thing which is in fact a conscious being, he now realizes, and that another being absorbed and converted his power so readily sits leaden in the pit of his stomach- as he blinks the dizziness away.

The Beacon does not Speak as Sparda's vision clears. They merely wait. It is an uneasy few seconds.

When his sight returns to the level at which it should be while he's in human form, Spqrda is dealt yet another mental blow.

“You-”

The face that greets him is yet another unfamiliar familiar thing. For it is very much like his own.

“It's been a while, huh?”

Sparda is left speechless. No words arise.

For before him-

Is kin. 

And the memories which had lied out of his grasp since his capture and through his escape emerge from the cave in which they'd nested, heavy and hearty and leaving him aching for all he has lost for he has no kin in the human world save his sons, and if this is his son- or, he prays it is not the case, for if it were true it would mean he'd been gone even longer, but if this man is perhaps a descendant of one of his sons- then he has been gone far, far longer than he'd meant to leave for. The Beacon- his kin, his son, he thinks, but which one, which one- stares.

“How about we start with an introduction?” his kinsman asks, tilting the chair he's sitting in until its back clicks against the wall. “You go first.”

“You are-” 

Sparda cuts himself off again. He has lived for millennia, seen ages be born, live, and die, and the few weeks he was conscious between leaving his beloved wife and children were not long enough to forget his boys and their personalities. If this is one of his sons, then confusing him for the other will go…quite badly. If he's to pick a name, he must be correct.

But which one is it? Which child of his is this, if either? 

He knows now why the Beacon's energy felt so familiar; it was his own, though a generation or more removed, and demonic families tend to share energy signatures to at least some degree. Vergil and Dante had been young when he'd left and their energy signatures had been close enough to his own, as well as near indistinguishable from one another. Certainly not different enough for him to identify which was which when only one was in front of him; it had frustrated him immensely, so used to identifying demons and even humans by their weak signatures, but Eva had lain the blame on the boys’ being twins. Normally demonic littermates felt different, but the boys were half human, and that would certainly impact their development. When next to each other there was the slightest of differences that let Sparda know the two were in fact two and not one, but he'd never been able to put the difference to words. The energy he feels coming from the man sitting before him now is different still. Yet is that because he is a different being, or because his energy has changed with age…?

The man clicks his tongue. “Mm mm mmm, I said you go first, not me. That means you say who you are, then I say who I am. I'd say that's a worthy payment for me lugging you up here and cleaning you up after you collapsed on my doorstep unannounced.” 

Sparda looks down at what parts of his body aren't covered by the sheets. A soft, black, button up shirt covers him from collar to just above the wrist. Pulling the sheets a few inches to the side to see his waist reveals matching pants. When thinking about it, he can feel the sheet rub against his ankles. He was not wearing this outfit during his imprisonment. It's tight in the shoulders and thighs. A tolerable but imperfect fit. 

“I thank you for your aid,” Sparda says, finally able to find the words for a full sentence. He lifts his head, staring at his savior to look for something that will give him the confirmation he needs. “I apologize for my sudden intrusion. I was in a poor state and had headed toward the nearest familiar thing. It seems to be stored here.” Or to live here, rather. But until Sparda is sure of the identity of his savior, he dare not risk more than is strictly necessary. After all- though he should only have one set of kin in the human world, born from his chosen mate and the love of his life, that is not to say he does not have kin elsewhere, and if the man before him is descended from him instead-

The man whistles. “Now really? Pretty much everything in this joint’s something either I or a trusted friend brought in, so if it was yours, I'm sorry to say it, but I think you lost your claim a long time ago.” Something dark drifts across his expression, smiling curling just the slightest bit inwards. Bitter. “If you wanted to keep it, you shouldn't have left it behind.”

(tbc)

[silverynight]

The kiss

More tears fall from his eyes as he blinks; he cannot see Rengoku clearly anymore no matter how much he tries. There's too much blood all over the flame hashira's face, he must be in so much pain and yet his fiery eyes glimmer with warmth as the corners of his lips curl into a fond smile.

"Do not cry for me, my boy."

However, those words only make it worse for Tanjirou sobs all the pain inside his heart. He doesn't want to lose Rengoku, even though he properly met him a couple of hours ago.

"Please d-don't talk," Tanjirou stammers and the spark in those eyes becomes even more intense.

"Your heart is so precious," Rengoku says, although his voice is almost a whisper now and the boy with dark red hair already misses its intensity.

It looks like the flame hashira wants to say more, but he's exhausted and Tanjirou is desperate, he doesn't want Rengoku to waste that little energy he's left. Even though part of him tells him it's probably useless.

Determined, Tanjirou takes the Pillar's face in his hands, not even sure what he's doing, but doing it anyway.

He presses his lips against Rengoku's and he tastes tears, blood but also something sweet, something he can also smell all over the flame hashira.

"You did notice after all," Rengoku mumbles and then nods at him when Tanjirou pulls away. "Thank you."

Tanjirou has no idea what he's talking about, but he forgets about it when the Pillar stops moving. Finally, Tanjirou passes out.

***

It takes a week, but Rengoku does wake up again. Tanjirou doesn't find out until he's back at the butterfly mansion and his friends and him are called to the hashira headquarters for a meeting.

It takes all his strength not to run towards Rengoku and jump into his arms as the flame hashira kneels next to the master; Ubuyashiki explains to everyone else there everything he did to keep the people in that train safe.

He looks good, great actually, almost like if nothing happened to him (except for that red eye patch that now covers part of his face).

Tanjirou looks at him once and then keeps his face looking at the grass as he remembers what he did that day when he thought Rengoku was about to die.

He wonders if the flame hashira remembers, if he's angry at Tanjirou for kissing him or if he just thinks it's an innocent crush and plans not to mention it ever again.

Tanjirou's face turns red as his desire to talk with Rengoku is quickly replaced by embarrassment.

When the master dismisses Tanjirou and his friends, the boy with the scar on his forehead almost runs away without looking back.

As they return to the butterfly estate, Zenitsu clears his throat, trying to draw his attention. They have never mention anything about the kiss, even though they were there when it happened.

"Rengoku-san was staring at you the whole time," the blond comments. "I think he wants to talk to you."

Tanjirou shakes his head.

"We need to get going," he mumbles nervously. "I'm sure there will be other opportunities to talk. I don't want to bother him, he probably still needs to rest."

Zenitsu narrows his eyes, letting him know he knows Tanjirou is just making excuses. Inosuke huffs.

"I don't think it's a good idea to ignore your mate," the boy with the boar head says.

"My... mate?" But Tanjirou realizes quickly that Inosuke is thinking about them as if they were wild animals.

"Yes, the fire guy, who's constantly staring at you. He'll be a good mate for you. He's strong."

"Thanks, Inosuke," he mumbles, not knowing what else to say. Still, he plans to go that day.

"You're not like this," Zenitsu narrows his eyes at him. "You don't run away from a problem."

Tanjirou opens his mouth to tell him that he's definitely not running, but stops as soon as he realizes that's exactly what he's doing.

"You're right," he admits. He knows he needs to talk to Rengoku. "Fine. I'll go check on Nezuko first and then..."

All the rest of his sentence dies when he tries to get out of the room only to bump into a very strong, muscled chest. Firm hands grab him by the waist to prevent him from falling.

"And I thought you were trying to avoid me, my boy."

Zenitsu mumbles something about wanting to see Nezuko and he takes Inosuke with him.

Tanjirou finally looks up and holds back a sob; he's never been so glad to see someone.

The beautiful thought hits him again with full force: Rengoku is alive.

"I'm glad you're alright," he mumbles, still hoping the flame hashira doesn't remember about what happened.

"I thought," Rengoku insists as his hands pull Tanjirou closer to him. "You were running away from me because of the kiss."

Even though he was expecting something like that, the words take him by surprise; a gasp escapes from his lips and he takes a few steps back without even thinking.

"Sorry," Tanjirou apologizes immediately, cheeks turning bright red. "We can pretend it didn't happen."

"I see," the flame hashira mumbles, hands moving away from him as if Tanjirou is burning. He looks almost heartbroken and the young demon slayer knows he just ruined everything somehow. "So it was out of pity, wasn't it? You kissed me because you thought I was going to die and you realized that I was in love with you... Shinobu told me about your nose, you don't need to lie."

There's too much information to process in such a short time. Then, the sweet scent coming from Rengoku is everything Tanjirou can perceive.

Although there's a bitter smell as well, the smell of a broken heart.

"But you just... We met for a second time in that train. It was just a few hours..."

"I fell in love the moment just started talking to me," Rengoku confesses, smiling softly at the memory. "It did surprise me as well. It was the first time something like that had happened to me."

His heart is beating so fast inside his chest, Tanjirou doesn't know what to say. But he knows he needs to say something.

"I won't bother you again, my boy. As you said, we can pretend it never–"

Desperate, Tanjirou grabs Rengoku's arm.

"I kissed you because I wanted to," he admits, taking a deep breath. "And I thought you were mad at me for stealing a kiss in that moment. I didn't even ask. I had no idea you were–"

He gasps as he's being lifted from the ground, he wraps his arms and legs around Rengoku for stability without even thinking.

"Tanjirou, my boy!" The Pillar's eyes glimmer with hope, his voice gets louder and his smile is impossibly wide. "Let me kiss you!"

He nods in response because he doesn't trust his voice anymore. Rengoku grins triumphantly before putting a hand on the back of his neck to pull him closer.

Now, that's a kiss. Tanjirou moans into it as he feels the hunger and desperation in Rengoku's lips. He gasps when his bottom lip gets trapped by the flame hashira's teeth, then he shivers when a clever tongue starts exploring his mouth.

Suddenly, he feels like Rengoku's body is truly made of fire and is warming Tanjirou completely. He sighs, not being able to suppress another embarrassing moan. However, Rengoku hums in approval and pulls him even closer.

It's too much, Tanjirou is going to get burned. He pulls away and finds endearing that Rengoku chases his lips, right eye almost glowing with need. He pouts when Tanjirou turns his head away.

"Wait. I-I need to breathe," he stammers, cheeks turning red.

Rengoku chuckles but nods. Then, he starts kissing him all over the face, his lips quickly find Tanjirou's neck; his fingers unfasten the first two buttons of his uniform to get better access to his throat.

Tanjirou is so surprised to feel gentle teeth sinking into his skin, his brain barely registers any pain. The bite is soft but firm and he quickly finds himself whining in pleasure. A tongue licks the spot afterwards and Tanjirou knows that's going to leave a mark.

"There's something you should know about me, my boy," Rengoku takes a deep breath before looking at him. "I'm very possessive."

He kisses Tanjirou again, not allowing him to think properly.

"Rengoku-san, I–"

"Let's get married!"

Again, the heat is spreading down his neck. Tanjirou has to blink a couple of times before staring at the man that has him in his arms.

"Are you... sure?"

"I love you, Tanjirou. I'm sure about that and I know that's not going to change," Rengoku assures him, determined. "Not even if you turn me down now."

"I'm not going to do that!" Tanjirou says, almost outraged at the thought. "I... I love you, too. I... Of course I'll marry you!"

"Excellent! Now, I'm gonna take you back to the headquarters so I can tell the master and the other Pillars the good news!"

"Right now?" Tanjirou asks, flustered. However, he doesn't make any attempts to stop the hashira.

"Yes! They need to know you're taken already!"

So... Rengoku really is possessive, Tanjirou realizes as the flame hashira carries him out of the butterfly mansion.

However, he knows he'll get used to it.

***

Patreon

[just-char]

Hey Char, been a while. I'm curious, did you play the Snowgrave route of chapter 2 and if so what were your thoughts? I played it and it makes me think of you with the horror elements, so I wondered if you gave it a go.

Hello, Bun! Long time, no see, indeed. I’m glad to hear you thought of me as I primarily associate playing Deltarune and Undertale with you (you were the one who bought me it in the first place, after all, and convinced me to play it. Even when I listen to the soundtrack I think specifically of how you enjoyed it!)

Also, Napstablook = Krickis as far as I am concerned. Where there is Napstablook, I am thinking of Krickis. On actual serious thoughts, the Snowgrave Route is certainly an exciting one. I have not played it myself (Kris and Noelle are so young and I can barely manage to play the genocide route in Undertale) but I did watch another person play through it and my thoughts are as follows: wow!

Toby Fox most definitely has a hidden penchant for horror and it’s planted all across Undertale and Deltarune (Alphy’s lab in the true pacifist run in Undertale immediately comes to mind.) It’s a lot to do with the environment and atmosphere he’s capable of building in all areas of the game creating process, whether it be music or art design or battle mechanics (I imagine with the help of others too, but unfortunately I’m not very familiar with who works on the games) and creepy seems to come easy to him! I know you didn’t ask about Spamton, but his boss battle is another fantastic example of this. That horror element is a lot more... nightmare-y, though, I suppose? What I mean to say is, it’s almost silly. It doesn’t feel as real as what’s happening with Kris actively throughout the game, or what happens to Berdly. Part of this is because fighting Spamton doesn’t have consequences (that are obvious to the player.) The worst that happens is that Kris appears to have a panic attack afterwards and is visibly upset by what they’ve been forced by us to witness, but what I like specifically about the Snowgrave Route is that this lasts and it’s really explored. The lasting consequence it seems to have on the psyche of Noelle and Kris and the implication of the entire route is horror through and through, in a fantastic, amazing, wowza way.

And now, because I am a little bit too excited to talk about this, an unedited and possibly impossible to read ramble about horror and Noelle and Kris below the cut. The way I describe the game and the role the player has might be upsetting, so please do not read unless you’re very comfortable with body control horror etc..

Deltarune isn’t a horror game but its premise mirrors one in multiple ways and I find that very fascinating. It is almost more unnerving that such horrible experiences are masked by the fun, whacky outer layers. One could play Deltarune and never find Jevil or Spamtom’s boss fight or play the Snowgrave route and remain blissfully unaware of what lurks beneath a very normal (if occasionally dark!) adventure story.

Despite this, there is a lot to be said about Kris and the player’s control over them, as well as some choice words from Noelle about Kris’ recent behaviour and demeanour. It’s hard not to assume that Kris is possessed by us. We can force them to say things but they can react to these dialogue choices and become visibly upset at the actions we force upon them, so even playing the game as intended without discovering anything remotely below the surface, it’s impossible to ignore what actually playing the game and controlling Kris does to them. Essentially, stripping away all of the scariest parts of Deltarune doesn’t matter, because its actual premise, where you play, not as Kris, but as an entity CONTROLLING Kris, is in itself horrific! Kris is a child, at most sixteen and I certainly believe younger than that, and no amount of drawing them weirdly tall and lanky and emo-y can change that.

Possession and inability to control one’s self are heavily utilised in horror. When you consider how many times you’ve watched someone be tied down, forced to witness whatever is happening to them in real time, or the general horror and gore associated with demon possession in even current mainstream movies like The Conjuring (or even a mix of both! Media that explores being trapped inside the body without any control while being possessed and the effects it has on your mind is not common enough) it’s easy to see the connections between a lot of horror tropes and Kris’ ‘problem’. Only thing is, we’re directly perpetuating this horror every time we play. We are the demon! We are the person who is strapping someone down and forcing them to witness horrific things by our hand! I mean, it’s just fantastic. Deltarune is by no means a horror but it certainly feels like it. I suppose that’s the power of implication!

Being more specific to the Snowgrave route (I promise the previous ramble was related!) the player extends this control to Noelle, arguably the most vulnerable and ‘helpless’ character in the game so far besides Kris themselves (and even then, that’s in a much more literal way.) unlike Kris, who physically has no choice, Noelle feels as though she has no choice. She’s a pushover and unable to prevent who she perceives as her childhood friend from forcing her to do things she doesn’t want to. Her relationship with her mother seems to play into this complex. Noelle has always been one of my favourite characters— even with what little we see of her in chapter one, she makes a lasting impression and it’s not surprising that people wanted her to be a party member in this chapter. (The irony!) But this newest chapter also furthers an interesting trait of hers, namely, her fascination with fear. She enjoys being scared, she gets a rush from being in dangerous situations, feeling unsafe. She says so herself, though she uses more external situations to explain it (scary forests, etc.) It certainly explains her crush on Susie, but in the Snowgrave Route, it really works against her. Or, we use it against her. At a first glance, what we do to her in the Snowgrave route is awful, and then, the more you think about it, the worst it gets (usually a trademark of excellent horror and great writing in general, in my opinion.) not only are we playing into her deepest insecurities (because remember, it’s not Kris doing this, or us playing AS Kris, it’s just we, the player) we are actively abusing her as a person. We force her to fight. We force her to hurt people. We do all this for power. And we do all this while simultaneously doing it to Kris as well! And forcing Kris to be our mouthpiece, forcing them to hurt their friend who they presumedly love and care for! Unlike Susie and Ralsei, Noelle’s opinion of us cannot affect our journey and she is easy to control, so we do it. And once again, these are kids! They are children! We are not fighting Sans Undertale to the death, we are actively abusing and controlling children, much to the detriment of their mental health and the physical health of those around them.

Details such as the watch and the blackened “conversation” we have with Noelle in the hospital really only add to the experience. The implication that Berdly has been seriously harmed and potentially killed by what we’ve done to him (or more accurately, forced Noelle to do to him) is handled really interestingly from the younger persons perspective, where he simply doesn’t wake up. I could really go on and on, but unfortunately time is a constraint and I don’t think what I’m saying is very easy to parse anyway.

To summarise: Snowgrave Route good. Very well-written. Deltarune is a horror in disguise, but I will continue to put my hands over my ears and pretend everything is okay, just like Mr Toby Fox would like me to do. Thank you very much for the ask, I hope you’re doing well! If you have any thoughts of your own, please share them with me. I’d be delighted to hear your opinion as a writer (horror or not.) :]

[sugoui]

— the language he knew.

⁙ with you following in his steps, he knew there was only one way to stop you. ⁙

× soui’s note » im a sad bitch so here’s a sad fic. repost. 

p a i r i n g ⇀ park jimin x reader..or more likely, fuckboy!jimin who sees the one he loves fall apart.

t y p e ⇀ angst and light smut..or, is this what you call voyeurism?

w o r d s ⇀ 7,659.

» [ friends to lovers!au ] °˖✧

“Doesn’t it bother you to be alone?”

Through the singing of the birds and the rustling of trees, his nose scrunches in distaste; chopsticks hanging loosely from his fingers as his attention is sparked, and eyes drill into yours within the proximity of the park. Did it bother him? Eyes averting from your curious state, he looks down into his cup filled with ramen, heart twinging in something akin to pain and yet..the sun still grins happily upon the two of you. “I dunno,” he mumbles in honesty, “I’ve never had anyone by my side to begin with.”

He notices you bite your lip at that, eyes glimmering as they try to find any kind of hope for Jimin within the many thoughts of your mind, anything that could change him into moving on to a better him. “But you can try,” you push on, taking a sip from your water bottle. He watches you, watches you turn slightly in your seat as you gasp in pleasure from quenching your thirst — then sighs to himself when you smile softly at the oncoming giggling children running around in glee. “Stop playing around with girls like they’re toys, you know? Find someone who you know will be able to make you feel alive.”

He sighs, resting his elbow on the flat surface of the picnic table as he lays his chin on the palm of his hand, “but you’re the only one who can take that place.”

And he smiles at the way you bark out in laughter, rosy blush staining your cheeks as tears accumulate at the corner of your eyes from Jimin’s absurd words, and his heart flutters.

But the thing is, he wasn’t joking — and there was no way you would ever acknowledge that.

He knew there was nothing wrong with wanting someone by your side, that there was nothing wrong with falling in love and chasing your heart but there was no way he could act on his feelings for you. You’re the girlfriend of one of his long time best friend’s, you are one of his best friend’s and have been since you were children, and upon bro code and the sake of keeping this friendship sane; he refuses to destroy the boundaries, no matter how many times he feels the crippling need to.

He was devastated, heart melting into the acid of his stomach when he had heard you belonged to Jungkook years ago, and he knew there was nothing he could do to tear you two apart, to steal you away and have you in his arms so he could mutter ‘mine’ into the crook of your neck. Because of his shyness, because of his self esteem — he never had the guts to confess to you; he had always believed and imagined many scenarios of you rejecting him or spitting in his face and just the thought of that had the air clogging in his throat. He was a mess, still is a mess, and the day Jungkook invited him out for pizza and suggested that you all move into an apartment together so the circle of three you all tried to uphold throughout the years wouldn’t disassemble into many pieces, Jimin could only laugh wearily as he looked to your brightened face at the thought of finally being united indefinitely — and he accepted, even though he knew it would ruin him in more ways than one.

It started after months of living on cloud nine that Jimin began to think his pessimism was all in his head, but after witnessing the premonition hiding within the shadows of the apartment, things began to softly crumble. 

Every night through the thin paper walls, the boy tried his hardest to suffocate his eardrums with his pillows as he forbade himself to hear your muffled moans and tantalizing giggles, demanded his heart to just shut up for once from the decaying anxiety resting in the pit of his stomach that threatened to poison his mind with it’s horrendous fumes. The bed tapping against the wall from the other side made him fragile with every hit, his mind playing a broken record as he tried his hardest to fall into the arms of slumber he desperately sought for. And as time ticked in the back of his mind and repeated the scenario from every other oncoming night, he ripped the duvet off his crumbling body as he stormed out of the apartment — seeking something that would hide his inner turmoil away in the back of his pocket.

He wasn’t proud of it, but it was something that could be easily done; finding a girl, someone as desperate as him to rip off the clothes that suffocated him and just to feel loved. And even though it wasn’t real love, it was enough.

“Where were you?” He remembered that specific night clearly, the apartment lost of any light except for the street lights that flittered through the sheer curtains of the small area as you stood at the corner of the living room, arms crossed and bare feet tapping the floor like some rabid housewife.

He simply shrugged as he walked past you and tried to make his way into his bedroom quietly. He reeked of alcohol and sex, at least he assumed from the way you scrunched your nose in disgust. His hair was amiss, his lips were heavily bruised and he just felt weak, especially when you suddenly gripped his wrist harshly to stop him in his tracks — he couldn’t help but sneer. “Answer me, Jiminie.”

“Don’t call me that,” he grunted as he tried to shake off your hand in the process, “and don’t fucking touch me.”

You retracted your hand as if you had been heavily burnt by scalding water, glaring at the older boy in hurt, but instead, he focused on his previous destination before your voice froze him in his place. “Jimin,” you corrected, “you can’t do this anymore, you’ve been doing this for months. Is this really how you want to fall-?“

“What are you?” He cut in, head tilted to the side in annoyed curiosity. “My girlfriend? I don’t think so.”

He knew his words had slapped you in the face, yet, as he took his first step away from you and towards his bedroom once again, you snatched his wrist with no remorse, pulling him towards you so he could hear your thoughts and not the ones murmuring in the back of his mind — but he was having none of it.

The second your fingers sizzled against his skin, he roughly slammed you into the wall, ignoring the choked and pained gasp that fell from your lips. “(y/n), I’m only going to say this once so you better engrave these words into your pretty little head.”

