#i don’t think it’s gore technically

[glimborgus]

from roughly a month or two ago this thing again

[moonamite]

Me when I adore characters so much I want to tear them apart inside and out ❤️

[wildwestdean]

enmity

based on both this request by @nochedie, and this request by @somethingsomethingcranberries! thank you so much for sending these in! 🤍🤍

summary: this wasn't the first time a hunt had gone wrong. sure, the injuries dean patched up for you were a little worse than usual, but it was nothing new - so, why was he so pissed off about it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 7.1k+

warnings: working a case/hunting, mentions of missing kids, gore, blood, reader gets injured, stitches + motel room first aid, descriptions of wounds, swearing, angst, hurt/comfort, nicknames, yelling, fighting, mature themes, kinda slow burn but not really, minor self-doubt (reader), dean acts like a dick, name calling (stupid, idiot), best!friend sam, mentions of pain killers, alcohol consumption, confessions, idiots in love, fluff, brief mention of age gap

You sat in your motel room with books and papers scattered across the bed, and a plethora of tabs open on your laptop.

“Anything?” you asked with a sigh, looking up at Sam who was across the room - the table he sat at practically mirroring your bedspread.

He huffed and set his book down, leaning back in his chair while running a hand through his hair. 

Your shoulders slumped at his reaction, a frustrated chuckle escaping your lips. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

He shook his head, glaring at the pages in front him before meeting your gaze. “I don’t get it. At all.” 

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Get what?”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he waved his hands over the littered table. “This! This whole case. I mean, there’s zero background for this- this- whatever it is!” he exclaimed. 

“Okay, maybe we should just take a break? Dean should be back with the food soon...” you trailed off as a passage suddenly caught your attention, fingers tapping atop your knee as you scanned the page.

He noticed the shift in your demeanour and sat up straight, looking at you intently. “Did you find something?” he asked hopefully. 

You shook your head as you glanced at him. “No, I don’t think so, but-” you cut yourself off, feeling unsure, but you could practically feel him watching you, his eyebrows raised as he waited for you to continue. “What if we’re looking in the wrong place?” 

“How so?” he questioned. 

“Okay, well,” you started. “Right now we’re looking for things that are common around here and travel in groups. Like werewolves, demons, or vampires, right?”

Sam nodded his head, looking at you as if you were losing your mind. “Yeah…” he said slowly. 

Huffing at the fact he wasn’t following, you carried on. “So, right now we’re looking for groups of monsters. Monsters that are likely native to this area. Maybe that’s why we can’t find anything,” you tried to explain. 

Sam nodded, eyes lighting up in realization. “So… you’re not only thinking this is something mainly solitary, but also not typically known to show face around here? Like Lamia?”

“Yes, exactly! Technically there’s multiple, but-” 

“There were only two found around here,” Sam finished for you, clearly deep in thought. 

Folding your arms over your chest, you leaned back against the headboard. “What do you think?” you asked softly. 

He grabbed his laptop and placed it in front of him. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “Seems like it could be a good shot, though.”

You smiled once more, gathering up the abandoned books and loose papers just as the motel door creaked open. 

“So, what did you nerds find out while I was gone?” Dean asked, clicking the door shut behind him.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Sam beat you to it. “Girl wonder over there may have just found us a good lead,” he said, eyes still locked on his computer as his head jerked in your direction. 

Dean beamed at you as he set the bags down, settling for the empty chair across from Sam when he couldn’t find any free space on the table. “That’s my girl!” he cheered. “What did you find?”

Trying to prevent a blush from blooming across your face because of his comment, you focused on organizing the piles of research in front of you. “Sam’s giving me too much credit, I didn’t even find anything concrete.” 

Dean walked over and sat down on the other bed, a look of interest on his face. You shifted nervously as he accidentally brushed your knee along the way, feeling your heart rate quicken like a smitten teenager. You glanced up and caught Sam’s eye, and his gaze darted between you and Dean before resting on his laptop screen, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. 