You tried your hardest to free your bruising wrist from his deadly grasp, but instead, he leaned into you, lips hovering over your cheek as the toxic breath stung your eyes, and the gulp whispering in the center of your throat was heard by the one holding you captive.

“This is my life, and there is no way in hell that you would ever play me like some damn gamer watching over his avatar.” He seethed, lips drawing a portrait onto your skin with every word that spilled from his mouth, “let me live my life, as you should do yours.”

“But-“

His hand moved from your face and his fingers tapped against your lips, stopping you from making another peep; and he grinned. “You can’t expect me to follow after you and Jungkook like some lost dog–“ he scoffed, eyes glaring into your own, “and you can’t expect me to stay during the night to sleep as you two fuck every other night, that’s not how it works.”

He watched you gawk at him as if he wasn’t himself, as if he were possessed by something that caused him to change–and maybe he was, being the demons who caused him to fall in love with the never could be, and now, he had lost himself within the flames of wanting to float on clouds, to escape the reality he was living in..but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

His hand slowly lifted from taking your lips hostage and moved to cup your cheeks, his face softening as his thumb softly smoothed over the soft skin. Your eyes stared through his as they tried to find something, but with Jimin’s bucket of black paint drenching any lasting thoughts within his irises, you sighed, looking away as you placed your hand against his chest and pushed him away softly. “I’m sorry.” It was a weak whisper and your eyes were filled with regret, lips trembling from the small commotion.

But he didn’t want to hear it.

Days went on as he avoided you like the plague; he locked his bedroom door during the day and escaped into the raging strobe lights of night clubs and house parties during the night. Jungkook sent him continuous texts to get out of his bedroom, to spend time with the both of you and to stop his greedy antics of escaping into used hands, and the night he doesn’t leave the small quaint apartment — he dropped onto the lingering chest of the living room couch.

His eyes softly closed at the sound of footsteps tickling the floors of the home after a while of silence, and his heart began to beat a raging tune at finally having to face reality.

The steps soon stopped before him, and he breathed softly. “Jungkook-ah.” He plainly muttered into the leather of the sofa, “what is it?”

“I know about your feelings for (y/n).”

Instantly, the man gets up, eyes threatening to fall out of his sockets as he peered into the orbs hiding behind the black curtain of hair. “What?” He asked softly, scared of you appearing from your bedroom, and terrified of having his feelings written in his eyes as it glowed for everyone to see.

“I know how you are, Jiminie.” Jungkook crossed his arms, face finally being revealed as he ran his fingers through his soft dark locks. And the lone act caused Jimin to internally hyperventilate, because what? He knew he was a coward for fucking around every weekend with someone just to erase his feelings for a limited time, but he had also believed that because he did that, that nobody would find out — but in times like these, he can only wonder if Jungkook could read him like a book, only wonder if his whole existence was written on the back of Jungkook’s hand and that terrified him to death. “I can practically feel the longing oozing out of your body, and lemme tell you one thing.”

“No,” Jimin shook his head and frantically rose up from the couch. “I’m leaving.”

But he doesn’t get to escape, not this time, as Jungkook grabs the boy by the collar of his shirt and slams him down roughly into the fluffiness of the couch. The younger is on top of him like some tiger getting ready to devour his prey; the roles reversed from that day with you weeks ago and Jimin knew at this point, that his useless and drunk self from the past was witnessed by the beyond livid Jungkook, and he couldn’t feel any more ashamed.

There was no use fighting back, his will was lost long ago with his sanity, and with eyelids threatening to shut and look away from possessive eyes, his hands fall limp at his sides. “I know Jimin, I know you’ve been around, slept around. Used like some damn rag over and over again to the point that there are stains, but there is no way in hell I’ll let something as tainted as you blotch (y/n) with your dirtied hands.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin desperately called, small hands clutching the ones wrinkling his shirt. He knew he was a fuckboy messing around to get around, but Jungkook had it all wrong — there was no way in hell that he would ever touch you in those ways, use you as if your friendship meant absolutely nothing, and all in all, try to steal you away from him. “Those are not my intentions.” Jimin got out, but Jungkook’s eyes are written in pure thirst to murder if the opposite were to happen, and he couldn’t help but gulp at the look of pure disgust. “You know as well as I-I do that I’d never hurt her, I’d never do that to you-“

“Like hell you won’t,” the taller boy dug the lanky one further into the couch with a shove, stealing Jimin’s breath away as his chest began to ache from the abused contact, “keep your dick where it doesn’t belong, you ass. I mean it.”

And amidst the park where he sighs from the past, from something that happened months ago with horrid assumptions and lingering regrets, he gets up from the bench with his hands in his pockets — smile swiped from his visage like a hungry frog snatching some bothersome flies. “You’re leaving already?” You ask, the corner of your lips falling to show your displeasure, and he shrugs, because really, this whole meeting with you at the park was all over useless.

Ever since Jungkook confronted him, he hadn’t had the audacity to speak to you or even hang out as the circle of three like old times. There was really no way he could ever go back to how it used to be, and Jimin was sure that soon enough, his image would be ripped away from the couple who aches to be together forever without someone so useless and broken.

Without someone like him.

“There really isn’t much to say,” he admits, looking up to the sky to avoid any sort of expression you draw with the tip of your nose. He could tell that you’re scared, hesitating to tell him anything about the path he chose to walk down on, so you only giggle halfheartedly, leaning into the wooden bench as if all your worries had already fallen into evanescence.

“At least try, Jimin.” You whisper with a tiny tone, but he hears you, feels the worry interlacing with every sound that escapes your lips, “try to love someone with everything you have. Give yourself to them and only them.”

“I don’t know,” he admits, eyes glancing towards your distraught yet innocent figure, “this is the only language I know.”

“How could you do this to me?”

Jimin’s eyes softly open, yawn escaping him as he looks at his alarm clock and soon, the sound of something shattering stabs through the air.

And he flies up from his bed in an instant.

His head is beating like a drum, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his body as he instantly rubs his aching temples. Maybe the sound of danger is just something his anxiety was feeding him, or maybe he just drank too much the night before. Nonetheless, his eyes inhale the blinking 3 AM screen his phone gave him — and he forces himself to check the small apartment.

Darkness fills the small home like water, and with squinting eyes, everything seems normal. His bare feet hits against the hardwood floor with soft taps, fingers tremble as he passes the door laying open to your lifeless bedroom, and he then notices the hallway being way too eerie for comfort. At this time, you and Jungkook are usually sleeping; so seeing the both of you not tangled in sheets was a sign Jimin believed with all his heart that something was seriously wrong.

He walks into the living room where a clock ticks the silence away, and once his head peeks over to the front door — he instantly freezes.

The door is wide open, and Jungkook stares at you with panicked eyes as yours are planted into the ground. You refuse to look up, your lips are shaking as you sniffle and when Jungkook places his hand on your shoulder, you are quick to slap it away with a scoff. “Don’t touch me.“

“(y/n),” Jungkook whispers harshly, obviously trying not to wake the supposed sleeping Jimin whom was already witnessing the whole ordeal, “I was stupid, okay? What more do you want me to say?”

“Seriously?” You spit, taking a step back, “are you fucking kidding me?”

Jungkook sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m sorry, I-..I was insecure. I didn’t know what I was thinking-“

“But there was a reason, wasn’t there?”

Jimin walks a little closer, his heart shushing all his organs as he tries to listen in on the conversation. His eyebrows knit together in concentration, and when the next words manage to crawl it’s way into his ears, the boy could only smile to himself in disbelief.

“I was scared, you know? Scared that one of these days I’d find you in Jimin’s bed, terrified that the both of you would go behind my back. Scratch that, actually, I was drunk as hell and believed you two did it.” Jungkook gulps, his Adam’s apple slipping down his neck before it flies back into place. “That’s why..that’s why I cheated on you.”

Silence.

It took Jimin everything in his power not to storm into the scene and punch Jungkook’s face in. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing after Jungkook had the audacity to pretty much tell him to fuck off many months ago, yet the younger could go along his merry way and do whatever he wanted to you. Jimin was beyond pissed, and as his back presses against the wall hidden from the two at the doorway, your voice finally pierces the atmosphere.

“Get out of my sight,” you whisper shakily, “just leave.”

Jungkook glances your way in pain, and Jimin could feel the inner turmoil happening within the other man in wanting to hug you and beg for you to not leave him, but he doesn’t. He throws his backpack over his shoulder, steps out of the apartment before he bows slightly before you.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes, tone weak and fragile, “I’m so fucking sorry, but please, know that I truly do love you.”

Yet, you say nothing to his words, only nodding as you shut the door behind him and lock it down.

Jimin still stands where he is, eyes blown open as he wonders how he should approach you after seeing that. Would you cry? He was your boyfriend of a few years, and best friend of many, and he was now gone, and knowing you for so long — he knew there was no way you would take back someone whom betrayed your trust, and he honestly wouldn’t blame you if you avoided Jungkook for now on. Before he could take a step away from his hiding place, you are standing a few feet away from him, and he jumps in his place. “Shit, I-“

“Did you see anything?” You question, and his heart shatters from the way you seem so broken, so lost and tired from the world you were placed in. He says nothing, eyes reflecting your emotions like a mirror as he bites his lip in sorrow. “I see,” you comment, looking away in embarrassment, “good night, then.”

“Wait,” Jimin says before you could walk back into your bedroom, full on knowing that his next question is way beyond stupid and idiotic but he doesn’t care — he has to know. “Are you okay?”

You raise an eyebrow at the question, and he hopes you didn’t find his curiosity rude nor pathetic, but when you laugh softly as you shake your head; you throw him a thumbs up. “I’m perfect,” you assure him, continuing towards the comfort of your bedroom, “so don’t worry about me.”

He tried not to worry, but he did, and he was going crazy.

Hours, days, weeks went on as he rarely saw you around the shared apartment and he was hoping more than anything that you didn’t do anything insane inside your own bedroom. He knew that the walls haunted you, that the place you called home taunted you with the existence of your now ex boyfriend. He witnessed you wash your blankets and duvets and pretty much anything that could have touched Jeon Jungkook millions of times over and over just so you could erase his existence — and seeing you crumble before his eyes made him feel absolutely useless.

He couldn’t do anything, no matter how many times he wanted to hug you and help you through your heartbreak, he just couldn’t; and the sole reason was because both your languages of love equaled the existence of heaven and hell, the epitome of yin and yang and damn him if he ever changed your perspective on such an innocent feeling.

At least, that’s what he believed.

On one of his usual nights out, his blood ripples from the booming music vibrating within the large house. His head is bopping, hand reaching for the bottle of Mike’s as his friend laughs obnoxiously loud and snatches the soft liquor away from him. “Really, Jimin?” He smiles, “do you really think this pussy shit will have me opening my legs for you?”

Jimin chokes out a dry laugh, snatching the drink from the taller man before popping the lid open, “shut up, Yoongi.”

He takes a large swig of it, loving to feel the sweet yet toxic liquid scratch against his throat before he pulls the glass bottle away from his lips. Jimin clears his throat softly, fist against his mouth to hide any grimace he wore on his face as Yoongi throws his arm around his neck; pulling him into his chest as he cackles. “Jennie is here,” he mutters, grin evident on his features, “talk to her.”

“Uh, I don’t know,” he mumbles to himself, taking a smaller sip, “I need to be loaded before I go.”

And after the words fall from his lips, everything around him drowns into the background. He sighs to himself as Yoongi speaks beside him, obviously drunk off his mind from how much he kept yapping, and Jimin could only let himself embrace the alcohol he drank. It was always like this wherever he went, whether it was a house party or the club or maybe something simple at a restaurant during the middle of the night; Yoongi always nudged him towards a specific someone during their many mischievous spontaneities, and he would blindly follow whatever path he was assigned to for the night, well, if he agreed to it.

Which he always did, considering how wasted he had always became.

“How many would you like?”

Yoongi’s voice snaps him out of his stupor, making the boy smile as he raises his dripping glass of alcohol in the air. “Same as always.”

And before he knew it, crumpled cans lays on the island as his empty glass is already tipped over and forgotten, and his head lays on the tabletop as he tries to find any kind of comfort in the music playing around him. His mind is hazy, he feels lonely, and more than anything — he needs to feel that hole bubbling with black ink be filled with color. He somehow pushes himself away from the stool and the usual anxiety screaming at the back of his head is already drowning in the bubbling mixture of liquor. His movements are sporadic as he tries to find his usual source of drugs amidst the many people intoxicated beyond belief, and once he finds Kim Jennie giving him a look of longing from the nearly packed sofa, he grins.

It was her, it was always her who came stumbling into his arms at the end of the night. She was always there, whether it was smiling into his skin or digging her fingers deeply into his back — it was always her. But he never saw her during those intimate moments, he never kissed her nor breathed promises into her ear as he wished to do so with someone he loved so dearly, and he was okay with it, as was she. She had her motives and he had his own intentions, and no matter how far they differed, in the end, they both needed the same thing. And that was to escape.

But, as time suddenly morphs into slow motion and Jimin stops in his steps as he squints with heavy eyes towards the glowing figure popping through the front door, soon, his façade shatters as realization stabs his heart like a poisonous arrow.. a realization that things never go as planned.

His smile drops, his veins vibrate with horror as he completely forgets about the one with benefits and spins on the heels of his feet, charging up the steep set of stairs of the house like a frightened cat zooming away from it’s predator and ignoring Jennie’s angry screams of his surname.

The hallways are dimmed and few people loitered around as they sucked the other’s face off or just wanted to escape from the chaos rumbling below. He could barely breathe at this point, knocking a random door open as he stumbles inside and slams it shut — back colliding against said door as he slides to the floor with a panicked sigh.

There was no way in hell that you were in the party he always took place at, no way in hell that you barricaded the apartment just to walk right into satan’s sanctuary. You never liked parties, saying there were way too many people for your liking and that there was literally nothing to do than just sit around and waste your time — so Jimin just cannot believe he saw you pushing through dancing crowds all alone in such a dangerous place.

Should he go confront you and take you back to the apartment? Grab your hand and pull you through the chaotic home? His heart wanted to, so badly wanted to push you back into safety but his hazy mind struggled to find leverage within the want and need. Would you try to fight him once he finally showed that he did indeed care about how you were doing? Or would you accept whatever he thought was best for you? Jimin glares at the nicely made king bed, squints at the many teddy bears and the assumed purple blotched colored walls throughout the darkened room, and clenches his fists.

He felt like puking from his chaotic apprehension, wishing he could find any type of answers dangling from the ceiling that could help you into becoming a better you and definitely not an imitation of him. He shouldn’t have drank, he should have stayed home and kept you company because who knew how much pain you were in to stoop so low, even though he doesn’t know if you have fallen, he couldn’t help but worry.

And it was killing him inside.

The doorknob to the bedroom rattles, and all thoughts instantly scream as they hide in the darkest corners of his mind. “Shit,” he says under his breath, head snapping to the door that is about to open, “this room is busy—!“

“(y/n).” He hears a deep voice from the other side followed by your bubbly giggling and satan immediately shoves his fist down Jimin’s throat. He is frozen, staring at the door that softly creaks open and at a loss, he jumps into the closet and closes the louvered doors as best as he could; and holds his breath. “Stop fighting me–!”

“No,” you breathe, and he finally sees you and the mysterious man stumble into the room through the door, bites his lip so hard once the door slams shut and the light disappears. “You can’t m-make me, Taehyung.”

He could see the bright red hair, curses it with his life once it shines from the moon’s luminescence that sheered through the curtains, and inwardly groans. He knew who Kim Taehyung was, someone who grew up with you apart from he and Jungkook and ever since Jimin was a child, he built a sort of rivalry between him and the younger boy due to jealousy. Taehyung was an asshole, at least in his eyes, and he didn’t like the man one bit. But here he is, and with you.

He knew Taehyung cared about you, probably as much as him no matter how much the younger teased you — and a part of Jimin knew he shouldn’t be worried about Taehyung now of all times because honestly, he should be grateful the man dragged you out of the bubbling hell.

Taehyung pushes you into the bed, and you easily fall on top of it as you whine in distaste. “Made you.” He simply comments, plopping beside you and closing his eyes, and Jimin decides that maybe, it would be safe for him to sneak out of the bedroom and head on home without the two of you knowing he was at the party at all.

“I drank way too much,” you mumble into the blankets, and Taehyung lazily grunts a ‘I feel you’ as you turn to look at the man, “should I go home?”

Jimin’s fingers hover over the closet doors, stopping his escape as to not let himself get noticed if you were to leave, and he hears Taehyung sigh. “You shouldn’t have even came in the first place.”

“Shut the hell up,” you somehow find the courage to spit, and the other softly laughs, “I..I just wanted to—“

“Make Jungkook jealous, yeah.” A raspberry fills the room, and the bed softly squeaks, “can’t you just get over him? It’s been about two months (y/n), he’s probably forgotten you and found someone else.”

Silence ensues the small room, and Jimin internally curses at Taehyung’s words because even he himself could feel the punch to his gut. He closes his eyes, praying to the gods to stop your pain, but as always, he is ignored, and you’re already getting up from the bed. “You’re an asshole,” you softly cry, “fuck you.”

Taehyung is quick in sitting up and grabs your wrist despite his drunken stupor, “that’s not what I meant,” he quickly tries to cover, “and you know that.”

“But..” you begin, “but maybe you’re right. Jungkook cheated on me, Jimin can’t even look at me —“ said boy’s mouth falls open “—a-and I have no one left, Tae. They all find me disgusting, they all disappeared because I’m just a germ, and–“

“I never said you were disgusting,” Taehyung whispers, but with your rant, his voice is ignored.

“It just hurts, ok?” You sniffle, wiping your tears with your forearm as you swallow a choked sob. “I don’t know what to do anymore, I feel so useless, should I even–“

“Shut the hell up,” Taehyung interrupts, throwing your previous words back into your face, “don’t you even dare finish that fucking sentence.”

You’re rubbing furiously at your eyes, wanting the tears to stop that you had kept shoved inside a bucket within you and Jimin can’t help but rub at his own eyes to stop them from watering. Seeing you like this, a mess, was really opening his eyes to how much you had upheld alone, and he felt like complete and total shit for avoiding you all this time.

“Then,” you crack out, “then help me.”

Taehyung raises a brow at that, delusional self caught between confusion and just saying yes, “how?”

“Have sex with me.”

Jimin jumps up in shock, head hitting the closet door as he quickly muffles his yell of pain. He could see Taehyung look frantic, staring at the closet with bulging eyes and lips trembling while your eyes stayed glued onto the boy before you. “Hey,” Taehyung says, weary smile on his lips, “did you hear that-?”

“Don’t change the subject, Kim Taehyung.” You bite, and Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, eyes downcast as he tries his hardest to avoid any contact, “answer me.”

Jimin’s teeth stabs into the skin inside his mouth as his fingers tremble. What in the world were you saying? He didn’t want to see any of this go down, he didn’t want to watch you ruin yourself or make any mistakes in trying to forget your love with Jungkook. He is careful as he slightly opens the doors to the closet, wanting to see your expression or even Taehyung’s — but all he could see, was how horrified the latter’s features were.

“(y/n), you know I can’t do that.” He mutters, but your drunk self had smart ass written all over it.

“Huh?” You grunt, hand going towards your ear is if it would let you hear better, “what did you say?”

“This isn’t you,” he speaks up, “we’re both drunk, (y/n), and you’re hurt — I get that.” He states, and your shoulders visibly slump. “I get that you’re in pain, only wanting to forget about what happened but it’ll just be gone for a few minutes; a few minutes that you’ll never get back until the pain comes back once again. Do you really want that?”

Jimin applauds Taehyung in his head, thankful that at least the man had a brain during these difficult situations. Your sniff then gets Jimin’s attention, and Taehyung quickly sits up before you. “Y-you’re a liar.” You croak, “y-you said that you’d always do anything for me since we were children, and—“

“But not this,” Taehyung is desperate, hands cupping your cheeks to wipe the trickling tears away, “please, (y/n), anything but this.”

With Jimin’s better view, he sees you smile softly as you push Taehyung’s hands away as they hesitantly fall back to his sides, watches you wipe your own tears away with your hands as you then rub the damp skin on your skintight dress. “Thanks for everything, Taehyung.” You say, bowing slightly as you hold in a choked sob, “goodbye.”

And as you weakly turn to the locked door to take your leave, Taehyung grabs your shoulder and turns you to him. His front was absolutely destroyed, and enigma paints onto his skin as bright as the color of his hair. Jimin knew at this moment that the boy had broken at seeing his best friend ruined, and that the events that were about to occur would change the future — and probably not for the good.

Your breaths are soft as your eyes glances to the hands loosening the straps to your dress on your shoulders, you sniff when the simple cloth glides down your arms to reveal your breasts, and large hands grip your shoulders as the dress drops dead on the floor to reveal you in all your glory for both boys to see.

“No,” Taehyung murmurs, “I should be thanking you.”

Calloused skin touches your bosom, and you whine softly from the foreign grope. Jimin doesn’t know what to do but watch, watch Taehyung look at you with so much adoration Jimin believed he never had and just watch euphoria spear into your veins. It isn’t long until Taehyung dives in to kiss you, to let his hands wander around the soft expanse of your body as he pulls you in close, and all Jimin can do is watch.

He wanted more than anything to ruin the doors from it’s hinges and rip Taehyung away from you, he wanted to do so many things and stop the atrocity happening before him but he just couldn’t. He is glued into his place, eyes averting here to there and the demons inside him giggles into his ears. 

The boy felt pathetic, useless as time ticked above his head and Taehyung is now ramming into you like there is no tomorrow, literally making you grip the sheets beneath you and scream into his bruised lips. Maybe it was hours, no, possibly years that roared on and the ending was no where in sight, and all Jimin could feel..was useless.

His heart was palpitating, he was in pain and he couldn’t do anything to stop it, to stop you and your decisions, to stop his disgusting ass from getting hard just by seeing you cry and writhe beneath Taehyung.

When you two finally stopped, the sun was waking up from it’s slumber, and Jimin shoves the closet doors open only to find you both naked on the bed. Taehyung is hugging you as if he were scared to lose you, and you hugged him back in your slumber and the lone image sparked reality within him that he couldn’t help but cry silently.

He finally closes his eyes, opens the door to the hallway and just all over breathes the air that could probably help him be sane. And as he walks down the stairs, he sees Jennie standing there with her back to the wall and her arms crossed, bitch face on full blast as she scoffs. “Pathetic,” she sneers, and Jimin only grins.

“Shut up,” he spits, “it’s none of your business.”

With hands shoved in the large pocket of his hoodie, Jimin walks down the streets of the busy city with only one destination in mind.

The incident at the party happened weeks ago, and Jimin noticed you disappearing from the apartment more often now. He didn’t like the path you were walking down on, and he could only briefly wonder if this is how you felt when the roles weren’t reversed. Ever since that day, all the boy could do was watch you from afar — going back to phase one and never moving an inch from it. But, despite that, there was one thing he learned from the fate he had to face, and that was..expect the unexpected.

Like now.

“Okay, do me a favor.” Jimin says after he takes a sip of his coffee, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he peered at the one before him, “you want me to what?”

“Help me,” the man clad in dark wear begs, burgundy beanie hiding his hair, “help me get back with (y/n).”

Jimin is flabbergasted, and maybe he expected this and possibly more, but still, it shook him to the core. The bells to the coffee shop jingle as more passerby lost the battle between not wasting money and the scent of delicious coffee, and Jungkook could only look to the door frantically in hopes that it wasn’t the only person he desperately wanted to see.

Which is obviously you.

“You have balls, you know that?” Jimin comments, sinking into his seat as he leers at Jungkook, “after what you have done; you expect her to fly into your arms and forgive you. Crazy, you know?”

“I know,” Jungkook sighs, and at this moment, Jimin actually takes a chance to inspect the younger man more. His eyes are darker than before, skin pale and body thin — he looked sick, yet, he still stood strong. Jimin knew that the break up wasn’t easy for both of you, hell, he even watched you two fall in love through the years. He knew it, but what he believed, was that the one sitting before him, is beyond feeble. “I know I did wrong, but just one more chance, and–“

“You do know,” Jimin cuts him off, “that she’s seeing Taehyung, don’t you?”

Jungkook’s mouth falls open, and as hard as he tried to reply to Jimin and just find words, he doesn’t. A frown crawls onto his visage, and Jimin’s eyes glide to the fists clenching too hard for comfort. “You’re lying,” he growls, “she would never do that–“

“I heard them, Jungkook.” Which technically isn’t a lie, considering he had front row tickets to the porno. “Things change, and you’re just too late.”

Jungkook’s coffee shakes in his hands and he grits his teeth, eyes lost into another dimension as his anger bubbles in the pit of his stomach, “I’m gonna kick his ass.”

Jimin chokes a laugh. “No, you definitely won’t.”

“Then help me,” Jungkook pleads, and Jimin can’t help but see you once again; vision from the past replaying inside his mind like a mantra, “please, hyung — just this once.”

The older scrunches his nose, eyes draping to a close like curtains as he laughs in irony, “you do know you’re asking help from the one person that should be a threat to you, right?”

“I–“ Jungkook starts, words in a jumbled mess before Jimin raises his hand for his old roommate to shut his mouth.

“I won’t help you.” He then leans in closer, voice soft yet stern as he stares deeply into Jungkook’s eyes, “if you really love her, if you actually want her back — then you should prove to her why you are worth another chance. Don’t be asking anyone for help, when it’s your mess to clean.”

The rest of the evening goes by in silence, just the two boys drinking their coffees and eating their pastries as the evening rush zoomed by the shop. Jimin knew he was being harsh, maybe a little selfish, but he felt it in his heart that the words he spoke needed to be said.

As the car slides into the entrance to the large apartment building, Jimin thanks the other before he opens the door, and stops when Jungkook’s defeated voice slithers into his ears. “If you won’t help me, then do me this one favor.”

Jimin turns in his seat, annoyed expression stamped onto his face as he inwardly groans. “What is it?” He questions, and Jungkook grips the wheel.

“Help (y/n) pick up the pieces, protect her.”

And usually, he isn’t one to listen to others’ demands, yet here he is.

He watches you in the dark of the night as you tiptoe around the apartment, hears the soft little taps of your feet against the hardwood floor as you try your hardest to slug yourself to the front door of the home. Jimin could smell the intense aroma of the alcohol you had been downing, and before he even had a chance to acknowledge what he was doing, the light flickers on and he is met with your terrified eyes.

“Ah, Jimin–“ you smile, standing still, “long time no—“

“Where are you going?” He asks, obviously not caring about the small talk you were about to throw at him.

The face you had on was similar to a child being caught stealing cookies, and you look to the ground in regret, “to a party with Taehyung.”

Jimin shivers.

He takes a deep breath, knowing whatever happened at that moment would definitely affect your friendship together in the future, but Jungkook’s words constantly echoes in his head. “Not anymore, you’re not.”

“Jimin,” you laugh, “what’s gotten into you?”

Running a hand through his unruly locks, he steps closer to you. “(y/n), you’re becoming everything you told me not to become.” He blurts, “seeing you so, so–“

You step closer, scowl decorating your mien with each passing second. “So what, Jimin?” You press, “you don’t seem to understand–“

“You don’t seem to understand, (y/n)-ah.” He points, pushing you softly, “you’re messing around with guys you shouldn’t be, you’re drinking way too much and you’re soul is just disappearing each time you leave this house!” Jimin yells, and you flinch from the tone, “I can’t let you leave anymore, not now, not ever.”

You grimace, many questions written on the tip of your tongue yet you don’t spout any of them, only tilting your head softly to the side in obnoxious curiosity. “What are you, Jimin?” You inquire, eyes sparkling with vigor, “my boyfriend? I don’t think so.”

Jimin stands there stupidly, being reminded of the words he had so blatantly stitched into your ears many months ago, and like always, all he could do is stand there and watch you slowly leave in victory. How could he have failed in his mission to stop you? Was he really that flimsy?

But, in seconds before you were able to actually open the door and leave, Jimin finally relies on his logistic side and throws his heart away; runs through the living room and tackles you into the ground as if his life depended on it. You yelp in surprise before the harsh smack of the floor slaps your intoxicated mind into soberness, and you’re trying your best to push Jimin off of you. “What the fuck,” you sscowl, “get off me!”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Jimin cries, grabbing both your arms and pinning them above your head as he lies on top of you, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me most, I’m sorry I pushed you away when you tried to be there for me, I’m just..I’m so fucking sorry (y/n), please understand that.” He is shaking before you, but there was no way in hell that he’d let any sort of tears fall — because right now, it wasn’t about him, but about you. “I promise I’ll be here for you for now on, but just please, please stop going with Taehyung and ruining yourself even further-“

“Then what am I supposed to do, huh, Jimin?” You scream, “there is no where else that I can go to, I don’t know how to heal or move on, and–“

“The fuck? I’m your best friend, (y/n),” he chokes, his bangs tickling your chin as he bows his head, “you can just stay with me, I’ll show you how to move on!”

He is way too frightened to look at you, but when he feels your small hand against his cheek, he instantly glances into your eyes. “You’re way too selfless, Jiminie,” you whisper as your lids softly close, to which he leans in closer to your lips, “but..show me.”

He gulps

“Show me this language you once knew.”

» all rights reserved © s u g o u i — this is a oneshot, and will remain a oneshot. all and any works created by me in the past or in the future are not allowed to be modified, reposted, or translated in any shape or form.

[unbury-the-gays]

Chapter 13: Like the naked leads the blind

*cover picture by Dai (bookscorpion)    

Chapters: 13/?

Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Kiyan (The Witcher) / Adrien (The Witcher)

Characters: Kiyan (The Witcher), Adrien (The Witcher), Original Male  Character(s), Original Male Character(s) of Color, Joël (The Witcher),  Guxart (The   Witcher), Ireneus var Steingard, Original Female  Character(s), Sigismund  Gloger (The Witcher), Gottfried Oss (The  Witcher), Marco Gedl  (The  Witcher), Michelle Sabina Ruxer (The  Witcher)

Additional Tags: Canon Rewrite, Blood and Violence, Blood and Injury, Bisexual Kiyan, Unbury The Gays, saving  Kiyan, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher),   Witcher Senses, Racism,  Canon-Typical Violence, Sexual Tension, Murder   Husbands, Cat School  (The Witcher), The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Demonic   Possession, Rare  Pairings, Rare Characters, Just two growly tops,   Possessive Behavior,  Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Get Together, Main  Character(s) of  Color, Est Tayiar, Oxenfurt Academy (The Witcher),   Based on Scavenger  Hunt: Cat School Gear quest, game canon mostly,   Swordfighting, The  Witcher Lore, Developing Relationship, stubborn  idiots to lovers,  Emotional Slow Burn, assholes in love, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism,  Suicidal Thoughts  

Chapter 13: “Like the naked leads the blind” summary:

Kiyan was strong, dangerous, and deadly. He was also firm, stubborn, and independent. He seemed invulnerable, almost indestructible, always so confident in every confrontation. Adrien had never expected to see him so weak, so fragile. On the one hand, it terrified him. On the other... it filled him with strength.

_____________________________

Chapter 13 is here and things are getting complicated.

Perhaps you have noticed, and if not, we will especially draw your attention to it that we have a new tag: Suicidal Thoughts. This tag will be further developed and it is possible that more will join it with similar topics. Take care of yourself and mind the tags, please! So far, we have barely touched on the topic of suicidal thoughts, but you should remember that Adrien commits suicide in the game. This is an essential part of his characteristics, important information from the very few we have about him.

Apart from difficult topics, there are also some nice things, including famous cutagens (cute effects of mutagens), because every, absolutely EVERY cat witcher purrs. We don't make the rules, this is how it is. Plus purring is part of the healing process, so ... yeah.

If you are with us so far because you want to see how we save a witcher, I strongly recommend you a great bingo event (moderated by our Gav!) with this message - Save A Witcher Bingo

As always, please let us know how you like our project so far. We are always very happy to hear from you! <3

A.

_____________________________  

"There is not much more I can do here," the healer said as he left the tent. "The healing process had already begun without my involvement. He had a damaged liver, but his mutant body immediately began to patch the organ. Everything will be fine."

Marco had returned with the healer long after dark, accompanied by a hunter's young son from a nearby village. They had needed the boy as a guide because he knew these forests very well, and there was a real risk that Marco wouldn’t have been able to find camp in the dark.

"The potion you gave him does indeed speed up the healing process, but at the same time, it has a high toxicity, and with a damaged liver it’s like trying to fight fire with fire," explained the healer, handing Kiyan's herbarium back to Adrien. "I've packed the wound. He will need some wound care, but witcher healing is a powerful thing. These sorts of stab wounds can heal quite quickly with witchers, but his body is still focused on fixing the internal damage. All his energy is going toward healing the liver. He needs to rest. He will wake up extremely exhausted and dizzy. The accumulation of toxins may confuse him. I also treated him with an analgesic spell, so he may be additionally dazed. I will prepare an infusion for him, which should help him eliminate toxins and relieve the liver. He should drink a dose as soon as he wakes up. I'll give you a recipe, and he should take it regularly for the next week. I will also write up instructions for dressing the wound, though I’m sure the witcher will be familiar. But now I want to see the second wounded man."

Titus got up and led the healer to the tent where Olaf rested. Gloger, now seated by the fire with them, was the first person the healer had taken care of, setting his broken nose upright and healing the hurt temple in one move. The professor was as good as new.

"Dinner's ready," Oss said, stirring the pot over the fire.

Nobody answered him. They all had listless looks and were absolutely exhausted from today's events. The preparation of dinner was dictated only by common sense, no one really felt hungry.

"Eat and go to sleep," Titus ordered, returning to the fire after a while. "I and the hunter's boy will watch over the camp tonight. I was just talking to the healer, and he said that we can leave as soon as the witcher wakes up. Olaf is already patched up, but he won't be able to continue this trip. Tomorrow, we'll have to think about what we will do next."

Gloger jerked his head up from the bowl of food Oss had given him. "You are not thinking about canceling the expedition?"

"It's not my decision to make, but we're a mess at the moment, professor," Titus said calmly. "We have to stop somewhere safe and regroup."

"But --," the professor began, but Adrien glared at him.

"We'll think about it tomorrow, professor," the prince said sharply. "When Kiyan wakes up, we will go to Oxenfurt and consider the fate of this expedition." 

Gloger looked like he wanted to say something else, but ultimately gave it up. Everyone ate their dinner in absolute silence.

After the scholars and the healer had gone to the tents to sleep, Adrien was still sitting by the fire, a bottle of alcohol in his hand. The healing infusion for Kiyan was now brewing over the fire, and he was waiting for it to be ready. The hunter's son was sitting in one of the trees with his bow, guarding the camp from above. Titus had just returned from his tour around the campsite, grabbing the prince's luggage with his bedding from one of the carts on the way.

"Go to sleep," Titus ordered, swapping Adrien’s things for his bottle of alcohol. "You think it'll make a difference if you stay here all night?"

"It's my fault," the prince said quietly. "Kiyan warned me, and I didn't listen to him."

"Oh please, don't give me that shit," the captain grimaced. "What's done is done, and being miserable doesn’t suit you. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and go take care of him."

Adrien looked at Titus in surprise, and the captain smirked. "I put the healer in the tent with Olaf. The only free place to sleep is in the witcher's tent."

The prince snorted in amusement. "I thought you said Kiyan was dangerous and I should stay away from him."

"Yeah, but I figured if you gave that boy your beloved horse to help him, then you must be serious about him after all," Titus shrugged. "Besides, if it weren't for the witcher, you probably wouldn’ have survived this attack, so let's say that I owe him one."

Adrien slipped into Kiyan's tent and unfolded his bedroll next to him. Kiyan was resting on his side, torso bare except for the thick linen bandages across his midriff. Adrien reached out and held Kiyan’s hand, stroking his skin with his thumb. Adrien noted with relief that the witcher wasn't as cold as he had been hours ago. He took it as a good sign and, with a heavy sigh, he lay his head on his bedroll and closed his eyes. He was terribly tired, but he still listened intently to the witcher's quiet breathing.

"I should have listened to you," Adrien whispered, even though Kiyan couldn't hear him.

"Like hell you should," a soft, hoarse voice answered him in the darkness. 

Read on AO3

[philosophicalparadox]

Dark Headcannons for the Demon Bois, part 2.a : Physiological Adaptations and Defense Mechanisms (physical)

I continue this ideology with more horror HC's (kind of) detailing some of the physiology and physical defenses of our boys - HOWEVER there is quite a bit of science invested in this particular post, so there's a little explaining to do first.

Note: I have removed Iblis from the list for the next few rounds because we really dont know anything about her, and I've also removed Egyn because I have zero idea what kind of adaptations he has since no one's ever seen his body. Azazel is floating in kind of the same boat. We seen his clones, but not him, and we have only really seen two of his kin - from that alone its hard to tell. We haven't even seen Beelzebub except in Gehenna, and for all we know they are stuck there. Im basing all this off hypothetical and mythological sources as well as my knowledge of animal and human anatomy.

Onward!

But first! (Yep, scientific Exposition Time Baby! I promise it won't be long) Something that strikes me odd is that all demons seem to be stronger physically than their non possessed counterparts, and so for the sake of not repeating myself where unessessary, we will assume this is due to increased muscular density, as a default which is the same thing that allows much smaller primates to be much stronger than ourselves.

However, be aware that there are MANY factors that influence physical strength alone - efficiency of respiration, bodily waste management (aka, kidney and liver function) and efficiency of metabolic processes (digestive system, pancreas, and again liver). I'll touch on all these things in their own right, but just to let you know, everything is interconnected.

Onward!

Samael

Is, in everyday scenarios, about 7x stronger than the average human. In times of high adrenaline that can shoot up to 10, due to possessing a unique respiratory system, detailed below.

Samael has a physique designed to be an ambush predator, with a body that puts nothing to waste, but he is also built for bursts of speed and agility, both skills vital for his hunting strategy type, detailed in part one, to be effective. Standing out in a crowd may lull prey into a false sense of security, but it also draws a lot of attention from competitors, as well as parasitic predators like Chuchi and Coltars.

Samael is a demon often depicted with avian wings, and for his body to put out the strength it does and be able to at least glide requires an avian-modeled respiratory system. In other words he breathes with lungs, but has additional air sacs in his chest and abdomen to draw as much oxygen from the air as possible. For a demon optimized for bursts of speed and high agility, being able to metabolize large amounts of oxygen very quickly is vital.

More vital still though is having the kidneys and liver to be able to handle it. I suspect he would have a lobed liver akin to a rabbit, and kidneys much like a cat. Technically speaking, if he eats right, he never actually has to drink any water. His kidneys are that efficient.

Now onto the fun one: bones. High density muscles put out huge forces on the bones they are attached to. There are two ways to fix that: make the bone harder and denser, or make the bone softer and flexible with cartilage. Samael does the former. The most efficient way to have denser bones without adding weight is to make them hollow, at the sacrifice of not having much bone marrow. This works out perfectly though, since to metabolize high rates of oxygen you need specialized red blood cells with lots and lots of hemoglobin, and hollow bones allow for the production of just enough of these cells.

Now that the basics are out of the way, Samael has some other unique adaptations, including a ratcheted tendon system in his forearms, like those found in raptors. This gives him a virtually unbreakable, iron-strong grip from which escape is virtually impossible. Combine that with talon-like claws and long fingers that can really dig in, and you're screwed from the word "go".

Making that escape even more impossible is his highly flexible joints, which make twisting out of his grasp before he has a chance to bite damn near unheard of. Remember, it only takes one bite to kill. If he catches you, you're dead already.

As far as defensive abilities go, Samael hasn't got any besides evasion. So much of his body is devoted to being a specialist that there isnt any room for special physical defenses - in fact his hollow bones, while very good at handling internal stresses, are no less brittle than a birds when it comes to some external forces. A sledgehammer to the side of his thigh (impact) would absolutely shatter his femur bone, though he can land on his feet from a great height (compression) and barely bruise.

Lucifer

Is maybe 5x stronger than the average human, on a really good day. He has a bit of muscle, but he is a magic user, not a berserker. On his bad days he can dip below a 1.

Physically he isn't too different from a human mostly, other than having an ultra efficient heart and lungs that are 20% larger to compensate for his increased muscle density.

Except that he has very strange cells. To all appearance his body is mostly human, but one look under the microscope would tell you instantly that something is odd about this duck, because his cells have tiny crystals in them. These crystals are of unknown composition, but they are thought to assist with fluorescence, or the production of the stuff mentioned below.

Also odd about his cells is that they're filled with an almost cellulose like substance instead of normal cytoplasm. Its a bit denser and is THE most heat resistant organic substance on earth. It also makes his cells completely immune to all forms of radiation - this boy could literally survive a nuclear explosion as long as he was in a shelter where he couldn't be impacted by debris or the shockwave. Heat and radiation from it would be like a sunburn at worst.

However, he is not fireproof. While this substance is resistant to heat, it is not resistant to oxidation, so it WILL burn. Not well, and not fast, but it will burn.

Which leads me to the fact that he has some very unique organelles. Multiple types of mitochondria, Golgi bodies and ribosomes help manufacture the weirdness.

Part of that weirdness is of unknown deadliness though. When fully charged up, the light he emits contains dangerous wavelengths, and further study has yet to be done on whether and what types of radiation he may emit. It is known that his dense cytoplasmic substance can hold onto nuclear radiation, but does so very briefly.

As far as defenses go, he does actually have a pretty interesting, but accidental one, for the dense cytoplasmic substance of his cells naturally permeates into his blood plasma. This substance is extremely bitter and even potentially toxic at high enough doses. A mouthful of Lucifer's blood is enough to induce severe nausea, vomiting, cramping of the intestines (colic), and if swallowed, diarrhoea.

The strange substance of his cells also mediates the use of Elixir that is specific to himself. Elixir used for other purposes are rejects of the ones formulated just for him, and are effective at treating a wide variety of things.

On a related but unrelated note, though, the elixir has nasty side effects on humans and demons alike, often triggering the onset of various cancers and cysts, though it's not clear why this happens to some and not others. It is not known why Lucifer is seemingly immune to these side effects, but he could, potentially, be immune to cancer altogether.

Amaimon

Amaimon is a fucking draft horse, with a baseline strength of 9x that of a human. That's somewhere slightly above a pissed off gorilla and/or an attacking tiger, for reference. In high adrenalized mode, that number shoots up to a 12, which is about as high as biology will let anything go, courtesy square cube law.

His muscles are SO dense and heavy, in fact, that he is incapable of floating in water. He also isn't very fast for long distances. He has high stamina at low energy output, and low stamina at high energy output. He can walk for days on end, but in a dead sprint he can't go more than a kilometer at best before his muscles start to rip him apart.

Which leads to : bones. Amaimon takes a very reptilian approach to the issue of having super powerful muscles, and has fibrin and cartilage reinforced bones that bow rather than break. However, these bones have many sharp angles for muscular attachments, and as a result are very poor at resisting torsion (twisting) and high rates of compression. The last thing he wants to do is land on his feet from a great height, for he is likely to fracture his long bones.

But those are not the only bones he has - much like monitor lizards, including komodo dragons, he has ossicones embedded in his skin, forming a chain-mail mesh of steely bone just below the dermis that makes his skin very resistant to slashes and cuts, but very weak to stabbing and thrusting. Cleaving into him wont do much damage, but impaling him on a pike works great.

His organs are strange, made stranger by his blood, which has a pH value of 7.8, far more alkaline than most viruses or bacteria can survive, making him virtually immune to disease. Unfortunately that also impacts the bacteria in his gut, which as a consequence can exist nowhere else on earth.

On the flip side, his stomach secretes acid that is so caustic it dissolves bone in hours, and also destroys even the worst of pathogens. As touched upon before, he can regurgitate this acid onto attackers in self defense, even going so far as to spit it at them from a distance of two meters. It has a patently unpleasant odor too, adding to its defensive quality.

Amaimons claws are semi retractable and grizzly-like, making them excellent tools for digging and prying things apart. They're also really good at ripping people apart, and there is no armor that can really do effective justice except for one: spiky. His skin isn't super resistant to impalement, remember, so the pricklier the better. That is assuming he cant chip away at it. Good luck with that.

Another organ to mention is his tail. It's not exactly prehensile, but it is flexible and very, very powerful. One whack across the midsection could kill a man. In fact his tail is often his first line of defense against attackers; it's so robust and armored that it's almost impossible to injure, and it hits like a truck. Good for offense or defense, or even just lazing around.

Astaroth

Fungi boy has an average strength of just twice that of a human. But when pushed to his limits, he can use hydraulic musculature to increase his strength to 9x that of the average human.

Speaking of which, Astaroth has some weird musculature- or lack thereof. Rather than having ordinary, dense tissue, he instead has a hydraulic system of movement akin to that of a worm or slug. Not only that, but his muscles are not his own - rather they are controlled by slime molds, with which he has a symbiotic relationship. The muscles are very little muscle tissue and a whole lot of mycellial fibers. His body is literally made of fungus, controlled by fungi and microorganisms, and is fed and defended by these things.

He is, in light of this, able to turn his body temperature on or off in any area he needs to at-will, giving his slimy friends the home they need.

He has a perfect mastery over the simple organisms he controls, and can exchange them at will. This combined with the ability to live without body heat means he is completely immune to all but the most severe of environments. As long as he has access to moisture, he can survive and thrive at sub zero temperatures and well into the triple digits. However he can not live without his slimy friends, and so can not endure drought very well. Deserts are the bane of his existence.

When it comes to defenses, Astaroth is nothing but. Toxic spores, all colours of miasma, foul smells, and even sharp needles and thorns when necessary. Nothing with a lick of sense would dare try to eat him, with the exception of microorganisms and parasites thereof - but it's not him they consume, but his symbiotes, which again he can simply discard or exchange as need be.