“Tell me what ya got,” Dean said, popping open a bottle of beer that seemed to appear out of nowhere. 

You shrugged dismissively. “Like I said, nothing concrete. I just suggested to Sam that we were looking in the wrong place.” 

Dean shook his head, taking a sip of his beer. “You already lost me.” 

“I mean, most things we’ve hunted have come in swarms, and were typically common to the area. I suggested that perhaps we were hunting a singular thing, something foreign, like when you guys took down that Lamia,” you supplied, standing up with a stack of books to move out of the way. 

You could practically feel Sam’s smirk behind your back as you set things on the dresser. Ever since you realized that, when it came to Dean, you felt something stronger than your adopted kinship, you confided in Sam. He’s been one of your best friends and confidants for as long as you’ve known him, yet a small part of you regrets telling him; he still refuses to let you live it down, and is smug as shit about it at every possible moment. Between him, and the fact that your behaviour is growing increasingly uncharacteristic around Dean due to the fear of your own feelings, it won’t be long until Dean realizes that something is going on.

Dean laughed softly behind you, and you were thankful he couldn't see the smile that grew on your face because of the sound. “Assuming I even remember what the hell this Lima-”

“Lamia,” you and Sam both pitched in to correct him. 

“Whatever,” Dean huffed. “What makes you think this thing is some lonely foreigner?” 

Shrugging your shoulders as you set the last book down on the stack, you thought about it. “I don’t really know,” you said, spinning around and walking back to your bed. “Just a hunch, I guess? I mean, I could be really off base here.”

“Nah, your hunches are never wrong, sweetheart,” Dean told you, bringing his bottle to his smirking lips. 

You heard Sam snicker, and you sent him a death glare before declaring that you were starving. 

Setting the bottle on the nightstand, Dean eagerly stood up and grabbed the bags. “I got your favourite,” he declared, sporting a proud grin as he brought it to you. 

“Thanks, De,” you said earnestly, matching his grin as you took it from him.

One quick glance confirmed that he didn’t forget a single detail of your order, and you felt your heart swell about three sizes. 

“Sammy?” Dean asked tentatively, looking over to his brother now; the remnants of his smile still lingering.

Sam shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on his screen. “You can go ahead, I’m not all that hungry right now.”

Rather than argue, you and Dean simply shared a look and shrugged before digging in. The three of you brainstormed some more while you ate, resulting in Sam sending you and Dean an occasional look of ‘stop talking with your mouths full, it's disgusting’ - which only encouraged you both to do it more.

Eventually, Sam had all he could take and shut his laptop with a groan. “I’ll be in my room,” he muttered, all but storming away to the room next door. 

He always got his own room whenever he could, given that not only was he often up late with a lamp burning to carry on with research, but he was also always up before the sun to go for a run if the case allowed for it. It was now more than ever, though, that you assumed he got his own room to also just escape the pestering from you and Dean. 

You both watched him march out of sight for a moment before Dean turned to you, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

“It’s just too easy sometimes,” you giggled. 

He couldn’t help but snort a laugh, a grin taking over both your faces as you high-fived. 

The two of you carried on together for the rest of the night; working on the case a little more, coming up with new ways to mess with Sam, settling onto your bed to watch a few episodes of your favourite show - one that he always complains about, yet refuses to miss a single episode of.

It was the same as every night. 

Only this time, you could’ve sworn that he sat a little closer to you. That he laughed a little harder at your jokes. You even thought that you saw more fondness than usual reflected in his gaze whenever he turned to smile at you.

Yet, you didn’t dwell on it. You couldn’t dwell on it. 

It was a dangerous game to think that he saw you the way that you saw him, and it was a game you refused to play. 

A few days later, you were all seated around the room again, growing increasingly frustrated over the lack of answers. Children kept disappearing, no one knew why, and panic was rising. 

You scrolled through the page, sitting up straight as something caught your eye; and you noticed Sam do the same a few moments later. 