He is however very slow moving, typically, and doesn't really have a 'flee' or 'fight' response. Instead he freezes, exuding and oozing his more unfriendly companions to deter attack. If this should fail though, however unlikely, he is remarkably fragile and slow to heal, though virtually impossible to kill.

His only real weakness is well established: fire. It is the great sterilizer, though light is also not something he can easily defend against either. Neither are vacuums and immense air pressure. Basically if it's not within the realms of ordinary natural phenomena he has no ability to escape or defend. This gives him an edge against the younger of the Kings, but makes him powerless against the older half.

Whew! That was a lot. This post took FOREVER to make!

Questions and comments are welcome, reading with a grain of salt in mind is recommended.

[oxenfurt-archives]

Chapter 13: Like the naked leads the blind

*cover picture by Dai (bookscorpion)    

Chapters: 13/?

Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Kiyan (The Witcher) / Adrien (The Witcher)

Characters: Kiyan (The Witcher), Adrien (The Witcher), Original Male  Character(s), Original Male Character(s) of Color, Joël (The Witcher),  Guxart (The   Witcher), Ireneus var Steingard, Original Female  Character(s), Sigismund  Gloger (The Witcher), Gottfried Oss (The  Witcher), Marco Gedl  (The  Witcher), Michelle Sabina Ruxer (The  Witcher)

Additional Tags: Canon Rewrite, Blood and Violence, Blood and Injury, Bisexual Kiyan, Unbury The Gays, saving  Kiyan, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher),   Witcher Senses, Racism,  Canon-Typical Violence, Sexual Tension, Murder   Husbands, Cat School  (The Witcher), The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Demonic   Possession, Rare  Pairings, Rare Characters, Just two growly tops,   Possessive Behavior,  Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Get Together, Main  Character(s) of  Color, Est Tayiar, Oxenfurt Academy (The Witcher),   Based on Scavenger  Hunt: Cat School Gear quest, game canon mostly,   Swordfighting, The  Witcher Lore, Developing Relationship, stubborn  idiots to lovers,  Emotional Slow Burn, assholes in love, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism,  Suicidal Thoughts  

Chapter 13: “Like the naked leads the blind” summary:

Kiyan was strong, dangerous, and deadly. He was also firm, stubborn, and independent. He seemed invulnerable, almost indestructible, always so confident in every confrontation. Adrien had never expected to see him so weak, so fragile. On the one hand, it terrified him. On the other… it filled him with strength.

_____________________________

Chapter 13 is here and things are getting complicated.

Perhaps you have noticed, and if not, we will especially draw your attention to it that we have a new tag: Suicidal Thoughts. This tag will be further developed and it is possible that more will join it with similar topics. Take care of yourself and mind the tags, please! So far, we have barely touched on the topic of suicidal thoughts, but you should remember that Adrien commits suicide in the game. This is an essential part of his characteristics, important information from the very few we have about him.

Apart from difficult topics, there are also some nice things, including famous cutagens (cute effects of mutagens), because every, absolutely EVERY cat witcher purrs. We don’t make the rules, this is how it is. Plus purring is part of the healing process, so … yeah.

If you are with us so far because you want to see how we save a witcher, I strongly recommend you a great bingo event (moderated by our Gav!) with this message - Save A Witcher Bingo

As always, please let us know how you like our project so far. We are always very happy to hear from you! <3

A.

_____________________________

“There is not much more I can do here,” the healer said as he left the tent. “The healing process had already begun without my involvement. He had a damaged liver, but his mutant body immediately began to patch the organ. Everything will be fine.”

Marco had returned with the healer long after dark, accompanied by a hunter’s young son from a nearby village. They had needed the boy as a guide because he knew these forests very well, and there was a real risk that Marco wouldn’t have been able to find camp in the dark.

“The potion you gave him does indeed speed up the healing process, but at the same time, it has a high toxicity, and with a damaged liver it’s like trying to fight fire with fire,” explained the healer, handing Kiyan’s herbarium back to Adrien. “I’ve packed the wound. He will need some wound care, but witcher healing is a powerful thing. These sorts of stab wounds can heal quite quickly with witchers, but his body is still focused on fixing the internal damage. All his energy is going toward healing the liver. He needs to rest. He will wake up extremely exhausted and dizzy. The accumulation of toxins may confuse him. I also treated him with an analgesic spell, so he may be additionally dazed. I will prepare an infusion for him, which should help him eliminate toxins and relieve the liver. He should drink a dose as soon as he wakes up. I’ll give you a recipe, and he should take it regularly for the next week. I will also write up instructions for dressing the wound, though I’m sure the witcher will be familiar. But now I want to see the second wounded man.”

Titus got up and led the healer to the tent where Olaf rested. Gloger, now seated by the fire with them, was the first person the healer had taken care of, setting his broken nose upright and healing the hurt temple in one move. The professor was as good as new.

“Dinner’s ready,” Oss said, stirring the pot over the fire.

Nobody answered him. They all had listless looks and were absolutely exhausted from today’s events. The preparation of dinner was dictated only by common sense, no one really felt hungry.

“Eat and go to sleep,” Titus ordered, returning to the fire after a while. “I and the hunter’s boy will watch over the camp tonight. I was just talking to the healer, and he said that we can leave as soon as the witcher wakes up. Olaf is already patched up, but he won’t be able to continue this trip. Tomorrow, we’ll have to think about what we will do next.”

Gloger jerked his head up from the bowl of food Oss had given him. “You are not thinking about canceling the expedition?”

“It’s not my decision to make, but we’re a mess at the moment, professor,” Titus said calmly. “We have to stop somewhere safe and regroup.”

“But –,” the professor began, but Adrien glared at him.

“We’ll think about it tomorrow, professor,” the prince said sharply. “When Kiyan wakes up, we will go to Oxenfurt and consider the fate of this expedition." 

Gloger looked like he wanted to say something else, but ultimately gave it up. Everyone ate their dinner in absolute silence.

After the scholars and the healer had gone to the tents to sleep, Adrien was still sitting by the fire, a bottle of alcohol in his hand. The healing infusion for Kiyan was now brewing over the fire, and he was waiting for it to be ready. The hunter’s son was sitting in one of the trees with his bow, guarding the camp from above. Titus had just returned from his tour around the campsite, grabbing the prince’s luggage with his bedding from one of the carts on the way.

"Go to sleep,” Titus ordered, swapping Adrien’s things for his bottle of alcohol. “You think it’ll make a difference if you stay here all night?”

“It’s my fault,” the prince said quietly. “Kiyan warned me, and I didn’t listen to him.”

“Oh please, don’t give me that shit,” the captain grimaced. “What’s done is done, and being miserable doesn’t suit you. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and go take care of him.”

Adrien looked at Titus in surprise, and the captain smirked. “I put the healer in the tent with Olaf. The only free place to sleep is in the witcher’s tent.”

The prince snorted in amusement. “I thought you said Kiyan was dangerous and I should stay away from him.”

“Yeah, but I figured if you gave that boy your beloved horse to help him, then you must be serious about him after all,” Titus shrugged. “Besides, if it weren’t for the witcher, you probably wouldn’ have survived this attack, so let’s say that I owe him one.”

Adrien slipped into Kiyan’s tent and unfolded his bedroll next to him. Kiyan was resting on his side, torso bare except for the thick linen bandages across his midriff. Adrien reached out and held Kiyan’s hand, stroking his skin with his thumb. Adrien noted with relief that the witcher wasn’t as cold as he had been hours ago. He took it as a good sign and, with a heavy sigh, he lay his head on his bedroll and closed his eyes. He was terribly tired, but he still listened intently to the witcher’s quiet breathing.

“I should have listened to you,” Adrien whispered, even though Kiyan couldn’t hear him.

“Like hell you should,” a soft, hoarse voice answered him in the darkness. 

Read on AO3

[bytheangell]

Hey!! Can I request a Thomastair angst <3 feel free to ignore this if you want too!! But the fics you write always give me feels 💜💜

Progress Is a Process (Read on AO3)

Alastair hangs back with Thomas while Matthew and James walk ahead down the streets of London. While he’s doing his best to enjoy the time spent with Thomas, even if it is time on patrol, the fact that Matthew and James continue to glance back at them every five seconds with cautious, narrowed eyes, leaves Alastair feeling far from at ease.

“They hate me,” Alastair says quietly so the words don’t reach the other two down the narrow street they just turned into.

“They don’t,” Thomas insists. “They just don’t know you properly.”

It was Thomas’ suggestion that Alastair be put on more patrols with him and the other Merry Thieves, hoping through sheer exposure the others would come around to him. It isn’t going well.

It took long enough for Alastair to smooth things over with Thomas, someone who wanted to forgive him deep down. He isn’t sure the same will be possible with the others. Thomas’ friends don’t even know that the two of them have started dating - so far as they know Thomas just wants to be Alastair’s friend, and even that they barely tolerate. Alastair doesn’t want to cause any waves, he and Thomas only just began dating and if it came down to Thomas having to choose between the Merry Thieves or him, Alastair’s relatively confident he wouldn’t win.

But while Alastair certainly doesn’t want to put Thomas in an uncomfortable situation with his friends, he’d also really like to be holding Thomas’ hand right now, instead of just walking close enough that their arms occasionally brush.

Alastair gives a noncommittal noise and turns the conversation back to a book the two of them were reading through together, ignoring Matthew and James’ looks and focusing entirely on Thomas.

...perhaps too entirely on Thomas. He doesn’t hear the sounds of something following them until the shadow crossing over Thomas alerts him to the demon’s close proximity. Alastair spins, shouting, “Thomas, watch out!” with just enough time to turn and grab Thomas’ shoulders, pulling him to the side.

Alastair winces at the feeling of claws breaking through the clothing and skin down his right side, from just under his ribs down to his hip bone.

Ahead of them Matthew and James hear the shout and turn, only to be faced with four demons of their own, boxing the four Shadowhunters  in.

Thomas’ eyes drift down to where Alastair clutches at his side instinctively, but another demon leaves them no time for an iratze as they draw their weapons and begin to fight. There are eight demons total, Alastair notes after a quick assessment, and though they’re outnumbered two to one they seem to be doing alright… until Alastair hears the clattering noise of a dropped weapon - Thomas’ bolas. He turns in time to see Thomas fall beside it, unmoving. Fighting the panic he feels at the sight Alastair throws his spear from where he stands, piercing the demon that moves to descend on Thomas, dispatching it in a splattering of ichor. He moves as if possessed now, protecting Thomas and killing both of their share of the demons in order to sink down to his knees beside his fallen boyfriend.

Thomas is still breathing, and in fact, doesn’t appear to have any cuts at all. An unlucky blow must’ve knocked him out, perhaps? Before he can say any of this, Matthew is beside him, followed by James, both of whom crowd around Thomas and effectively box Alastair out.

“Let me help,” Alastair insists, stele out.

“Why start being useful now?” Matthew snaps, already moving to the other side of James so each of them can support one side of Thomas to carry him back. “Just go home, Carstairs.”

Alastair is tempted to follow, but he doesn’t want to cause a fight - more importantly, he doesn’t want to delay them leaving with Thomas and getting him help. Without another word he turns and leaves, planning to go home, heal himself up and change, and go back to check up on Thomas afterward.

Now that the rush of the battle is wearing off, however, Alastair can feel something’s wrong. The sudden pain in his stomach and rush of dizziness hit him at once, and it’s all he can do to change his course, spot a shadowy section of a small side street for cover, and fall back against the wall of a building, sliding down to the ground as unconsciousness takes him.

---

It takes him a few disoriented moments to place where he is when Thomas wakes up in the Infirmary at the Institute. Blinking slowly he tries to remember what happened to land him here - the patrol, talking with Alastair, and then-

Alastair. Thomas looks to the beds beside him, but they’re empty.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Matthew’s voice sounds from the far side of the room.

“Where’s Alastair?” Thomas asks immediately.

“Not here,” Matthew says, sounding pleased about that fact as he makes his way over to Thomas’ bedside.

“He didn’t come back to get his wounds looked at?” Thomas frowns. He’s a little disappointed that Alastair wasn’t there for him, but at the very least he should be here for himself.

“What wounds?” Matthew sounds confused. “I told him we didn’t need three of us to carry you back and sent him home. Honestly, I don’t know why you’re so insistent on trying to befriend him, I-”

Just then Cordelia arrives in the doorway looking panicked. “Where’s Alastair?”

“Why is everyone asking me that tonight,” Matthew mutters. “I told him to sod off. I can promise all of you that if you’re ever looking for Alastair Carstairs you will not find him anywhere in my general vicinity, at least not willingly.”

The words would sting more if Thomas wasn’t distracted by his immediate panic, matching Cordelia’s. “He didn’t come home?” Thomas directs the question to Cordelia.

She shakes her head. “He was due back hours ago. I thought maybe he’d be here…”

“He was injured, during the patrol. He got hurt pushing me out of the way, I-” Thomas pauses to focus beyond the fear the strikes him, attempting to take a calming breath. It doesn’t help. “The demon that attacked us, it had claws, there might’ve been venom. Poison. If he never made it home…”

Alastair could be anywhere.

Alastair could be dead.

“We need to find him. I’ll go back home, get something of his to track, maybe-” Cordelia suggests, but stops as Thomas shakes his head.

“That’ll take too long,” he says. Though Thomas sounds hesitant, he only pauses for a moment before making up his mind.

Thomas reaches a hand down the front of his shirt, pulling up a necklace hidden under his clothes. At the bottom of the silver chain rests a ring with a recognizable C and the Carstairs sigil around the sides. It is, unmistakably, the Carstairs family ring. Alastair’s ring.

“Here,” Thomas says, holding it out. “Use this.”

Thomas catches the flicker of recognition in Matthew’s face before immediately looking away.

“Thomas…” Matthew starts, but Thomas doesn’t even have to stop him because Matthew stops on his own, at a loss for words over the revelation.

“Find him,” Thomas begs, knowing that he’s in no condition to try a tracking rune just then. “Please.”

Matthew nods, taking the ring out of Thomas’ outstretched hand. “I’ll get James. We’ll track better together.”

Thomas closes his eyes in the silence that fills the room once more, but knows he isn’t going to sleep again any time soon.

---

It’s an hour later that Matthew, James, and Cordelia return with an unconscious Alastair in tow. They remove the top layer of his clothing to reveal the blood-soaked fabric beneath and 4 angry cuts running down his side.

“He seemed fine when he left,” Matthew insists. “He didn’t say anything about being hurt, I swear it.”

“That’s because he’s a stubborn ass,” Thomas points out. “Who would want to make sure you take care of me first instead of wasting time fighting with him.”

Thomas rises from his bed, ignoring the way the pain in his head throbs from the sudden movement, and stands besides Alastair. It’s easy to see where Cordelia already marked two iratzes when they found him, and Thomas pulls out his stele to go over them again for good measure. Only then does Thomas drop his hand to the side to rest over Alastair’s cold, unmoving fingers.

“Dad is getting a salve for the wound and a potion to help with the demon toxin,” James says.

None of them make eye contact with Thomas so he can only hope they don’t see the shine of tears that threaten to fall for a moment before he gets control again.

“Thank you,” he says, turning back to them, but in such a way that his hand drifts behind him to remain over Alastair’s. “I know you’d just as soon leave him for dead, so...”

“We would never,” James insists.

“Especially not knowing he’s… uh... important to you,” Matthew says, sounding unsure of what he should be saying here. Thomas hasn’t actually said anything on the matter of him and Alastair yet, not that there’s much left to guess at now, but he doesn’t want to get into it with Matthew and the others just then.

“I’ll stay with him,” Thomas says instead, his tone making it clear that this isn’t a request. “We can talk later?” He adds to James and Matthew, knowing that he owes them some sort of explanation but hoping they’ll be willing to wait.

“Yeah, of course,” James says, and Matthew nods in agreement before they both turn and leave.

Thomas sinks into the chair next to Alastair’s bed, thinking of all the things he plans to say the moment Alastair wakes up. He’s relieved but also filled with regret, his mind full of every moment he and Alastair could’ve greeted one another with quick a kiss, or held hands, wondering if they hadn’t still been a secret if Alastair would’ve come back to the Institute rather than leave himself alone and vulnerable.

Wondering if taking so long to realize just how important Alastair is to him, even if their relationship is still relatively new, could’ve been the thing that lost him forever if Cordelia hadn’t come when she did.

He’s so deep in thought he doesn’t notice that Cordelia moves to take the chair opposite him until she speaks.

“I thought he’s been happier lately,” she says, handing Alastair’s ring and chain back to Thomas. “I was glad to see it, and even more pleased to find out the reason.”

Thomas doesn’t have to ask what she means - he only smiles as he puts the necklace back on, taking what comfort he can from the knowledge.

---

Alastair barely has the chance to blink once before he feels someone’s hand squeeze around his at this first sign of consciousness. His eyelids flutter open slowly to reveal what he already knows by the increasingly familiar touch - that Thomas is with him.

“Thank the Angel,” Thomas sighs next to him, and Alastair notes that he looks tired and wary, all the way down to his bones.

“Are you okay?” Alastair asks him.

Thomas pauses, then laughs incredulously.

“You pass out in an alley on your way home and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Alastair cringes at the memory, then at the pain in his side as he shifts to try and sit up in the bed.

“Careful,” Thomas warns, placing one hand on Alastair’s shoulder and the other behind his back to ease him down again. “Cordelia will return any minute and if she thinks I let you re-injure yourself she’ll kill me.”

Thomas gives Alastair a brief summary of what happened, including the fact that their relationship, while never officially declared, isn’t quite secret anymore either.

“I’m sorry they found out,” Alastair says at the end. “I know you didn’t-”

“No, I’m sorry, Alastair. I’m sorry I didn’t tell them sooner. I was a fool for trying to get them to like you more first. I don’t care if they like you. I like you, and that’s all that matters. Forgive me for not realizing that sooner?”

Alastair smiles. “I think I can manage that.”

Thomas smiles back, relief flooding through him as he leans over Alastair for a kiss. They’re both dimly aware of the sound of approaching footsteps and, as neither of them break the kiss, have both decided to embrace showing just how much they care about one another, no matter where they are and who is around to see.

They’re done hiding and they couldn’t care less about who the footsteps belonged to just then.

...that is, until the person clears their throat and speaks in the unmistakable voice of Mr. Herondale.

“I see both my patients are feeling better,” Will says, and Alastair can feel the grimace cross Thomas’ lips while they’re still pressed against his, just before Thomas pulls away with a slight flush on his cheeks.

“Much better,” Alastair confirms.

In fact, injury notwithstanding, this is the best he’s felt in a long time, and he has a pretty good reason to believe that things will only get better from here.

Alastair glances to his side and grins at Thomas, watching as that reason smiles back at him.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Five Times Spencer Doesn’t Meet Sam, and One Time He Does

Part 6: 2007 (two days later)

Sam Winchester x Spencer Reid

Word Count: ~1480 this chapter

Warnings: Vague implications of torture, a threatening needle, and a spot o’ violence. One side character death as seen in canon.   

A/N: What if Spencer got to be happy for once AU! It’s Revelations, except with more flirting and less drug addiction.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Everything hurts. Spencer’s head is throbbing, and his wrists are chafed raw, and there’s a stabbing pain radiating up his leg… and he still doesn’t want whatever Tobias has in that syringe, no matter how much he claims it’ll help. 

“Please,” Spencer protests, and he tries to wriggle away. The needle glints in the low light; he tries not to think about the multitude of pathogens that could be clinging to that tiny spike of metal.

The door slams open. 

Tobias’s hand jerks violently as he flinches. For one horrifying moment Spencer’s convinced it must’ve pierced the skin, and he’s waiting for his nerves to register the pain, but the syringe skitters harmlessly across the floor. 

Two shots ring out, and Hankel stumbles backward. 

Spencer shouts, trying to figure out where he was hit, but… Spencer must be seeing things, his brain pushed to the limit by dehydration or shock, because instead of  falling down, Hankel is smoking. He’s shouting and hissing and smoking like he’s been burned, cringing away, cowering.

There are two men advancing, shotguns cocked, and they’re shouting words that don’t make any sense. For a moment Spencer thinks it’s auditory hallucinations, part of his delirium, but then he realizes it’s Latin. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus—”

“You think you can stop the Lord’s will?” Hankel roars, and it’s the father talking now, drawing his gun, surging to his feet and storming forward. 

Everything is moving jerky and slow, one frame at a time, like Spencer’s seeing it through an old slide projector.

Hankel pulls the trigger. The empty chamber clicks uselessly. 

“—omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio—”

One of the men is grabbing Hankel, sending the gun to the floor with a clatter and wrapping him with a length of chain that pins his arms to his sides. Hankel howls as he wrestles against the man’s hold, clawing at the chain, and Spencer would swear it’s burning him somehow. 

“—omnis congregatio et secta diabolica—” 

The other man is at Spencer’s side, sawing at the bonds on his wrists, but Spencer can’t stop staring at Hankel. 

There’s smoke pouring from his mouth: a long coal-black column of it that twists away and streams into the floor, leaving nothing but a charred patch on the wood to mark where it disappeared. 

Hankel drops like a rag doll. 

The man drops the chain and lets out a relieved sigh before kneeling down, checking for a pulse. 

“This one’s fine,” he announces, getting to his feet. “Maybe it was just the stink that knocked him out, this place smells like a mermaid’s asshole.” 

“I know you,” comes a deep voice from Spencer’s side. The last of the bonds fall away and Spencer turns, blinking dazedly for a second before he recognizes the guy from the bar. It was less than two days ago, but it feels like another lifetime. 

“Am I hallucinating you?” Spencer croaks, stretching his hands, trying to get some feeling back in his fingers. His tongue feels like sandpaper.

The guy laughs. “No. I’m Sam. This is Dean.” 

Tobias sits bolt upright suddenly, pale and wide-eyed. 

“What did you do?” he wheezes. “Where did Raphael go?” 

“Raphael?” 

“He was an angel. My father said he was an angel.”  

Dean snorts. “Yeah, and I’m the fuckin’ Pope.” 

“You were possessed by a demon,” Sam explains, a little more gently. 

“No,” Tobias insists. “Not me, my father. He — he said they were punishing the sinners. Doing the Lord’s work.” 

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but the Lord’s got fuck-all to do with this,” Dean says gruffly. He turns and looks around for his shotgun. 

“Rock salt,” Sam explains, at Spencer’s bewildered look. 

Which… doesn’t actually clarify anything? Spencer has questions. 

“You’re gonna regret that, boy.” 

It’s Charles Hankel’s booming voice. Before any of them can react, he’s tackling Dean, knocking him off his feet and pinning him down. He strikes Dean across the jaw with skull-rattling force. 

Dean just gapes at him for a split-second, flabbergasted. Spencer realizes that they didn’t know about the father or the psychotic break. Then Dean’s fighting back, cursing and struggling as Hankel snarls. Sam dives for the shotgun, but this time the scattered hail of rock salt doesn’t seem to have any effect. 

Sam and Dean are both shouting over the sound of the scuffle: 

“Are you sure—”

“The exorcism didn’t—”

“—holy water!” 

“—silver?” 

“He’s—” Spencer starts, but his voice comes out shredded and cracked, and he can’t make himself heard. 