“Gurumāpā!” you both yelled, looking at each other. 

Dean looked up from the book he was searching through to stare at the two of you. “Uhh... gesundheit?"

“The Nepalese bogeyman,” you confirmed, ignoring Dean’s confusion. 

“You really think?” Sam asked. 

You spoke quickly, excited yet unsure “I mean, I don't know. It could be. It’s our best shot. Stories vary here and there but the moral is the same.”

“He takes disobedient kids,” Sam agreed with a nod. 

Dean shut his book with a snap. “Great! So, where do we find it, and how do we kill it?” 

You opened your mouth, but had nothing. You looked at Sam, but he only shrugged. 

“Awesome,” Dean sighed, resting his cheek on his palm as he dramatically threw the book back open to flick through the pages. 

“Are we sure about this?” you asked suddenly, having two heads snap to attention. 

Dean spoke first. “Are we ever?”

“Dean’s right, most of the time we barely have a leg to stand on,” Sam added. 

“I know, but,” you started to say. “Why’s he here? He’s supposed to be secluded on a field in Nepal. It doesn’t make sense he’s here.”

“Nothing ever makes sense,” Dean said, rubbing his eyes. “This is the best lead we’ve had so far, we can’t turn back now. For all we know, someone could’ve found a way to summon him- hell, or smuggle him here.” 

Sam nodded. “It has happened before,” he reminded, and you all took a silent moment to remember that case before shuddering. 

“We’ve done a lot more with a lot less - so come on,” Dean said, tapping a finger on your laptop to get you to keep reading. 

You obliged with a heavy sigh, and silence stretched on for a few more hours; all of you painstakingly searching through any book or entry you could get your hands on. You, working on finding a possible location this thing could be camping out in, while they tried to find a way to kill it. 

You considered it a lucky break when Dean announced he may have found something, thus allowing him to help you when Sam took it upon himself to dive deeper on what was discovered. 

After a few more hours, you all found yourselves outside of town and surrounded by nothing but abandoned farmland and its ramshackled buildings.

“Great, so… now what?” Dean asked, surveying the expanse of seemingly endless land. 

“I guess we split up? Try and find any kids first?” Sam suggested with a shrug. 

Opening your mouth to respond, you were quickly cut off by Dean. 

“No,” he said firmly, taking a subconscious step closer to you. “We don’t even know if what we’re after is what we think we’re after.”

“So?” you asked, glancing up at him. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

“No,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. We stay together until we get a better feel for what’s going on.” 

“Well, let’s go then,” you declared, slinging your duffel over your shoulder and strolling down the path. 

The brothers were hot on your heels, the only sounds to be heard being the gravel under your shoes and the birds up above as you explored the property.

“This isn’t gonna work, Dean,” Sam huffed after a while. “This place is massive and we’re wasting time. It’s gonna be dark soon.” 

“He’s right, De,” you agreed softly. “We need to split up.” 

“Fine, okay,” Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “Do not do anything stupid. Call the second you find anything, got it?” he added with a pointed look; seemingly only directed at you.

“Yeah, I got it,” you said in annoyance. “I’m not an idiot.” 

“I never said-” Dean started to argue before Sam interrupted with a loud groan. 

“Guys? Can we, like, not do that now? Kinda life or death here.” 

“Right, yeah,” Dean grumbled with a curt nod. “No one get dead,” he muttered, choosing a direction and walking off.

You and Sam exchanged a quick glance before following suit, heading off in your own directions. 

The sun was getting lower and lower on the horizon, and you grew increasingly frustrated as every single place you checked came up empty. 

You were just about ready to start landing punches on some unsuspecting barnwood when you heard it. It was quiet, distant, but unmistakable. 

Someone - or something, you guessed - was in the next building.

It was dark. 

Dark and quiet. 

Why was it so dark? 

The sun still wasn’t set as you stepped into the barn, and that was only moments ago; wasn’t it? 