Sam pulls out a flask with a cross on it and splashes water on Hankel, which (obviously, Spencer thinks) only makes him angrier. 

“What the hell is this guy?” Sam hisses. 

“You think holy water has any effect on a servant of God?” Hankel roars. He backhands Dean across the jaw with a brutal crack, and the impact leaves him stunned and motionless. Hankel pulls a knife from his belt before standing to turn on Sam. 

Spencer can barely gather the energy to drag himself out of the chair. He stumbles on uncooperative legs, staggering a couple steps before collapsing to the floor and grabbing Hankel’s gun. 

Sam and Hankel are across the room, now, wrestling for control of the knife, and they’re too close together. Spencer wouldn’t be able to make that shot even under ideal circumstances, and right now his hands are trembling alarmingly. 

One bullet. 

“Sam,” Spencer says hoarsely, as loud as he can manage, and somehow Sam hears. He glances over and reacts instantaneously, twisting out of Hankel’s grip, dropping to the floor and rolling away. 

Spencer squeezes the trigger. Hankel falls. 

For a moment there’s a stunned pause in the little shack. Nothing but Sam and Spencer’s labored breathing breaks the silence. 

Sam kicks the knife out of Hankel’s reach before rushing to check on Dean, but Hankel’s not struggling; he’s just lying there, clutching the bloodstain that’s spreading slowly across his chest. Spencer limps over and looks down at him. 

“You killed him,” Tobias says, his voice thin and tremulous.

He almost looks relieved. Something in Spencer’s ribcage twists sharply. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Tobias’s eyes are already glassy and unseeing. He’s gone, and so is his father. 

Spencer, somehow, is still here. He’s shivering and lightheaded and weak with hunger, but he’s alive. He crouches and gently closes Tobias’s eyes, and then he stands up and turns his back on the body. 

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck just happened?” Dean groans, as Sam helps him to his feet. 

“You might be concussed,” Spencer points out, but Dean scoffs and waves a dismissive hand. 

“Minor head trauma, cool, must be a day that ends in Y,” he grumbles, heading for the door. “Not what I meant.” 

“Split personality — wait. What did— how did you— why—” Spencer stutters. “My team, I need—”

“First things first,” Sam says firmly. “Water, food, fresh air… c’mon, you can call your team and then I’ll explain everything.” 

Spencer limps after him, blinking as he emerges into the slanting late afternoon sunlight. It’s a bright, clear day, and the air smells like dirt and grass and green growing things. He stops for a second and sags against the rough wood door frame, hauling in a lungful of air. He feels so light he might float away. 

Everything still hurts, and once the shock wears off Spencer’s going to have some nasty memories to process, but… he’s lucky. God, he’s lucky. It could’ve been so much worse. Right now, all Spencer can feel is a fierce, dizzying joy at the knowledge that he’s alive. 

“Hey, wait,” Dean says, wheeling around and pointing an accusing finger at Spencer. “You showed up at that — the fuckin’ redneck torture house. Last year. Remember, Sammy?” Sam looks skeptical for a moment before his eyes go wide, and Dean continues with a smirk: “You wouldn’t shut up about his lock picking skills. Or his face.” 

Sam scowls. Dean gives him a shit-eating grin and lopes off toward a shiny black muscle car. They must be brothers, Spencer realizes. 

“You look different,” Sam mumbles, pink-cheeked. 

“I think I was too busy freaking out about spiderwebs to get a good look at you guys,” Spencer replies, wrinkling his nose at the memory. “Huh.” 

“Um… here, you can call whoever you need to call. Sorry about him. I didn’t — sorry if I made you uncomfortable, the other night, I thought—” He breaks off, shaking his head, and hands Spencer his phone. 

There’s a reckless feeling bubbling up in Spencer’s chest, obliterating his usual lack of confidence, in spite of the fact that he’s covered in blood and smells like burned fish guts. Maybe he’s delirious after all. 

“After I call my team, I’m going to put my number in here,” Spencer says, and a grin spreads slowly over Sam’s face. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I think I owe you a drink.” 

.

.

Fin.

Series masterpost here! 

.

@hoboal87​ @bkworm4life4​

[glasswingsndreamz]

Help Me (Get Laid) - Mammon

Pairing: Mammon x Reader/MC

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit

“Hey [Y/N] I’ve got a great plan- WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Leave it up to Mammon to burst into your room before you can even begin to consider your options.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO [Y/N]?!” He’s staring at you in bewilderment. I mean it looks like you but the last time he checked, Mammon’s human didn’t have horns.

“I am [Y/N]!” You reassured him before he can run off and get Lucifer. With how loud he was shouting at least one of his brothers must have heard him. “Had an accident with one of Satan’s books and now I’m stuck like this,” you explained.

Mammon still looked at you skeptically.

“Prove it.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Remember that one time we stayed up all night watching TSL and you cried because-”

“Alright alright I believe you!” He cut you off before you could finish. “Uh is there a reason you’re only wearing sheets?”

“Well for some dumb reason the book decided it was going to make me naked too so I had to put on Satan’s sheets so no one would see me running to my room without anything covering my body,” you said, clutching the sheets tighter to your body.

There’s too much to process and Mammon isn’t sure what pisses him off more. The fact that you were naked in Satan’s room or the fact that his bed sheets were wrapped around your body. Knowing that you’re wrapped in the sheets that Satan’s scent is seeped into and beginning to cling to your body makes him want to tear it away from you. He doesn’t even care if you get pissed at him, as long as you’re not smothered in his brother’s scent.

“Take that off,” he practically growls.

“What- But I don’t have anything else I can put on,” you clutched the sheets, almost afraid he’ll rip them out of your hands.

“I don’t care! I can’t stand you smelling like him. It makes me want to throw up,” he said, clenching his fists.

“Fine! Whatever, you absolute drama queen! Just look away until I say so,” you said and he obediently turned around.

“As if I would want to see-! The great Mammon has no interest in seeing a human’s naked body!” he stumbled over his words, face burning up. The soft sound of the sheets hitting the floor had his heart pounding in his chest. Oh fuck, you were completely naked behind him right now. Holy shit you were naked and he was right there.

“Good thing I’m not a human right now, I guess,” you said as you wrapped a spare towel around your body instead. It was a much better alternative than accidentally tripping on sheets or holding them up so they didn’t touch the ground.

“I don’t give a fuck if ya look like a succubus, you’re still a human!”

“Yeah, yeah well I guess I won’t be getting your help then if you can’t even stand to see me naked,” you said, trying not to let his words bother you. Part of you was pretty damn sure he didn’t mean a single insult he hurled at you, but it still hurt when he repeatedly talked about how repulsive humans were and how he would never like a human like you. It was a real blow when he constantly berated you in front of his brothers.

“What do ya mean by that?” Mammon narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Of course I’m helping ya out. You don’t need anyone else when you have the great Mammon to help you!”

There’s that minor reassurance that he must like you. His possessive nature at least hinted towards his interest. Regardless you want to make him suffer a little bit.

“I couldn’t possibly make you do that! I know how disgusted you are by humans. I’m sure Asmo would be more than happy to fuck me so I’ll turn back into a human.”

It’s really petty, you know it is. However the array of emotions that are expressed on his face kind of makes it funny. The first emotions you recognize are hurt followed by regret. It quickly transforms into confusion until finally he’s left with a mixture of anger and disgust on his face.

“Wait a second? Are ya telling me that to turn back into a human, ya gotta get laid?!” he shouted.

“That’s what the book said. Anyways, don’t worry about it. I’m sure Asmo would actually enjoy helping me out with this,” you continue playing around. However, you don’t expect his reaction to be so extreme.

“No no NO NO NO ABSOLUTELY NOT! THERE IS NO WAY IN DEVILDOM THAT ASMO IS GETTING HIS FILTHY PAWS ON YA!” he snapped, grabbing your hands in his.

“Oh, and who am I supposed to fuck?” you asked, pulling your hands from his grip.

“No one!” He answered as if it was clear.

“I don’t think Lucifer is going to like that answer when I explain why I haven’t turned back into a human. If he doesn’t kill me first since I fucked up the whole exchange program by no longer being a human,” you explained. “And I’d rather have sex with someone that actually wants me. At least I know Asmo is down to fuck.”

Mammon looks frantic as he realizes that he’s running out of options to convince you to not fuck his brother.

“I’ll do it!”

You cringe at his word choice.

“Way to make it sound like a chore. I’m not going to sleep with someone who doesn’t even want me like that,” you retorted.

It’s clear from the look on his face that he’s inwardly struggling with his thoughts. There’s clear panic on his face. This time there’s a sliver of guilt in your gut knowing that you were purposely making him suffer like this. You quickly remind yourself that he shouldn’t constantly be putting you down in front of his brothers though. A frown tugged at the corner of your lips when he still doesn’t respond.

“Iwantyou,” he’s so quiet you’re not even sure if he truly spoke or not.

“What?”

“I said I want you damn it! I don’t want anyone else touching ya except for me!” his face is burning from embarrassment as he shouts his own confession.

“So don’t ask anyone else, because you’re my human, got tha-”

You don’t let him finish, muffling his words by covering his lips with your own. That’s more than enough to shut him up. When you pull away he seems frozen in shock, eyes wide as he stares at you.

“Mammon, I really like you a lot. I’d gladly let you… I mean out of everyone in Devildom, I only want you to help me with this,” you confessed.

“Wha?” he blinked. “I mean- Of course you like me!” he smiled brightly.

It’s hard not to laugh at how adorable he looked, but you manage to stifle it by pressing your lips back against his. The towel concealing your body dropped to the floor when you loosen your grip on it. The surprised noise that came from Mammon was muffled, but you could feel his body tensing up against yours. He had to pause the kiss, instead pressing his face into your neck to keep from looking because he still wasn’t sure if it was alright to look at you. There was a moment of uncertainty, where he wasn’t sure if it was okay to continue on or not. After all, he was a demon and your soul shined so brightly with its beauty. Was it really alright to be touching someone who seemed like an angel compared to him?

The other part of his brain screamed to touch you. You were his! You said so yourself that you liked him that you wanted him to do this to you. For crying out loud you were naked in front of him, and it wasn’t even on accident! Oh fuck he wanted to grab you all over and shove his cock inside you. He imagined lifting you up, surprising you, as he fucked you up against the wall. His mind was racing and his pants were already becoming too tight with all the things he imagined doing to you.

His hands were uncharacteristically shaky as they hovered over your waist. All he needed was a small nudge of assurance from you, pressing your bare body against his, to give him encouragement. It was the last step to break the insecurity holding him back.

Fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, groping and pressing you harder against him as he bucked his hips forward.

The fucking sound you make makes his stomach flip and all the remaining blood flows straight to his dick. With each thrust against you he grows more desperate. He appreciates your attempt at helping, grinding back against him, but it’s not enough. Too many layers are keeping him from a more pleasurable experience. Not enough friction to satisfy him.

“Help me get out of these,” he said as he gestured to his clothes, hoping it sounds more demanding than desperate.

As he slips off his jacket and pulls off his shirt, you fumble with his belt buckle. He feels like a flustered mess as he watches you whip off his belt and immediately go for his jean’s button and zipper. His mouth goes dry when he notices the wet stain on his pants where he was grinding against you. The realization that it’s from you’re dripping pussy really does a number on him.

As soon as the jeans are undone, Mammon shoves them all the way down along with his boxers. His desire to have you immediately is a great distraction from any insecurity he might have. He’s too lost in his own need to even think about how this is the first time you’ve seen his dick. He couldn’t bother to think about anything other than the way it felt positioning himself between your legs and rubbing his cock along your folds. Instinctively your thighs squeeze together, making Mammon moan at the delicious friction. It made it that much easier to thrust his cock in and out between your thighs with how slick your inner thighs were from your arousal leaking out.

You muffled your own cries by pulling his face to yours and kissing him again and again. The space between your legs only seemed to grow wetter at the feeling of his cock rubbing right against your lips.

“Please,” you said between kisses. You couldn’t take it any longer, growing over sensitive from all his unintentional teasing. “Please fuck me.”

Mammon nearly chokes on his own saliva, in no way prepared to hear you say something so obscenely dirty and directed at him. He nearly comes then and there both from the fact that you’re actually begging for him, and how he’s been drawing closer to the edge as he fucks your thighs.

He lifts you with ease to carry you over to the bed, not removing his lips from yours for a single second. This didn’t turn out so well when he pressed you down and fell onto you on the bed, nearly all of his weight pressing into you. Adjusting his position, he settled between your legs and dipped a finger inside your soaking pussy. However that wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy your desires. You made this clear as you grabbed at his dick, stroking it as you pressed your hips up and towards it. Your mewls and cries are embarrassingly needy and greatly boosts Mammon’s ego.

“Calm down already,” he pulled away, removing his finger, and he can’t help but grin smugly when you whine and whimper. “You’re so fucking impatient,”

“Ya really want me huh?” he asked, blushing as he stopped your hand from stroking him. He grabs his cock and rubs the head of it between your folds. His hips arch forward, pushing only the tip inside. You move to push your hips against him and he allows it, happily enjoying the feeling of his cock pushing inside you.

You yelp and practically scream when he gives a quick thrust, balls slapping against your flesh when he fills you completely.

“Shit-” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Shit. Fuck you’re so fucking tight,” he slipped his hands beneath you and held you tightly to him. You breath heavily, adjusting to his size and the painful ache that comes with it. When it begins to fade away you pepper his shoulder and neck with sweet kisses.

He only moves an inch, pulling out the tiniest bit before pushing back in. He has to bury his face against your neck to keep from screaming out from how amazing you feel. There’s too many emotions overwhelming him. You’re his! You’re his and he’s inside you! You’re all his, the evidence is your naked body and pussy clenched perfectly around his cock.

You’re begging him to move and he can’t refuse you. He could never possibly refuse his human. Everyone knew it. So who was he to deny you?

Restraint had never been a skill he was good at. This was obvious in the way he bucked into you frantically. Any semblance of control left as soon as you said his name again.

“Mammon,” you cried out, nails digging into his back as he pounds into you.

It’s fast and hard and it’s not what he wanted or imagined at all. He wanted his first time with you to be special. That idea went out the window immediately as soon as he pushed his cock inside you. It’d be a big fucking lie to say he hadn’t fantasized about this very moment with you. However, none of them involved him fucking you like an animal with no control and no other thoughts except to cum inside you. At least for the first time anyway.

“Fuck [Y/N],” he said, squeezing you tighter in his arms. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge and knew he was already past the turning point. “Cum! Cum for me. Please just fucking cum,” he demanded. A shout was ripped from his lips at the sudden sensation of you pulsing around him, showing him that you actually could obey his orders. It was almost painful how tightly you squeezed him, shoving him over the edge and forcing him to cum deep inside.

Mammon nearly collapsed on top of you. Thankfully he had enough strength to roll onto the spot beside you on the bed.

He grinned happily as he watched you catch your breath. The horns on your head had disappeared, proving that the book wasn’t lying after all.

“Y’know, I accept thank yous in grimm,” he said.

Still catching your breath you glare and smack his chest.

“Jeez! I was just joking!” he said before going silent. The serious expression on his face worried you.

“We can do that again, right?”

[keijikunn]

All Of Your Soul

Part of the @babythotshq mini collab!! You can check the other parts here!

Pairing: demon!Tsukishima Kei x gender neutral!reader Genre: angst, crack if you squint for like 2 seconds  Summary: Your superstitious grandmother always told you not to get involved with demons, but how could you not when Tsukishima Kei, the one you’ve summoned, was so alluring? Word count: ~3.4k

Author’s note: Happy Halloween!! I hope you enjoy this piece, and a massive shoutout to @hidden-otaku-stuff  @kaitycole  and of course @babythotshq who helped me out during the process of writing this fic! Love you all mwah mwah 💞

WARNINGS: mentions of blood, minor and major character death, yandere!tsukki, mentions of violence, mention of sex, swearing

Ever since you were a kid, your grandmother warned you about the evil creatures that cohabited the world you lived in. She was often called crazy because of it - after all, she was an old lady talking non-stop about demons. However, that topic amazed you rather than giving you chills down your spine. Your curiosity grew progressively as she told you the same thing over and over: “Don’t mess up with them, or else they’ll take your soul away”.

You always thought grandma told you those stories just to scare you off, to make sure you would stay in line. But the way you’d laugh it off at the age of 7 almost like daring the threat hinted your disbelief. 

"The entire hell can come get me, they won't be able to touch me!" you once told your grandmother, which earned you a scoff and a flick on your forehead. 

"Oh, Y/N" she cooed, almost in pity, patting your head. "You will regret it when you're older," 

And once again, you laughed at her. 

It became part of your childhood, long forgotten as the years passed by and the concept of believing in demons appeared to be silly. Your memory permanently buried it in the depths of your mind after your dear grandmother passed away, leaving this world with her tales from underworld creatures.

A long time since she passed,, you remembered the spooky way the old woman would tell you different myths when you were packing your belongings to leave for college. The old box stuffed inside the attic filled with dusty and thick books lit a lamp in your head, concluding your grandma used to tell you those stories. 

Not only did she have short terrifying ones, your grandma seemed to be way more superstitious than just believing in simple tales. Some of them had different symbols, with many side notes written - assumably - by your late relative. The barely readable handwritten overlapped one another, all information mixing into a big mess that you could hardly understand. 

“Granny was really into it, huh?” 

It wouldn’t hurt reading them - after all, it would be for the sake of your childhood. 

And just like you found yourself drawing strange patterns inside a circle on the floor of your bedroom with chalk, it hardly appeared but you didn’t mind. It’s just some made up stories, you thought, proceeding to let an airy laugh just thinking about your grandmother tossing and turning in her coffin. Your disbelief in these surely came from your young age. After that, all you needed to do was a single drop of your blood and say some weird phrases. 

“If it doesn’t work, it’s because of these freaking sentences,” you muttered, pricking your finger with a needle. As the red liquid fell on the center of the circle you drew, the difficult words slipped out of your lips.

A few minutes passed by after you finished the ritual and the bedroom was engulfed in silence. How you wished you could talk to your grandmother right now, just to rub it in her face that she was wrong - even though you had a mess to clean. Tossing the old book aside, you laughed at the situation you had put yourself in and undid a part of the draw. 

“You know, ever since you were a kid your sassy attitude got me on my nerves,” a second voice echoed, a male one. 

You have never turned your head so quickly in your life, looking for the person who just spoke to you. A tall, blonde guy stood on the other side of the circle; the black dress shirt had the first three buttons undone matching with the black slacks. He was handsome, and you wondered if it was your mind’s work to show you one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen (and imagined) in your life. “It’s rude to stare”

“I must be crazy,” you laughed, rubbing your eyes, when you opened them again, he was still there, with an annoyed look on his features. “Granny must be pranking me, there’s no fucking way I summoned-”

“A demon, actually you just did, haven’t you read the book, dumbass?” he hissed, rolling his eyes. The blonde man crouched to look at the poorly drawn summoning circle and scoffed. “I wonder how you managed to summon me, this shit is terrible, not to mention your Latin”

“Well, I’m sorry if it’s fucking hard to draw it, let alone speaking goddamn Latin!” This guy, this demon was pissing you out, and he had only been in your room for less than five minutes. “Okay, I guess you’re real, my grandma was right, go to hell”

“A lot of people have already told me this joke, and I have to remind every single human that it sucks,” he snapped angrily, before sighing in defeat and looking at you. “What do you want from me?”

“Me, nothing,” you chimed sarcastically. “I was serious when I told you to go to hell, demon.”

“Can you please not call me demon?!”

“So how should I call you? Rex?”

“Jesus, you’re so annoying-”

“I thought demons couldn’t say Jesus’ name, Rex”

“For fucks sake, it’s Tsukishima!” he said louder than he wanted, his voice vibrated inside your body sending chills down your spine. “You’re the worst human that has ever summoned me, and it was just for fun!” 

“Then stop complaining and return to hell, it’s not that hard!” you shot back, just as annoyed as him. A part of yourself, the superstitious one, the same one that had believed for a short while in your grandma, was screaming at yourself for picking up a fight with a demon, but your prideful one wouldn’t let that go easily. 

“I can’t just do it when you fucking used your blood while summoning me!” Tsukishima exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you know how to read? It clearly says that blood rituals are strong, they tie your soul to me.”

“You’re telling me you, a demon, can't undo this shit?” you asked, at the sight of the male shaking his head sideways you groan frustrated. "What kind of shitty demons are you?"

"A demon that is way smarter than you, idiot." he mocked angrily.

"What am I going to do with such a pain in the ass?" The question didn't look for a proper answer from him, but either way he grunted in protest. "If I pray to whatever god, will you be repelled?"

"You're really the dumbest human I’ve ever met," Tsukishima stated as he rolled his eyes. "Of course not, what do you think I am? An ordinary demon from a shitty movie?"

"Well-"

"You know what? Don't answer it," he cut you, shaking his hand as if the gesture would shut you off. "Clean this mess, it's giving me chills seeing such a bad job." 

"Use your demon powers to clean it all!"

"I'm not a fucking fairy!"

Tsukishima was just a single demon, but his presence seemed to bring the whole hell to you. His witty and unnecessary comments easily threw you off the edge, and as if he noticed, which he probably did, the man made sure to say at least one provoking statement every single time he opened his mouth.

It wasn’t easy to get used with his presence, especially when Tsukishima made sure to remind you every minute you were awake that “it’s your fault”. 

Yet, the demon did not tell you how to break whatever bond you established with him. You came to the conclusion that his duty whenever he was summoned was to annoy people out. What a useless demon, you thought once, just to hear him screaming profanities and insults inside your head.

You have never imagined that this situation would drag for so long. Tsukishima was there on your first day at college, and he made sure to make you embarrass yourself in front of your class. He was also there to ruin your first date with a cute guy from one of your periods, Inuoka ended the night a bit paranoid about someone following him around.

“I think you told me you weren’t a fairy to do this kind of thing, Tsukki” you commented sarcastically, feeling the anger bubble inside your chest. 

“You heard it right, Y/N,” he answered, throwing himself at your not-so-comfortable sofa, stretching his legs over the coffee table in front of it. “That guy looked like a little boy scared of his own shadow!”

“Why did you do it?!” The question came out more desperate than you wanted it to be. Inuoka wasn’t the first man Tsukishima pulled a stunt on, and by the way your personal demon (as you address him) acts it’s not going to be the last. “He was so nice, he didn’t deserve this childish attitude of yours!”

“Well, he doesn’t have part of your soul like I do,” Tsukishima muttered quietly, but his eyes spoke volumes about his feelings. The possessiveness shone in his golden-brown orbs, a hint of jealous maybe, and you wondered once again if he had feelings like you.

“Tsukishima…” 

All words left your brain as the tall man walked over you, holding your face with his hand. He ran his thumb over your lips and squeezed your cheeks with his grip, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. “What are you-”

“You’re mine.” He spoke firmly, not giving a chance to say anything back. “I have a part of me in you and part of your soul is mine. You are mine”

Without a warning, Tsukishima leaned down to smash his lips against yours. His movements were harsh, but it didn’t take too long for you to give in into the heated kiss. Your head was empty, and all you could feel was his mouth on yours and a slender hand travelling inside your shirt. The lack of air in your system made you pull away from the contact, locking eyes with him with a clear question mark above your head. 

“What the hell was that, Tsukki?” The anger vanished, leaving behind confusion and a bit of… desire inside of you. 

“I’m just showing you who you belong to.” 

At that moment you couldn’t see all the red flags on that simple statement. The frustration of many failed dates piled up on your nerves to the point that you were not able to see the meaning behind those words. The mere thought of a man desiring you probably the same way as you did blinded you, and that made you snake your hands around Tsukishima’s neck and bring him down to another feverish kiss.

The rest of the night passed by like a blur, Tsukishima’s touch was hot on your skin - and you enjoyed it. The sane part of your brain didn’t have enough room to question your actions: what on Earth were you doing hooking up with a demon? Were you that desperate to be intimate with someone? As quickly as those thoughts invaded your mind, the man towering over you proceeded to take your focus to himself

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but once you woke up, feeling sore as fuck, you noticed Tsukki lying next to you. His eyes were closed, yet you knew for a fact he wasn’t in a deep slumber-  he didn't need sleep. Nevertheless, you took a few moments to appreciate the view, at the same time flashes of your previous activities together came to you just like a fever dream. 

“You don’t have a brain to think too much, dumbass,” he said without even looking at you, a sly smile graced his face nicely and you wondered if he was, at some point in his life, an actual angel. “Do you know who you belong to?”

“I’m not really sure,” you replied shamelessly. Tsukishima’s eyes opened to look straight at yours, arching his eyebrows at your daring tone. “All I remember is a very annoying demon being a bitch about a guy I was interested in”

Messing with Tsukishima became one of your favourite things, because his immediate response was to pin you on the next hard surface and engage in a messy kiss. Being with him was way different than any other relationship you've had, which weren't many since that demon was on your ass ever since you started college. 

Either way, you loved the push and pull between you two. The constant bickering would eventually turn into a heated make out session, and sometimes even more than that. You completely forgot that the man you were in a sort of relationship (if you could call it that way) was a supernatural creature; your mind chose to bury the important information of who Tsukishima really was: a demon.

His actions started to change after over a month or two since you fucked for the first time. Although the snarky and teasing comments were far from coming to an end, you found yourself curled next to him every night. Tsukishima would hold you before you sleep, even if he had to spend a few hours in the same position (which never lasted long, he learned in the hard way that you toss and turn a lot). 

You also changed around him, much to your surprise. You no longer found other men at college attractive; your Friday nights were spent on your couch with Tsukishima next to you, with a random movie on the TV while the two of you kiss. He was your getaway when things got too rough for you, with his hot touches and endless desire. 

Maybe it was the attention Tsukishima gave you, or perhaps that he has been with you for so long, but he managed to win your heart completely. Every time the blonde demon hissed “you’re mine”, how he always satiates your desires and even the awkward moments when he tries to cuddle you. Every little thing this man does pull the strings attached to your heart and mind. 

And you knew Tsukishima noticed your change of demeanor as well, how you got clingier as the months passed by, the soft tone on your voice and the lack of sarcastic responses to his mean comments. You were falling in love with him, and it was the most obvious thing Tsukki has ever witnessed during his whole life dealing with humans.

“I think I love you, Tsukki” you managed to say, your body trembled due to the intense pleasure the man above you just provided. His eyes were unreadable as he looked down at you, but you could dare to say there was a hint of fondness swimming in them. “I never thought it would be possible to fall in love with in all creatures, a demon”

“Yeah?” he caressed your cheek, tracing down to your neckline and pressing on the reddish marks on your skin. “And you were the almighty kid who didn’t believe in demons”

“A pretty annoying demon changed my mind, I have to add” the smile on your face was small, but held so much meaning. However, Tsukishima didn’t mirror your feelings, displaying a rather sadistic one instead. “And you, have you changed your mind about humans?”

“Who knows?” Tsukishima asked rhetorically, letting his body fall next to yours on the bed. "You're the most… interesting human I've met." 

You laughed at his comment, pressing your face against his side in a loving manner. The fact that Tsukishima stood still instead of responding to the display of affection went unnoticed by you; he was being himself, you tried to justify his stiffness. 

Your relationship with him was just like that: you being overly affectionate and Tsukishima… being himself, the hard to approach demon with beautiful looks and with a magnetic aura. You fell easily for him, like getting used to a new daily routine. In a matter of time you found yourself being more vocal about your quick paced heart, the butterflies flying inside your stomach and even the high pitched tone of your voice whenever you couldn't retort one of his comments. 

The man, on the other hand, didn’t follow this demeanor - in fact, Tsukishima started to act the opposite way. He would avoid your touches like the plague, leaving your apartment late at night and returning near the afternoon with purple marks on his neck and collarbones. Something inside you, jealousy, lit up like setting something on fire: wild, uncontrolled and destructive. Once it starts burning, it won’t stop easily. 

“Can’t you stop fucking other people around?!” You screamed at him, not caring if the clock on the wall just hit three in the morning. “Am I not enough for you?”

“Stop making a case out of it, Y/N” Tsukishima rolled his eyes trying to pass through you, only to be blocked by your body. “Jesus, why are you being so jealous?! We have nothing between us”

“I am fucking in love with you, dumbass!” Your high pitched voice was followed by a dead silence. Tsukishima stared at you blankly while you took deep breaths in order to calm yourself, but the adrenaline of your confession didn’t help you stay quiet. “I’ve been head over heels for you for the longest time and you proceeded to hook up with other people every night… Am I that easy for you? I love you with all my heart, a part of my soul is yours- why can’t you do the same?”

All you could hear at first was your erratic breathing pattern, then the room was filled with his laugh. He was laughing as if someone had just told him the funniest joke he ever heard, the way his torso bent forward to accompany sick amusement creeped you out. Tsukishima pretended to wipe a tear and smiled at you. 

“Oh, Y/N… You’re definitely something else, huh?” He said rhetorically, stretching his arm so his hand could cup your face. You stood still, suddenly unsure about his actions and words. Tsukishima has never used such a cold and psychotic tone with you, let alone that sadistic smirk hiding so many feelings. “So you finally accepted that you’re mine, right?”

“H-How can I be yours if you don’t give yourself to me, as well?” Never in your life have you felt so terrified, something in Tsukishima’s demeanor screamed that he wasn’t joking around. He was about to do something bad, and it would be against you. “Isn’t my love enough for you?”

“Well, to be honest? It’s almost enough” he agreed, his index finger traced down your cheeks, following down your neck until it pointed directly to the left side of your chest, above your beating heart. “So, shall I claim what is mine?”

The time seemed to be slowed down, your heartbeats were loud in your ears and your limbs were numb - you couldn’t move them at all. Regardless, it would be impossible for you, a mere human, to stop Tsukishima from slamming his hand against your chest. You didn’t feel physical pain, but the sensation of something, someone wrapping slender fingers around your inner self made you scream. 

“Tsukishima, w-what are you doing?” Your trembling voice made him laugh, the same hand he used to hit you fully on display for you to see him close it. The immediate reaction of you was a shriek, as if the demon was squeezing your insides. “What the fuck, Tsukki?”

 “Why are you so surprised?” Tsukishima asked with fake innocence, wiping the tears you didn’t know you shed. “You just told me you loved me with all your heart, that a part of your soul is mine… So I’m claiming my belongings, after all, this is the kind of demon I am: whenever a stupid little human like you summons me with blood, they sell their souls to me. It’s a matter of time for me to get it”

“I… I trusted you, Tsukki…” Your sobs interrupted your own speech. All the intimate moments you two have spent together were pure acting, meaningless, just to make you give your everything spontaneously to him. 

Your grandmother was right. You regretted every single interaction you had with Tsukishima, the demon you summoned before entering college. 

“Well, it’s your own fault.” With that, Tsukishima harshly pulled his hand backwards, leaving behind only an empty body with no soul. 

TAGLIST

crossed users are the ones i couldn’t tag!

@jovialnoise @paripedia @angmarwitch @shinhiromi @mariachiiii @elianetsantana @moonlightaangel @vicassa @boosyboo9206 @shrimpypenis @sunshine-hina @kozupresh @humanitysbiggestsimp @atsumubabe​ @sachirou-senpai

[so-cool-day6]

Dreams Do Come True [M]

tags|smut, wet dreams, blowjobs, yeosang being an angel, literally just giving yeosang oral

[8:23 AM]You’ve been up for the past 30 minutes, getting ready and making breakfast for you and your boyfriend. Now, you're happily skipping towards the bedroom to wake Yeosang and tell him his food is ready. 

But just before you enter the room, there’s a single sound that makes you stop in your tracks and raise a brow. 

It starts off as a simple whimper, but after listening closely, you conclude that there’s panting mixed in as well. For a moment, you try to decide if it’s a good idea to walk in, but you shake it off and say of course it is. For all you know, he could be having a bad dream and needs a sweet kiss to wake him up. 

Lightly pushing open the door, you're met with a painfully angelic sight. There’s Yeosang, laying on the bed with his messy hair that still managed to look perfect, his face scrunched up in concentration while sweat begins to form on his forehead. His hips are thrusting into nothing as he’s trying desperately to gain any friction. 

You wonder what he’s doing, humping nothing under the covers. “Yeosang?” you call out to him, but he doesn’t respond. He only continues to thrust into the air and let delicate whimpers leave his plump, quivering lips. 

That's when you realize that he's still asleep. You almost coo at how cute he is. Poor baby is having a wet dream, you quietly chuckle to yourself. 

It looks like he’s struggling. What to do with him... An idea pops into your mind. But is it an idea you should do? The food will get cold soon and won't be nearly as good. On the other hand, there's no harm in letting it go cold when you're helping your boyfriend with his little problem.

Sneakily, you tiptoe towards the end of the bed. And just as silently, you lift the covers and crawl through. The sun provides enough light through the window that you can see everything underneath. As soon as you're laying on your stomach, over his legs, you’re face to face with something rather prominent. 

Yeosang’s hard on is straining in his gym shorts. Slowly, you reach for the elastic band that clings to his hips. For a second, he jerks at the unfamiliar touch, but he calms again soon after and goes back to shifting uncomfortably in his shorts.

Sliding down his waistband midway down his thighs, you can see the outline of him nicely in his briefs. There’s a small wet spot at just the tip, which brings a smile to your lips. Seeing the way his cock slides up and down in his briefs makes you want to get to work right away. So you do. 

First, it’s a poke and immediately, his breath hitches. Then it’s another poke, and your finger glides gently up and down him. Above you, Yeosang’s whine sounds like heaven. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that you’ve managed to end up with someone who’s the entity of everything light and beautiful. 

Your craving mind demands that you look at the angel himself. For a second, you lift the blanket to get a glimpse of him, and you’re glad you did. Everything from his messy bed head to the heavy rise and fall of his chest makes you melt. The way his needy expression sends all sorts of tingles around your body reminds that you have a job to do. You scan him one last time before letting the cover fall over you again. 

No time is wasted anymore. As smoothly, and as desperately, as you can, you pull his briefs down enough to allow for his member to pop out. It hits against his stomach, and he stirs more from his dream. You take a hold of his cock with one hand and admire it. 

Is it possible for a dick to be so pretty? Because his is beautiful like the rest of him. It’s pretty pink tip spouts precum and drips down his shaft. 

You wipe a thumb over the head and he jerks at the contact. You almost swear that you heard him mutter, “Please,” but it could’ve been your imagination, but you wish it's not. And to hopefully confirm your suspicions, you rub around the head again, spreading the precum around, making it easier to move. But instead of being met with words, you’re met with more precious noises from your lover.

You’re still for a second, listening to find out if he’s awake yet. However, he’s still breathing slowly and whimpering quietly. Eventually, you lean in and give him an experimental lick. His mouth twitches open as he gasps. The sound alone is enough to keep you going. 

Another lick turns into multiple flicks of your tongue against him. Yeosang jerks up, nearly hitting you in the face, but you’re quick to move out of the way. A lovely rushed moan escapes his lips and blesses your ears for the first time that morning. You’re so pleased by it, that you could only hope for more. So you were going to work for it. 

You flatten your tongue on the base of his cock and leisurely drag your tongue all the way back up to his tip. Once you reach the head again, you teasingly press your lips against it. Within less than a second, your mouth falls over him and takes him in at once. 

There’s a pleasant gasp above you followed by another moan. Yeosang’s eyes snap open at the abrupt sensation. He’s barely woken up, and he’s already trying to catch his breath. Though, it’s difficult to even do that when there are diverting tingles going up and down his body for unknown reasons. He hasn’t fully processed his surroundings until he struggles to hold in a groan. 

Quickly, he lifts the covers off of him to see a sight that has his eyes lust-filled instantly. There you were, the little demon, Y/n, who was currently sucking him awake and raising him from the land of wet dreams and make-believe. 

He almost feels embarrassed at the thought of it. He remembers every single detail of his dream, from the sweet hurried kisses to you hovering above him and riding him like your life depended on it. He must’ve been acting it or something, and that alone made his cheeks tinge darker than before. 

But god, if he isn’t thankful for it. 

Just as you take him in all the way again, Yeosang’s hand instinctively reaches out and threads itself with your hair. Your gaze snaps up to him at once and you stare at him with dark hooded eyes. He stares back with his mouth hanging open. His hand subtly pushes you down, making you stay in your place with his cock down your throat. 

For the briefest second, you think you’re going to gag at the lack of oxygen, but he lets up a moment later. After you come back, there’s a devilish smirk placed on your lips, “You know… I have breakfast ready,” you draw out. 

He’s still gasping from how much damage you’ve done to him. He’s so weak for you, even in his dreams, even in his sleep. “So?” he asks, out of breath and face painted pink, almost matching his bed head. 

“Sooo, do you want to eat?” you asked, your tone high and serious. However, you already know the answer. It's just fun to tease him. 

Yeosang furrows his brows as he utters a simple answer, “Fuck no. You feel too good.” Those few words were enough to bring you back to him. It’s occasional, but when he swears, it makes you want to ruin him even further. You plan on keeping that silent promise as Electric shocks tingle down your body and straight to your heat. 

Promptly, you wrap your lips around the head and fill your mouth with only him again. Him, the only person you want to be with. Him, the love of your life. Him, who is writhing beneath you. Electric shocks tingled down your body and straight to your heat. 

The more you sucked and licked, the more desperate both of you become. Him, wanting to cum. And you, wanting him to cum and doing something about your own little problem. 

His fingers fiddled with random strands of your hair, tugging each time your tongue goes down the side of his cock. Yeosang mutters curses and whimpers praises, "God, you feel so good. I l-love you- jesus!" every time he speaks, he's interrupted by his own moan spilling out of his mouth like an endless sea. 

He thrusts into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat multiple times, and almost making you gag once again. You hold down his thighs so you can take it at your own pace and take your time pleasuring him. Though he still gently rocked into your mouth, he wasn't nearly as sporadic as he was before you took charge. 

"Y/n, I'm so close," he whispers a warning, a secret between lovers. His eyes are squeezed shut as excitedly searches for his release that's been tormenting him all morning. His lips fall open continuously to let in the air and to let out his feelings of desire.

Your gaze lingers on his features, admiring each and every single detail. To think you were just going to wake him and eat breakfast with him, seems like a choice only an idiot would make. You much rather have your breakfast in bed, with Yeosang being the full course meal.

You don't say anything to him, you just continue to suck harder and move faster to bring him closer and closer to the edge. And when you feel him tense under your touch and twitch in your mouth, you move even quicker. 

Yeosang's head falls back into the pillows, harder than before. Spontaneous moans flow through his lips while spurts of his cum fill your mouth and cover your tongue entirely. Shocks are sent up his spine and the sweet release he's been craving finally comes. 

Watching him squirm during his orgasm makes the wetness in your own pants soak through your underwear. You rub your thighs together hoping to satisfy that undying need for him that's been possessing you for the past few minutes. But it's barely enough for you. 

After he comes down from his high, he’s catching his breath and relishing in the moment. You finally release him with a pop of your lips. You lay there, looking up at him, both in longing and admiration. But you’re a patient person, so you wait. 

Once his breathing calms down, he glances back down to you and sees your eager eyes staring back at him. There’s a glint of pride and need in them that he notices. Yeosang lifts his head and he holds his arms out lazily for you, “C’mere.” 

You happily oblige and crawl into his arms and cuddle into him. He strokes your hair for a moment, then he makes you face him again. There’s a small smile on his face, “You did so well, sweetheart, waking me up like that,” he compliments. Licking his dry lips, he continues, “Do you think I should return the favor?” There’s a hint of something in his voice that sends shivers down your spine. 

Impatiently, you nod, “Please,” you whisper. The constant reminder that you need him in your pants is currently dripping. Forget about breakfast. Forget getting ready for the day. Forget everything else. Because he’s the only thing that’s on your mind, and he’ll be sure to remind you that. 

“Okay sweetheart, get on all fours for me,” he commands. You’ve never been so quick to move before.

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 75

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. | Tag lists are closed | INBOX OPEN

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 75: Exegol

You regained consciousness once more. Kylo’s masked face was in front of yours, blocking most of your vision. The red jagged lines a harsh contrast to your surroundings.

He was stern. “You will do as I say, I must protect you, but I can not hold you like this any longer. You will feel me release your mind and your body, but you must do as I say. It is the only way you leave here alive. Do you understand?” Something about this place was worrying him. Why was it so dangerous?

You watched as the knights shifted nervously around you. But he allowed you to speak. “Yes.” And your body and mind were released. You could still feel a protective Force bubble around you as you analyzed where you were at.

It was dark, you could see lighting strike all around you, as you followed Kylo into this weird monument. The knights surrounding you as Kylo took the lead, his saber ignited. He was on the hunt.

Even though there was no hold on your mind you could feel his presence there. ‘This place is filled with the dark side of the Force. Remember, you will do as I say and only as I say.’

You all stepped on to this hexagonal shape on the floor, it jolted as it lowered you down into some sort of dark abyss. You could see large menacing statues, hundreds of feet tall surrounding the chamber you were entering. The constant bombardment of lighting is the only true source of light other than a weird dull blue glow of mist. If he hadn’t already told you, you would have thought this place was haunted or something. The aura of the room making you on edge.

You could hear chanting in the distance as a loud chilling voice spoke. “Ah, I see you have heeded my instructions.” Something was off but you couldn’t explain it.

Kylo responded to the seemingly disembodied voice. “I have brought her as you requested.” He was talking about you. But why did he request you? Why were you important to all this?

“Good, good my boy. There is hope for you yet. Much more potential than your grandfather.” The voice had a body, or you at least assumed it did as you approached a figure attached to some sort of mechanical arm. “The First Order was just the beginning I will give you so much more.”

Kylo aimed his saber at the crippled looking man. “What could you give me?” You watched the knights take defensive stances around you, following their boss’s lead. You put your hand on your blaster, hoping that whatever will happen, that Phasma’s training would be enough.

His voice almost had a mocking tone to it as he spoke. “Everything. A new Empire. The might of the Final Order will soon be ready. It will be yours since you did as I asked. You killed the girl, ended the Jedi, and became what your grandfather Vader could not. You will rule all the galaxy as the new Emperor.”

“But beware she is not who you think she is.” one of his wrinkly deformed hands pointed to you. “She is your weakness. Break her and this will all be yours.” Who was this man?

‘Do as I say and you will walk out of here alive. Disobey me and he will kill you.’ Kylo’s voice spoke in your mind. You didn’t know if he was supposed to be reassuring you or scaring you more.

“Yes, master,” is what Kylo responded. He turned around to face you, the world around both of you dissipated into black mist. Master? Who was this man? What was Kylo going to do? And then you felt it, you felt the black tendrils squeezing at the last bit of life you had in you, the last bit of you. You didn’t understand.

Tears streaming down your face as you fell to your knees, not being able to bear the pain. “Why are you doing this? You were nice once, what happened?” You couldn’t see anything but him, a loud roaring sound in your ears.

Kylo’s distorted voice ripped through you “Nice? Nice was Ben Solo, who was weak. I am better than him.” You heard the old man laugh at your struggles through the deafening roar.

You were pleading with him. “What about right after our wedding? You were so sweet then.” You wanted to trust him, but this wasn’t the man you knew.  

You heard a chuckle through his mask, something that would haunt even the bravest of warriors. “Ah yes, that was the leftover residue of Ben Solo leaving my body, the accumulation of my mother’s and the scavenger’s powers. Something I couldn’t exactly control at the time. But now it’s just you and me Kitten. The beast, the monster is all you have now.” He brought his hand to his heart, showing you he was the beast.

“You said you wanted me to fix you, to mend your broken soul. I can’t do that like this.” The grip of the Force around you was too much, you watched as his hand turned next to your head. And pain shot through your mind.

‘Do as I say and you will walk out of here alive.’ The voice inside your head was his, but it was different than the one speaking out loud to you. “You already have Kitten. You gave me the motivation to end Ben Solo, to break the part of me that was weak. And now I am breaking the part of you that is weak too. We will be together as one fulfilling my grandfather’s legacy, ruling the galaxy together. Two souls that have mended each other, that have mended together.” He stepped closer to you, taking your jaw in his large gloved hand.

You wanted all of this to end. You said the words you never wanted to really say. The words you wished wouldn’t be true. “You’re a monster.”

His head snapped at the declaration. “I’ve always been a monster, it’s only taken you this long to see it.” If he didn’t have the mask on you could have sworn he would be foaming at the mouth with anger. This is not the man you once knew. He was different. He was terrifying.

“Let me go. I want myself back.” You wanted to go back to Earth, you wanted to wake up and for all of this to be a dream. A small, small part of you wished you had never met him, but something inside of you was fighting for him, something much bigger than you had initially thought.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t know if I want to let you have yourself back. Because you could still run away from me. And guess what? A new name has appeared on my wrist.” He showed the piece of bare skin to you. “Empress Ren. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?  Maybe if we keep this act up, she will be the one that lives, kitten. And she won’t leave me.” A new name replaced yours, he had already started the process of breaking you.

‘Do as I say and you will walk out of here alive.’ His voice in your head was full of emotion, he was crying.

“You’re breaking my heart,” you were screaming now, your voice breaking, your body hurting as you struggled against his grip on your life and body.

“It needs to be broken so I can mend it. Fix it, make it whole, make it mine.” For some reason, it felt as if he was saying this without the mask,  but he wasn’t. You could hear him break with you.

But that didn’t stop what little fight you had left in you. “You’re killing me.”

It felt as if he was whispering to you, “No, I am letting you live. I am giving you life, a new life with me.” It was all too much.

‘Do as I say and you will walk out of here alive.’

 But it wouldn’t be you. It would be someone else entirely. But you gave in. You felt the glass shatter, the black ink spilling in. The embers washed away. You were gone. Your body crumpled to the ground. As your head made impact with the ground, you saw it. You saw the throne from your dreams. You weren’t fully conscious but you could hear what was happening around you.

The old man, “The ritual begins.”

Weird demonic chanting erupted from the room in some sort of agreement.