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to recall what happened: the noise that caught your attention, the apparent nesting ground you came upon, the footsteps behind you, the struggle, the fight, the searing pain as you were sent flying.

A small whimper escaped you as it all came back, breathing rapidly as you realized you were alone with no idea what was happening outside these creaking walls. You tried to move, but searing pain shot through you, a hand instinctively going to your side to instantly become warm and slick. 

“Dean?” you tried to call out, but his name only came as a broken sob. 

Choking back tears, you forced yourself to calm down so you could listen to your surroundings; yet all you could hear was your own heart pounding in your ears. 

“Dean?” you tried again, but it was like all the air was being stolen from your lungs. 

Taking a big breath, you forced yourself to your feet with a yell, bracing yourself on the closest beam you could find as you fumbled for your phone. Panic continued to rise within you when you realized it wouldn’t turn on, and fear for the boys’ whereabouts turned your blood to ice. 

Moonlight was filtering into the barn through the slats, piercing the darkness around you just enough to help you see the way out. You didn’t know where you’d go once getting outside, but you knew you just had to get outside. Forcing yourself to move once more, you pushed off the beam and trudged through the rubble and debris, heading towards the opening you had squished yourself through to get in here. Shoving your way back out, however, was not as easy, and you couldn’t help but let out a scream as the wood pressed into your wound on the way through. 

Suddenly, you heard your name being called. It was soft, like an echo in the distance, but you recognized the voice - you would know it anywhere. 

“Dean-” you attempted to call in return, but you still couldn’t find your voice. 

Once you were completely outside, you made your way in the direction you thought he was in, trying to keep pressure on the wound as best you could; thankfully, it didn’t seem to be bleeding too badly. Your head was absolutely pounding, and you weren’t sure if your vision was blurry, or if it was just too dark to clearly make anything out. Nevertheless, you carried on, using Dean as a beacon to guide your way. 

The second you saw his familiar silhouette appear up ahead, you knew you were safe. You knew you could finally let yourself give in to the pain and exhaustion, collapsing to your knees with a heavy sigh. 

You faintly registered him yelling out your name before sprinting towards you, his voice growing louder as he got closer.

“Hey,” he cried out, skidding to his knees in front of you. “Hey, look at me. Look at me,” he pleaded, cupping your face in his hands in a desperate attempt to try and meet your gaze.

“The barn,” you said urgently. “I tried to-”

“It’s okay,” Dean hushed you, shaking his head. “It’s okay, you’re okay, we got it.” 

“You got it?” you asked hazily.

“We got it, sweetheart,” he assured, his fingers brushing away your hair to try and examine you better. “It’s over, you’re okay.”

“I don’t feel okay,” you admitted quietly. 

Your vision grew even cloudier, and you didn’t know if it was your consciousness slipping away, or more tears starting to flow. 

“No, you’re okay,” he said shakily, wiping away what must have been tears. 

You nodded in response, but the movement caused your breath to hitch as the pain grew worse, and your hands shakily reached up to grab his wrists in a feeble attempt to stop everything from spinning. 

It was at this exact moment he noticed your hands were painted with your own blood, and the fear that surged through him as he glanced down made him want to throw up. Quickly slipping his flannel off, he wrapped it around you with unsteady hands, tying it tightly after warning you it might hurt.

“See?” he asked nervously, swallowing thickly. “It’s not even that bad, alright? It’s not that bad.”

The fact that it was too dark to properly assess the damage was setting his nerves on fire, and at this point he didn’t know whether he was trying to convince you or himself that everything was fine. 

He doesn’t even remember calling out for Sam, yet he must have, because his brother was suddenly skidding to a stop beside him after finally finding you.

Sam took a moment to assess you himself, though once realizing there was nothing that could be done right here and now, he decided it was time to move. 

“Can you walk?” Sam asked you, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Not as quickly as you two gigantor’s can,” you admitted, huffing a bitter laugh. 

Neither of them laughed with you, and they shared a pointed look that you couldn’t see. 