“He will strike me down and pledge himself as a Sith. He will draw his weapon. He will come to me. He will take his revenge. And with the stroke of his saber, the Sith are reborn. The Jedi are dead.” Why would this man want to be killed? What purpose would this serve if Kylo killed him? Something was off but you couldn’t do anything about it.  

But Kylo was apparently hesitating as the old man became angry, “Do it. Make the sacrifice.”

“I don’t want to be Emperor.” He didn’t he wanted you to have control, or at least that’s what he said in the beginning but that seemed like a lifetime ago.

You felt yourself regain vision and mobility; you were awake now. Or at least whoever you were now.

The old man was furious now. “Don’t be a fool my boy. Of course, you do. It is your destiny.” There was definitely a reason behind him needing Kylo to kill him.

“No, being the Emperor is not my destiny, nor was it my grandfather’s. We both have the same weakness. We love one woman too much, she is the galaxy to me. I will give it to her.”

You watched as lighting erupted from the old man’s hands. Kylo using his strength and ability to fight him, using his saber to deflect it, drawing the old man away from you. The red guards who had been surrounding the edge of where you were now engaged in a battle against the knights.

‘I know you are awake. Shoot him. It is the only way this all ends.’

You saw what was happening now; you looked like you were still unconscious, and Kylo and his knights were a distraction. You watched as Kylo lured the old man away from you, so the old man’s back was to you. This was your one chance.

You struggled to get the blaster, your entire body feeling as if it was hit by a train, sore and muscles almost frozen. You eventually took hold of it and aimed. If you missed you would surely hit Kylo who as struggling against the old man’s powers. All you could do was hope that your shot rang true as you pulled the trigger. There was a blast of energy that shot out as your blaster bolt hit, causing you to black out. You were weak.

When you awoke this time you were laying awkwardly on something hard, your face was being cradled by a hand. When you opened your eyes you were met with a familiar face. Kylo’s. His eyes scanned your face, looking for something but eventually, he just held your gaze. Something was different now.

Your voice was groggy, “What happened?” You saw bodies littering the floor around the large chamber, all of them the red-robed guards of the old man.

“I’ve changed you. I’m sorry but it needed to happen.” His voice was sincere as he caressed your face, some of the gentleness that was stored in your memory returning.

“So, she’s gone?” The old you was gone. Or at least you suspected it.

He shifted a bit, seeming to be a bit uncomfortable at the outcome. “She is, but I am here for you. I will protect you, my Empress.”

“Empress.” The name rolled off your tongue as if it always belonged. As if it was always a part of you.

“Yes, Empress Ren, leader of the First Order and now, the Sith Eternal and the Final Order. We’ve won. You have control over everything, you have control over me.” He seemed genuine in his statements. You won against that old man. You now had control over everything, everyone.

None of this answered the important question. “Who was he? The one who wanted to make you Emperor?” You sat up, on the throne from your dreams, you were seated in your rightful position, Kylo kneeling at your feet.

Kylo shook his head. “He was the old Emperor. The one my grandfather worked for, his master. Palpatine.” Something about him kneeling before you did something to you, something familiar inside of you awoke. You stroked his beautiful soft raven hair.

You nodded, “Why did he want you to be Emperor? What did he have to gain by you slaying him? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Kylo shook his head, his face scrunched up in confusion, “I do not know why exactly, but I suspect it may have to do with some old Sith rituals. My grandfather encountered one that could take over someone’s body, but not like what I did to you, like a true host. The transferring of complete consciousness. His body was old, and decaying, I was, the perfect host for him to take over. Strong in the Force, strong in the body, but more importantly I am young. Well, much younger than him. I believe he wanted to use me to live on, to still rule as the Emperor, but we foiled his plans.” He leaned into your hand as you stroked his hair, reveling in the touch.

Your brain was working differently, more calculated, more exact, more resourceful. “And what of the Resistance? I am assuming they are still alive.”

“They are, but I am still your guard dog, Kitten. Send me after them, let me destroy them for us, for you. So all the galaxy is finally under your rule as Empress.” He placed his hands on your thighs eager to be sent as a weapon of destruction for you, his lust for violence showing through. Along with what appeared to be lust for you as he couldn’t help his hands stroking up your legs.

“I will, but I would like one night with my husband first. Last night wasn’t something I enjoyed. My guard dog needs to remember that I am supposed to be treated like an Empress. And he needs to show me that before I will let him be my weapon to destroy my enemies.” His pupils dilated, and he swallowed back need. You could see that you were hitting all the right buttons with your new authority. He wanted you as you did him. You were going to show him, just how an Empress should be treated.

A/N: Insert the Poe Dameron meme here: "And somehow Palpatine has returned." But my question is: did I do it better? Let me know!

[kmomof4]

Chosen, Protected, & Saved         Ch. 2

Hello again, y’all!!! We’re back again with more of Chosen, Protected, & Saved for the @captainswanmoviemarathon​!!! I had to increase the chapter count on this one. Before I even started on Saira’s suggestions, the chapter stood at 10k. So I decided to split it up. Please don’t yell at me too hard after reading this chapter! We will definitely finish the fic next week and I promise a happy ending!! I hope y'all enjoy this! Thank you so much for coming along on this ride with me!! I’d love to know what you think!!

All the love and hugs to @profdanglaisstuff​ and @hollyethecurious​ for their beta services and everything they’ve done to make this story what it is!! Thank you so much, ladies!!! *MWAH* 😘

Summary: A little boy with the Heart of the Truest Believer. Demonic forces will stop at nothing to possess it. It’s up to Killian Jones, PI to find him and save him before it’s too late.

Rating: T

Words: 6413 of 18,305 currently. Total word count will probably be around 20k by the time I’m done with the edits on the last chapter. 

Tags: Inspired by The Golden Child, Kidnapping, Magic, Minor Character Death, Temporary Major Character Death, True Loves Kiss

ao3 fic link ch link Prologue on Tumblr Ch1 on Tumblr

Tag list: @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @snowbellewells​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @jennjenn615​ @kingofmyheart14​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @thisonesatellite​ @branlovestowrite​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @flslp87​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @searchingwardrobes​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @superchocovian​ @artistic-writer​ @donteattheappleshook​ @doodlelolly0910​ @seriouslyhooked​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @nikkiemms​ @xsajx​ @klynn-stormz​ @captainswanmoviemarathon​ @jonirobinson64​ @itsfabianadocarmo​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 2

Emma and Killian pushed through the wooden doors of Salisbury Cathedral, a Medieval house of worship completed in the mid-thirteenth century over Sarum, the seat of the civilization that built Stonehenge.  A holy hush fell on them as they emerged into the narrow sanctuary, lined with columns and arched windows, on their way through the nave of the cathedral to the choir area that would lead below the main floor to the crypt. Saints, illuminated by the light of the full moon outside, looked down on them from the stained glass windows that lined the aisles and Emma couldn’t help but feel like they knew why they were there and approved of their quest. She couldn’t imagine that the Dark One using the cathedral as the gateway to the hiding place for his dagger was looked upon with favor by the saints and angels depicted above.

As they crossed the transept toward the choir area, a sense of foreboding settled on Emma. Looking around for the source of the sudden chill that settled on her shoulders, she stopped directly under the spire, which was also directly above their destination. It was all she could do to suppress the shiver that worked its way down her spine. Killian turned toward her.

“What is it, Swan?”

“Something’s not right here,” she replied. “I feel cold.” She rubbed her arms up and down like she was trying to warm herself up. “Like we’re being watched,” she whispered.

“Let’s get out of the open, love.” His voice lowered to a whisper as well as he came toward her and grabbed her upper arm, tugging her toward him. She looked over his shoulder in the direction he was leading her and saw the door leading down to the crypt. Looking around the deserted and dark church once more to be sure they were unobserved, they slipped through the door and descended the spiral staircase to the crypt below.

~*~*~

They emerged from the stairwell and entered a small chamber lit entirely by tall pillar candles. The atmosphere of the room pressed in on her so much that she couldn’t draw a deep breath. Dank, musty air, coupled with the dark magic permeating their surroundings and a heaviness that she couldn’t explain combined to make her footsteps heavy, each one slower than the last. Killian didn’t seem to be faring much better.

His brow furrowed as he looked around. “What is going on here? I can feel something… almost pushing... against me.”

“It’s dark magic,” she replied. “This has to be part of the protection for the dagger. I’ve never felt this kind of concentrated evil before.”

A sudden screech caught them by surprise as a sandy haired, tall and gangly boy in his late teens launched himself at them from the shadows. The atmosphere of the room left Emma completely unprepared as he ran at her with an old fashioned cutlass with some kind of black substance coating the tip. Before she could even raise her hands in defense, a blast of light blue magic hit the boy square in the chest, sending him flying into one of the columns that lined the chamber. The sickening crack of his skull on the marble made her insides turn. Her hand flew to her mouth as she valiantly tried to combat the threatened mutiny of the contents of her stomach. When her assailant remained still, she turned to Killian. The blood drained from his face, his eyes as blue as the magic she just saw and as round as the full moon in the sky. Shock didn’t begin to describe what she saw on his face.

“Wh-wh-what was that?” he stammered. “He was coming for you and I threw my arms out to try and push you out of his way and then, that…” he trailed away, his jaw still slack in amazement. “That was magic? My magic?”

Emma reined in her own consternation to focus on the grievously agitated man before her. “Yes, that was your magic,” she confirmed, speaking as soothingly as she could. She knew exactly how he felt; remembering like it was yesterday the first time her own magic had manifested and the mixed emotions of terror and relief the circumstances engendered.

It all happened in slow motion. Two year old Henry spied Regina waving at them from across the street as they walked towards Granny’s. With a screech of delight, Henry pulled away from her and ran headlong toward his second favorite person in the world. The vehicle coming towards them didn’t see him as he darted from between the parked cars on the street. There were no words for the horror and pure unadulterated fear she felt as something else rose up within her. She screamed and a blast of white shot out the tips of her fingers towards her little boy. Regina’s terrified face barely registered as her magic simultaneously stopped the oncoming SUV and sent Henry flying into her friend’s arms. Regina held him tightly as she raced across the street toward them. Trying desperately to calm her racing heart, Emma gathered Henry close, Regina releasing him the moment she joined them. Once she had her heartbeat and breathing under control, Regina proceeded to treat them to their favorite meals at Granny’s while explaining all about the existence of magic and her own apparent gifts.

She knew that Killian believed them when they told him of his own magic, but believing was one thing. Seeing or using it for the first time was something entirely different. She approached him and ran her own hands up and down his arms trying to calm him down. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the luxury of time to process what had just happened. They had to get the dagger.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I know this is tough to see and accept the first time it happens, but we have to keep going.”

Killian shook his head, trying to cast off his stupor and bewilderment. “Yeah, I, I’m fine.”

They proceeded further into the room where they could hear echoes of a moaning type of chant. On the other end of the chamber, they could see a dark passageway, sloping even further down. As they approached, the chant grew louder. When they arrived at the doorway, Killian could discern the Latin words Unus Tenebris, The Dark One. He turned back to Emma, her own eyes wide with recognition and fear. He held his finger to his lips and crossed the threshold into the corridor. The chant got louder the further down they went until, at last, they came out into another room where six cloaked figures stood in the middle of the room facing them. The chant was low and monotonous and was really starting to grate on Killian’s nerves. Their faces could not be seen, but the tallest one in the middle stopped his chanting as the others continued. He stepped forward to confront the unexpected duo.

“Who are you and why have you come to the sanctuary of The Dark One?” he intoned.

“We have come to collect his dagger,” Killian replied, a shiver working its way down his spine at the anger and evil he could feel radiating off the presumed leader.

“And why do you need his dagger?”

Killian suddenly had an epiphany. “He has finally captured the boy with the Heart of the Truest Believer and he needs his dagger in order to carry out his plans. He has sent us to obtain it.” Killian held out his hand to the figure to show the scar the Dark One had left him.

“Very well,” he said. “You may proceed. Follow all the directions or not only will you lose the dagger, you will lose your life as well.�� They nodded and stepped toward the now silent figures. They moved toward the walls of the chamber, creating a path for them to follow. As Emma and Killian moved across the room, the leader spoke again. “Only one of you may pass into the chamber of the dagger. Only one. The other must wait here.”

They came to the other door and found strange markings in the stone above the lintel. Emma recognized the lettering, but was having to concentrate to translate it.

“Take the water, but spill not a drop, lest all you desire comes to naught.”

Emma turned stunned eyes on Killian. He turned his startled and confused countenance on her as well.

“What?”

“You could read that?” she asked, incredulously.

“Well, yeah…” he trailed away, his confusion deepening. “Can’t you?”

“I recognize the symbols, but I couldn’t translate them that easily.”

“What do you mean ‘translate them’?” His eyebrows rose in question. “That’s English. Isn’t it?”

“Uh, no. It’s not. Those are druidic symbols. A deeply esoteric and magical language. Regina has only just started teaching me.”

Killian looked back up at the words that were in plain English to him. He shrugged. “That’s what it says. This must be the instruction that Regina and that guy,” he gestured behind them, “were referring to.”

“I guess so,” Emma breathed. “I’ll go.” Determination filled her eyes. “I have the most control over my magic. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be more likely to survive it.”

“Like hell you will,” he whispered urgently, not wanting the others to overhear their argument. “I’m the ‘Chosen One.’ The Protector of Henry’s heart. I’m the one who needs to go get it. I’ll be fine, love.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving.”

Emma rolled her eyes at him. “But…”

“No buts, Swan,” he interrupted. “I’m going. Besides, Regina said I was the one who had to get it.” He stepped across the threshold before she could stop him. “I’ll be back soon.” He leaned back out to where she stood before him and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek before withdrawing and disappearing down into the darkness.

He descended the stairs until he came to a basin filled with water. On the lip of the basin sat a small paper dixie cup. His eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline as he tried not to laugh. Are you kidding me? He picked up the cup and filled it with the water from the basin. He moved forward until the stairs came to an end. A column that disappeared into the abyss below lay just before him. He looked around, seeing nothing else for him to step on. A ways in the distance he could see something that looked like fire. The only things between him and it, were these columns that he was apparently to use as stepping stones without spilling a drop of water.

“Easy enough,” he whispered to himself. As he took his first step, it suddenly occurred to him that maybe he should check to see how deep the chasm below him was. He fished in his pocket until he pulled out a coin and dropped it. He listened intently for the coin to hit the ground below. When twenty seconds had passed and he still hadn’t heard anything, comprehension dawned. If he fell, he wasn’t coming back. He gulped and took another step. And then another. His next step was a little too quick, and he nearly lost his balance. His other hand joined the one holding the cup in keeping it steady, his heart thundering in his ears. He took a deep breath and continued. On his next step, he caught a flash of movement off to his left. He turned and saw Emma. She was completely naked. His mouth went dry and his breathing hitched as he beheld her beauty. Her mouth hung part way open, her arms reaching for him, lips full and plump as she looked at him with longing in her eyes. He knew that what he was looking at couldn’t possibly be real, but that didn’t stop his body from reacting to the deepest longing in his heart. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t real. He wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms, and love her as long as she’d let him. He blindly reached for her with his unoccupied hand and nearly lost his balance again. That close call told him all that he needed to know. This darkness was going to tempt him with what he desired most. And what he felt for Emma went far beyond simple desire. If he was going to survive this test, he had to keep his goal in mind. He kept moving forward, each step more difficult than the last because once he turned away, she found her voice. He could hear her breathy sighs and moans as if he really was with her, touching her, loving her. But instead of fading away in the distance as he moved forward, the sounds grew louder, as if she was right behind him. At one point, nearly at his goal, he could have sworn he felt her touch along his shoulders.

He kept his face resolutely away from her, finally making it to the where the dagger hung over leaping flames. The moment he stood before the shrine, he knew she was gone. The ghostly touch disappeared and the sounds she made were cut off as if with a knife. He took a deep breath and focused his attention on the dagger in front of him. Even if the flames weren’t leaping high enough to burn him if he reached for it, he knew the heat of the dagger itself would burn him terribly if he touched it. He thought back to the instruction.

Take the water, but spill not a drop, lest all you desire comes to naught.

If he were to pour the water over the flames, first of all, he would be technically spilling the water. And secondly, there wasn’t nearly enough water in the cup to extinguish these flames. The only thing he could think of was to drink the water. Hoping against hope that he was correct in his expectation, he lifted the cup to his lips. As he did, the flames disappeared. He nearly shouted out his victory, but at the last moment, he held his tongue. It would stand to reason that since this was the Dark One’s dagger, that he would know when someone else touched it. Especially someone who shouldn’t be. He had to get the dagger and get the hell out of here before his enemy showed up.

He reached for the dagger and grasped the hilt. It was an evil looking device. A wavy, wicked sharp edge adorned the side. The name Rumplestiltskin emblazoned on the shaft. His already galloping heartbeat increased even more as he pulled it toward him and pulled a piece of soft sheepskin out of his jacket to wrap it in. He took a deep breath and placed the wrapped dagger into his back waistband under his jacket. Finally, he turned back the way he came, heart pounding, terrified of what he might see. Of what he might have to face on the return journey. Would she still be there, ready to drag him to his death? He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that she was gone and headed back toward where he entered the chamber.

~*~*~

Killian came back into the room pale and shaking. He’d only been gone about fifteen, twenty minutes. But those minutes had to be some of the longest of her life. She could only imagine what he had seen and experienced in the chamber.  It was obvious that whatever had happened in there, it affected him deeply. She extended her hand toward him to take. He looked down somewhat dazed and took it in his own.

“Did you get it?”

He looked back up at her. “Aye, lass. I have obtained the object of our desire.” His blue eyes bore into her own, swirling with fear, confusion, and something deeper that she didn’t dare name.

“Then let’s get out of here.”

~*~*~

Emma and Killian somehow made it through customs with the dagger after arriving back in the States. The only thing they could figure was that since the dagger itself was magical, it was magically shielded from anyone but magic wielders.  As they exited the arrivals gate, he startled when he spied the man from his dream, the Dark One, coming toward him followed by several Boston police officers. He sauntered towards them, making a show of the gold tipped cane he carried. He was dressed differently than in his dream with a long greatcoat, in what looked like crocodile skin. Killian felt a chill run down his spine. The coat matches his smile, he thought.

“That’s the man. Killian Jones. If he doesn’t return my property, I want him arrested.”

Killian’s heart raced. He drew Emma’s attention to their adversary as his mind furiously tried to figure out how to get out of the coming confrontation. An idea came to him suddenly and he elbowed Emma, whispering to her to let him do the talking.

“Welcome home, Mr. Jones. You have something for me?” he asked, holding out his hand with a smug smile on his face.

Killian stared into the face that he had only seen in a dream. He looked at Emma, naked fear on her face, at the cops behind the Dark One, and then back at the man or demon before him. He couldn’t help the smirk that broke over his face as he anticipated playing the Dark One like a fiddle.

“I’m sorry, Rumple,” he loudly lamented, reaching for the lapels of the man before him. The Dark One stared at him, utterly taken aback. It only took a moment however, before his face grew red with extreme irritation as Killian released him and turned toward the crowded terminal. “Everyone,” he shouted, drawing the attention of all the people hurrying to catch their flights, “I should be punished. I have stolen from my brother, Rumple.” The Dark One’s jaw clenched with annoyance as Killian continued with his theatrics. Emma looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Officer,” he continued, pointing at the officers behind the Dark One, “It is your duty to take me in. Please,” he moved toward them holding his wrists out in front of himself, “I am ashamed of myself. I should be arrested.” He walked down the line of officers. “I should be flogged. I don’t deserve to walk among free men.”

Killian repeated his tirade until the Dark One grabbed his arm, motioning toward the officers in a placating manner. “Let me have a word with him, please.”

Killian felt himself being pulled away from the officers, so he turned his attention to Emma and raised his voice once again.

“Emma, I am a swine. You must know what kind of man I am, before we go any further in our dalliance. I am a wretch. I don’t deserve to live.” He winked at her and saw her fear and confusion morph into reluctant amusement. She shook her head as the corner of her mouth lifted in half a smile. He finally turned toward the furious Dark One before him.

“How long do you think you can keep up this miserable masquerade?” he hissed, his eyes blazing with his wrath.

“Well, until I get arrested.” He grinned cockily at him. “Or until you realize the rules of evidence in this country.” The Dark One raised his head slightly and Killian could just see a trace of unease in his eyes. He turned serious. “See, if I get arrested, they take me and put me in a jail cell. And then they take the knife, because it’s a stolen object, and they put that in a little room, and they put ‘Exhibit A,’ a little sticker that says ‘Exhibit A’ on it.” He mimed putting a sticker on something. “And the knife sits in a room and I sit in my room until the trial commences. And that can be anywhere from a month to a year. So if you get me arrested, there’s no telling when you will get your knife.” Killian broke into a wide grin at having the upper hand, thoroughly enjoying himself as he watched a vein pulse in the Dark One’s forehead. He could just imagine what the demon’s blood pressure was at this moment.

“You have no idea who I am, have you?” he sneered.

“Why, yes,” he exclaimed. “You’re my brother Rumple!” He let out an amused chuckle as the Dark One struggled to keep his rage under control. “Look, I know exactly who you are,” Killian’s eyes turned hard and his easy going smile disappeared, “Dark One.” The man before him nearly turned white in fury. Killian’s heart skipped a beat, but he plowed ahead, his own anger coming to the surface. “But, here’s the thing. I. Don’t. Care.” He punctuated each word with a poke to the demon’s chest. “I do care that you kidnapped Henry, though.”

“I could destroy you,” he snapped his fingers in the air, “just like that.”

Killian’s eyebrow raised in bored amusement. “Well, we’ll see about that.” He turned and looked back over at Emma and the officers still waiting off to the side. “Look, I am not going to be giving you this knife. And you do not want to get me arrested. And I will find Henry,” he sneered and snapped his fingers in the Dark One’s face, “just like that.” He patted the demon’s cheek. “See you soon.” He turned back toward the crowd, all smiles and held his arms out as if he wanted to embrace them all. “My brother has forgiven me! Emma, Brother Rumple has forgiven me!” He turned back to the seething Dark One and clapped him on the shoulder in an awkward embrace. “Dear Brother, thank you, thank you, thank you.” He then kissed him loudly on the cheek in a final taunt before releasing him and leading Emma into the crowd.

~*~*~

Emma and Killian found Regina in her study with a great horned owl asleep on one of the larger shelves behind her. Emma’s eyes widened immediately, recognizing Henry’s familiar.

“What’s Bubo doing here?” she asked in alarm. “Is Henry alright?”

“He got here last night,” Regina soothed. “Henry is fine. He’s being held in Boston.”

Killian felt a tug in his heart and cursed under his breath, frustrated that they were so close this afternoon when they landed and had now lost precious hours coming back to Storybrooke. It would be at least tomorrow before they could return and begin searching for the boy. A boy he had never met, but almost felt as if he was his own. A part of his own family. Emma turned to Killian and collapsed into his arms sobbing. He rubbed circles into her back trying to calm her down while whispering assurances that they would find him and he’d be just fine into her ear. She raised her tear stained face to him and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket.

“We have to go after him.” She was frantic and her fear for her son was overriding everything else.

Killian shook his head at her, sorrow in his eyes. “Swan,” he beseeched her, “we can’t. You haven’t slept more than a few minutes at a time since we left here two days ago. You are not going to be any good to anyone in your current state. You’ve got to sleep before we go after him.” He turned helpless and pleading eyes on Regina.

Regina came around her desk and placed her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “He’s right, Emma. You are dead on your feet and you need to rest before you go after him. You still have until tomorrow evening before my protection spell on him will wear off. Bubo couldn’t tell me exactly where Henry was. He’s going to have to lead you to where he is. And he won’t be going anywhere until the sun sets. There’s also the possibility of the Dark One coming here for the dagger. You need to get some sleep while you can. I can give you a potion that will help you relax.” She waved her hand and a vial with a golden colored liquid appeared in her hand. He may have a little bit of experience with magic now, but it was still quite startling.

Emma nodded, obviously reluctant, but she could see the sense in Killian and Regina’s arguments. She took the vial from her friend and swallowed it down. She looked up into the cerulean gaze that she was rapidly falling for and saw only love and concern in his eyes. A sense of peace and calm came over her that she had never felt in all her born days. She knew that the man before her would save her son, and she also knew that he loved her and would do anything for her. She turned toward the door of Regina’s study, took his hand in her own, and led him from the room.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked, nervous in spite of herself.

Killian nodded slowly. “I’ll do anything you want, Swan,” he murmured. “I’m yours.”

She led him up the stairs to one of Regina’s guest rooms. She lay down on top of the comforter and was instantly asleep, her breath coming out in soft snores. Killian crawled up, lined himself up behind her and drew her back into his arms. He placed a kiss to the crown of her head before burying his face in her golden tresses and inhaling deeply. Who would have thought that he would fall for any woman this hard and this fast. He would follow wherever she led. To the end of the world or time.

“Goodnight, Swan,” he whispered. “I love you.”

~*~*~

It seemed like minutes since Regina had retired when something wretched her from a sound sleep. Her hand flew to her neck as she bolted upright in bed struggling to take a deep breath. Maneuvering herself off the bed and to the French doors leading to her balcony, she concentrated on steadying her breathing as her eyes swept across the expanse of her back lawn. The full moon was shining down. Shadows in between the professional landscaping of her home prevented her from seeing anyone, or anything in particular. But the oppression of dark magic lay heavy on her heart. She turned from the doors and ran to where Emma and Killian were.

The moonlight fell across the bed where they slept. They were on their sides, Emma’s back against Killian’s front, with his arms wrapped securely around her. As much as she hated to wake them, Lord knew they needed the rest, she knew that the Dark One’s arrival was imminent and they needed to be awake and ready to fight. Regina came to the side of the bed and gently shook Killian’s shoulder.

“Huh?” he mumbled, groggily. He sat up, hair sticking up in all directions, with a prodigious yawn and blinking his eyes, trying to get them to focus on his host. “What?”

“The Dark One is coming,” Regina whispered. “I can feel his dark magic pressing in on me from all sides.”

Killian’s eyes widened before he turned back to Emma and shook her awake. “Swan,” he said urgently, “Swan, you have to wake up. He’s coming.”

Emma’s eyes flew open as she sat up fully alert after just a few hours of sleep. Whatever had been in the potion Regina had given her not only helped her relax enough to sleep, but also completely refreshed her on the amount of sleep she got. Her eyes met Regina’s as she scrambled out of bed.

“We’ll go down and wait for him,” she declared. “Regina, you stay in the house and protect the dagger.”

Regina nodded as they all left the room. Emma and Killian descended the stairs with Regina on their heels.

“I could feel him in the back. I couldn’t see anything with all the shadows, but I’m sure that’s where he’ll show up.”

Emma and Killian came to the back door. They looked through the transoms, trying to catch a glimpse of anything out of the ordinary. Emma could feel the same thing Regina described in the center of her own chest. A heaviness, almost a choking sensation, making it very difficult to breathe. She’d never been in the presence of such evil before.

Over her shoulder, she heard Killian take a sharp inhale. His arm appeared in her peripheral vision, pointing out to the yard. “There,” he whispered. As her eyes focused in the dark, she finally saw stealthy movement among the trees that lined the yard. First one figure stepped out from between the trees, then another, and another. They weren’t much more than boys. Younger than their attacker under the cathedral, but still young teens. They emerged onto the patio and watched as the boys slowly advanced. Emma raised her hands up and readied herself for battle.

Regina looked out on the yard from her vantage point in her study. Three of the Dark One’s minions stalked toward Emma and Killian. The moonlight glinted off the weapons the boys held, a dagger, a bow and arrow, and the third held a metal baseball bat. Emma held her hands at the ready, but Killian was too inexperienced, he looked equal parts bewildered and terrified. She knew enough about him to know that he wanted to help, but had no idea how to do so, especially when faced with essentially children. He would feel very reluctant to inflict any kind of harm on them, no matter that they fully intended to do as much damage as they possibly could, up to and including death, if possible.  

She didn’t see any sign of her former teacher yet, but she knew that he wasn’t going to be far behind.

Emma let fly her magic at the boy readying his bow and arrow. It was enough to send him skittering to the side to avoid it. He almost looked like a marionette, all jerky movements to get out of the way of the blast. A scream like a banshee ripped out of the boy with the bat as he charged toward them before another blast sent him flying to the edge of the yard, barely missing a huge oak tree. He shook his head, trying to get his bearings when she saw him. The Dark One just under the tree line and using the shadows to get close to where Emma and Killian stood. She couldn’t warn them because of the wards and protection spells she had placed on her home when she bought it, for exactly this purpose. If her former teacher were to ever find her, her home had to be fortified against him. No magic could cross those fortifications.

Regina continued to watch as Emma used her magic against their attackers and Killian moved away from her to confront the boy with the dagger. He held his hands out to the sides in a gesture meant to confuse the lost boy. He feinted left to draw his attention, then grabbed him from the right and twisted until the boy was securely in his arms, his back to Killian’s front. The dagger was held tightly against the boy’s chest as he struggled, trying to escape.

The Dark One kept advancing toward Killian, completely bypassing Emma who was still fighting the other two boys. She turned toward Killian to see their true adversary only a few feet away from him and ready to pounce. Regina’s heart was in her throat as they both made their move at exactly the same time. The Dark One reached toward Killian’s back as Emma threw herself in between them, his hand landing in her chest instead of Killian’s as Regina was sure he intended. She could see from her vantage point the maniacal glee in the face of her former mentor as he pulled his hand out from Emma’s chest, her red heart glowing in his palm.

It had happened so fast, there was no way for her to get to the yard in time to do anything but watch as her dearest friend’s face contorted in agony. She beat the frame around the window with her clenched fists as the Dark One’s own fist closed around the delicate organ.

Regina’s screams echoed Killian’s own.

“Nooooooooooo!!!”

~*~*~

Killian released the boy in his arms as Emma bumped into him with a grunt of pain. He turned just enough to see the Dark One standing before her with a countenance of madness coloring his features. He jerked back and another pain filled gasp reached Killian’s ears. He could see something red glowing in his hand. His eyes widened in horror as he realized exactly what the demon was holding. It was Emma’s heart. She had been on the other side of the yard fighting the other boys. How had she gotten here and in between the Dark One and himself?

He watched as the creature’s fist closed around the organ and squeezed. He couldn’t see Emma’s face, but the stiffness of her body and the choking sound coming from her mouth told him exactly what was happening. Killian turned around fully and caught Emma in his arms as she fell to the ground.

“Noooooooooo!!!”

Emma looked up into his tear filled eyes. He shook his head as she raised her hand to his face, tenderly touching his cheek.

“Thank you for staying with me tonight, Killian,” she whispered. “Please save Henry.”

Emma’s eyes closed and her hand dropped to her side. The tears that Killian struggled to contain finally fell, landing on her rounded cheek. Killian looked up at the demon before him, his teeth bared in a savage growl.

The Dark One opened his fist to reveal nothing but dust where Emma’s heart had just been. He waved his hand and Killian was suddenly frozen. The boys they had been fighting now surrounded their master as he sauntered behind Killian and felt for the dagger that was no longer there. His body may have been frozen, but his mouth, mercifully, was not.

“Ha!” Killian shouted in triumph. “Did you really believe that I would still have the dagger there, Crocodile? You’ve lost! I’ll find Henry before you ever discover where the dagger is.”

At that moment, Regina emerged from the house holding the dagger high. Moonlight caught the blade and nearly blinded him with the reflection.  

“Leave this place, Dark One,” Regina cried out. “Leave us in peace.”

The Dark One let out an enraged hiss as he spied his former student. Regina continued to advance toward them as Killian rocked his love in his arms, his tears now flowing freely. The demon and his minions retreated until they disappeared in the trees surrounding the now silent lawn.

~*~*~

Regina lay the dagger on the patio and cast a glamour spell on it so that it couldn’t be seen before she moved toward Killian as he rocked Emma in his arms. She knelt beside him as he looked up at her. She was completely taken aback at the sorrow, despair, but also rage that swirled in his eyes. She barely had time to brace herself before she was hit with a blast of blue magic that came straight out of his heart. She felt herself flying through the air before landing near the back patio. She got to her feet as Killian’s cries again reached her ears. He wasn’t even aware of what had just happened. Her heart nearly broke in two at the profound pain she heard in his lament. He held Emma tightly and continued to rock as his grief poured from the depths of his very soul.

He had never felt such pain. It was as if the Dark One had taken his own heart and crushed it instead of hers. Hers! He had watched as her heart was taken from her body and crushed as if it were nothing! Fresh wails poured from his lips as the scene he had just witnessed played over again in his mind’s eye. Nothing he had ever experienced in his life prepared him for this. His soul was in agony, completely untethered. This woman had come into his life just three days ago, turning it upside down. In more ways than one. She’d burrowed into his heart and made a home there. And now that she was gone, his world was turned on its head yet again. How was he supposed to go on without her? Even to rescue her boy?

He continued to rock her as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Regina knelt at his side and placed a hand on his back. He turned his head and buried his face in her shoulder as sobs continued to wrack him. Her pajama top was soon soaked through.

“She asked me to save Henry,” he sobbed, “And I want to. Of course, I want to! But how can I leave her?”

Regina answered, “I’ve cast a preservation spell upon her, Killian. Nothing will touch her until you return. I know that you lo-” she caught herself, “care deeply for her. But her little boy is still in the clutches of that demon. The best way to honor Emma is to bring him home safely.”

Killian nodded, as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “You’re right. I have to go after him.” He looked up at her. “Boston, you said? He’s in Boston?”

“Yes,” she replied. She waved her hand toward the trees and Bubo glided down and landed on the ground before them. Killian looked at the creature.

“You can show me where Henry is?” he asked, addressing the bird. Wide eyes stared at him before it slowly nodded. “All right then. Lead the way.” Killian carefully placed Emma on the ground before he bent over her and kissed her on the lips, much as any Disney prince would to wake his princess. He rose and walked to his car as Bubo took to the skies. Regina waved her hand once more over her friend, transporting her to the bed she slept in earlier, waiting for Killian’s return.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing. Happy ending next chapter! I promise!

[thebeautyofdisorder]

The Undone & The Divine (BBC Dracula) - Chapter 8

A/N: Okay, sorry it’s been like two weeks since I posted the last chapter. I am such a mess. This is a bit shorter, more of a set up than anything, but informative? I have so many ideas for this, that it took me a minute to figure out in sequence what’s going to happen when.

Pairing: Dracula & Agatha/Zoe, off and on Dracula/OFC

Rating: M, for blood, language, and mercenaries with guns.

Chapters 1-2 Here - Chapter 3 Here - Chapter 4 Here - Chapter 5 Here - Chapter 6 Here - Chapter 7 Here

Can be found on AO3 - Right HERE - or enjoy below the cut

Chapter 8

By all accounts he appears as a human man, at varying states of age depending upon how regularly and well he is fed, lingering even at his most satiated at around 45-50 years – presumably the age of his death. His hair is thick and inky black, kept shorter and slicked back when in public view; his nose aquiline and aristocratic; his eyes appear black at a distance but in close quarters and lighting seem to have a dark mossy-brown hue; admirable bone structure, and a mouth that is at times both harsh and jovial depending upon what impression he wishes to put across at the time. His accent is tainted by those of his victims, but always holds a slight thickness and gravel, reminiscent of his native tongue. His teeth, even when not in the state of blood frenzy, still seem longer and sharper than normal, particularly the canines. His fingernails also are long and honed to a point, and seem to be of inhuman durability and sharpness. He is excessively tall and somewhat broad, though of a generally slim build regardless of his bestial strength. No physical deformities upon the rest of his body when in his humanoid state, though his eyes can seem to gleam in the darkness like those of other nocturnal beasts.

When in the presence of human blood, those eyes dilate and become ringed in crimson, and all blunt edges of his teeth sharpen to slight but lethal points. Animalistic tendencies manifest – hissing, snarling, growling, the hunched stance of a predator, etc. Interestingly, he also seems to bare all the normative signs of the common morphine addict – tension, restless movements, irritability, the inability to control his emotions and behavior. He possesses speed the likes of which the human eye can barely detect, but only in small bursts in the midst of attack, by my witness. He was able to manifest a continual fog, as stated earlier in my narrative, and could very well be at fault for the storm swirling in the seas now, as I write. He can deform himself to fit into any small space, one could assume, though I have only seen him do this by defiling the physical forms of other living beings – notably a wolf at the convent, and the late Jonathan Harker, who was also undead at the time. Whether that’s relevant to this ability, I don’t particularly know. He can call wolves and bats to his service, and possibly flies – whether this works with all creatures and he’s merely chosen these for theatrical purposes, or if he’s limited to creatures of darkness and decay, I have yet to discover.

The ‘kiss of the vampire’ is a strong opiate, meaning most victims are often unaware of his bite or the danger they are in until it is too late. He can create and control the dream state in which they enter, often choosing scenarios of an erotic nature. Whether this is for his own amusement or because of the effect it has on the blood, I can only deduce. This method seems to be equally employed through both sexes though I have yet to see any direct indications of intercourse, willing or unwilling. If he possesses a sex drive at all, it is seemingly outranked by his desire to feed.  

He is highly intelligent and possesses a biting wit, which in another context might even be endearing, and his charm is carefully honed to attract potential victims. Though his mental weaknesses are notable, including his arrogance, lack of self-awareness, and dependence on his victims to take in and retain key skills and information. As opposed to learning the language of a new land through study, he merely drains one of its countrymen and absorbs their inherent knowledge. This leads to a flurry of unpredictable behavior and reckless death, and also speaks of his impatience and lack of discipline, which has undoubtedly lessened with age. He was, in life, an excellent ruler and even better general with a skill for strategy currently wasted on petty mind games. If he could ever reach a point of managing his appetite for blood and destruction, he could be an invaluable resource - a first-hand witness to the last four hundred years of European history.

I’m sure you will, dear brother, quickly dismiss this as folly, but however much you would like to categorize him as yet another mindless demon from the pit, I assure you he is anything but. He may fear the cross, but don’t think there is a heavenly power that instilled that fear. It reeks of an entirely human weakness. You would do well to remember that, should you run across him or any of his kind in the future. While his existence seems to have been very luck of the draw, it’s nowhere near as anomalous as Dracula himself would like us to believe. Others could have survived and done what he has done. In fact, I could almost guarantee it.

Zoe read through Agatha’s words again, this particular afterward for maybe the twentieth time since she’d found it. Not for any particular information, more over just marveling at the clarity, simplicity, and dare-she-say fondness with which it was written, in comparison to the information she’d been brought up with. Shockingly, the nun was able to more realistically sum up the vampire than any other Van Helsing before or after her (granted, she had the firsthand experience), and with so much less fire and brimstone, religious nonsense. It was half of why she’d spent so long away from ‘the family business’ as it were, until she’d had to take over the institute. Science had always been the only god she would acknowledge.

Whatever logic Agatha had administered from across the pond however, while well used, had been entirely riddled with her elder brother’s showmanship and particularly Catholic brand of fending off the forces of darkness. Agatha may have seen him as the devil incarnate, but that didn’t stop her from acknowledging his humanity – and in that, Zoe couldn’t help but agree. Dracula was very much still a man, no matter how immortal or powerful, and he still had all of man’s other weaknesses, sans physical vulnerabilities. Minor detail.

She supposed it had made it easier for both the zealot and the scientist to see their subject of animosity as no better than a rabid dog that needed to be analyzed and destroyed. But that had never been the case at all. A self-serving lesson to learn, she had to admit, but an important one. So long as he had retained some of his humanity, there was certainly hope for her.

It was the only thing keeping her sane through the mock trial this experiment had turned into. Every turn she was being questioned and analyzed harder than she had since grad school, and yet still regarded as the antagonistic and dangerous party. It was a contradiction that made her genuinely question the mental capacity of her colleagues.

Yes, let's aggravate the person we're terrified of. Honestly.

Their latest critique, however she loathed to admit it, was actually sound. They needed a control. A 'direct contact' feed to compare to her bottled one, and they all knew there was only one vampire to compare to. Clearly they didn't actually expect him to participate, they only wanted to de-legitimize her process.

But it would make an impact, wouldn't it?

-----

It was just before sunset, traces of red just beginning to seep onto the surface of the sun, and for the first time in a great while, Count Dracula was unenthused. He was beginning to be rather fond of daylight, even if it came with certain disadvantages, as he was beginning to discover. Perhaps vampires were better off as creatures of the night after all.

Most if not all of his preternatural abilities were greatly weakened by the sun, though why he wasn't sure. It made him feel languid and slow, which was perfectly fine for an afternoon on the beach, but highly inconvenient when he got hungry and none of his more willing resources were available. Physical conditioning or a lesser reality of the lore he'd always accepted, who was to say?

Who indeed.

He had given Zoe plenty of space to run her little experiments without interference, aside from keeping an 'eye' out to ensure she wasn't in any immediate danger. But there was only so long that would last, and despite having ample opportunity to create more brides...he felt like he needed more answers before that inevitability occurred.

Agatha had been right, annoyingly, as usual. Lab rats were not something he needed, especially ones who could question him on topics even he didn't fully understand anymore.

If the Van Helsing women were good for anything, aside from healthy competition, it was certainly bluntness and clarity. Being the only thing close to another vampire of any mental capacity to be in his proximity for over 300 years certainly didn't hurt.

Zoe Van Helsing was someone he needed, a concept he could scarcely understand and wasn't entirely fond of, but if he wasn't mistaken, she needed him as well - and hated it even more.

----

"Dr. Helsing, is this really necessary?"

Zoe found herself staring at the younger but far more egotistical doctor through the glass that separated them with an expression not unlike one would give a particularly frustrating insect who refused to die as fast as she wished it would.

"Is what necessary?"

The man, Dr. Connors, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, punctuating his next words with unnecessary flare.

"Well, our sponsor doesn't understand the necessity of this trial, when it cannot possibly prove anything. All of our intel on the 'vampiric condition' states simply that they require blood to sustain life, but also that it's nearly impossible to kill them. Surely your continued …  existence without blood doesn't fully prove or disprove anything. And without anything to compare it to…"

"For now," she interrupted stubbornly, attempting to ignore his tendency to discuss her as though she were a theoretical construct.

"Even so," he continued blandly, "There are surely better uses of our time, in the face of an increasing number of...undead. Preventative measures, protection for the innocent. Unless you can get some sort of control data…"

Their 'sponsor' had sent this idiot to report back on how his precious money was being spent,  and it had become an increasingly infuriating thorn in her side. Or stake in her heart, she was sure he hoped. Zoe had just begun to second guess her tendencies toward homicide, when she felt the tell-tale hairs begin to rise on the back of her neck.

"Oh fuck me," she cursed aloud, completely indifferent to the confused looks of those observing her. They wouldn't be confused for long.

"Careful what you wish for Doctor."

Everyone but Zoe took a startled glance around. She turned around, eyes directly finding the dark ones on the outside of the glass, quirking a stern brow despite the relative chaos of everyone else receding into the corners in panic.

Count Dracula merely flashed her a shit-eating grin in response, relishing her disapproval in equal measure to the human fear beginning to fill the room. Pungent and yet satisfying, she noted, rather unhappily.

"Oh Zoe how the tables have turned," he couldn't resist prodding at her through the encasement, ignoring the guns pointed at his back in favor of taunting her, hands in his pockets. The picture of malicious nonchalance.

She wasn't trapped, as he had been. They'd learned their lesson in that regard at least, but it was a barrier she'd permitted for her own sanity. Watching everyone walk on eggshells around her was grating, and it ruined her focus. Plus, it helped with the sensory overload until she got more accustomed to it.

"And yet you're still the one at gunpoint," Zoe shot back with a hint of a blithe smile.

He turned and directed his overly fond smile towards the tattooed gentleman with the over-sized assault weapon, greeting him like an old friend. The man that Zoe had never seen with a single facial expression looked so dumbstruck that she had to fight down a laugh. This was apparently the last straw for their visiting dictator.

"Count Dracula," came more of a squeak than a shout from the bespectacled doctor's mouth, with such a forced amount of distaste that Zoe was now certain he had lost his mind entirely. "You will not be permitted to attack anyone here."

Shooting Zoe an incredulous look, mostly as she could read translating to ‘Is he serious?’, the vampire watched her answering eye roll very obviously telling him ‘He's an idiot, but reports to the money’.

Dracula finally looked away from their silent exchange, and took out a small pocket flask, not unlike the one he'd left her before, and shook it in the other man's general direction as he passed by him with total indifference.

"Not to worry, I brought my own," he stated, opening it and taking a long swig. It cleared a direct pathway for him easily, bee-lining for Dr. Bloxham who sat at the control panel. She naturally flinched on his approach, despite trying to hide it. He noticed and flashed her a charming smile, to his credit only showing the slightest hint of fang.

"Terribly sorry about the finger," the Count apologized humbly, almost convincingly sincere as he draped a long arm over the back of her chair. "...But would you mind letting me in?"

Bloxham looked somewhat confused. "You want to go in there?" Her eyes shot up to the ceiling. The sun had not completely set. He gave her an encouraging smile with a faint trace of pity.

"I would love to go in there."

Zoe merely rolled her eyes and tapped on the table with relative impatience, as he paced through the parted seas of scientists and interns alike to join her in the completely ineffective glass prison.

"You evil little thing, you didn't tell them," he accused with quiet glee as he approached her from the opposite side of the table.

"If their superstitions help them feel safe, then all the better for me," she excused in a murmur, hoping he hadn't just given the game away completely.

His grin was one of near pride, as he bent his tall form forward to rest his hands on the table. "I can go slit his throat if you want me to. Heaven knows you won't."

She sighed, not trusting herself to answer. "Why are you here?" she asked instead.

"You needed me, didn't you?"

------

Okay, so this could go really amusingly or very terribly - we’ll see what I come up with, eh? Shouldn’t be as long of a wait this time, fingers crossed.

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