Dean dug in his pocket, pulling out his keys before tossing them to Sam. “Get the car and start heading our way. We’ll meet you.” 

“Got it,” Sam nodded, sprinting away. 

“Alright, let’s get you up, sweetheart,” Dean announced softly, grabbing you as firmly as he dared. “Ready?” 

With a tiny nod of your head, you let out a groan as he helped guide you to your feet, letting you lean heavily on him for support. 

“Good,” Dean encouraged. “Good. How’re you feeling?” 

“Tired,” you breathed out, resting your heavy head on his shoulder. 

“Okay, hey,” he called, gently lifting your head back up. “I’m gonna carry you, alright? But I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?” 

You really, really wanted to say no. It seemed like he had three heads, all dancing around in front of you, and all you wanted was to close your eyes. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t. 

“Why?” you asked, clearly confused.  

“Can’t let you sleep until I check out that head,” he told you, getting ready to scoop you up into his arms as gently as he could. 

You were somehow even more confused. “My head?” you asked, before letting out a strangled gasp as he picked you up.

“It’s bleeding,” he pointed out, swallowing down the lump that formed in his throat.

As if in a way of question, you gingerly brought your fingers up to the side of your head - only to flinch in response as you came in contact with what must’ve been another wound. “Oh.”

It wasn’t long before the world around you became aglow with headlights, and Sam pulled to a screeching stop before rushing to help Dean get you in the back seat.

“Are we close to a hospital?” Dean asked, placing your head on his lap as Sam spun the car around. 

“Not at all. The motel’s our closest option right now,” answered Sam. 

“Fine, then drive faster,” Dean ordered, running a hand through your hair. 

“I’m going as fast as I can, Dean,” Sam grumbled. 

“Well, I said go faster,” Dean replied curtly, before fully turning his attention back to you.

He focused on keeping you talking as Sam sped towards the motel - discussing the latest episodes of your show the two of you had watched, how there was a new movie playing that he wanted to take you to see once back at home, that during the drive back home he’d stop at that cute cafe you spotted on the outskirts of town earlier this week; anything that came to mind, he said it.

There were multiple motives behind him doing so: to keep you distracted from the pain, to keep you awake, to keep him distracted from your pain, and to try and gauge how bad that head injury was - so far, it didn’t seem to be so much damaging as just a nasty blow. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, and the wound by your hip wasn’t bleeding as much, so he was hoping all it would need was a few good stitches once he could look at it. 

The panic he had felt since first finding you was finally starting to subside, yet he had still never been so thankful to pull into a dingy motel parking lot before. After carefully leading you to your room, he and Sam both took turns to evaluate your wounds and current condition. 

“Looks worse than it is,” Sam told you, letting out a breath of relief. “Definitely gonna be sporting a nice goose egg for a while, maybe a stitch or two, but your head seems fine.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally fine,” Dean pitched in, sarcasm dripping from the words. “What about that nice gash on her side - what would you say that is, Sammy? Four, maybe five inches?”

“Dean,” Sam chastised, shooting him a warning look. 

“Oh, here we go. Sammy the protector,” Dean muttered, heading to gather the first aid kit. “Well where the hell were you when she got turned into Raggedy Ann, huh?”

“Where was I? Where the hell were you?” Sam spat back with a scoff. 

“I was the one who didn’t want to split up in the first place!” yelled Dean, snatching a bottle of liquor off the counter to use as a disinfectant.  

“Guys?” you cut in, hoping to stop them before it escalated. 

“What?” they both shouted, turning their attention to you 

“Oh,” Sam said, realizing he was now yelling at you. “Sorry,” he added awkwardly, clearing his throat. 

Dean, on the other hand, remained quiet as he approached you. His face was as dark as an impending storm, yet his hands remained as gentle as the touch of a summer breeze while he tended to you.

Time stretched on, and the silence that now filled the room was almost harder to bear than the needle Dean was currently threading through your skin. You cast a glance over at Sam, hoping for some reprieve, but he looked just as helpless as you were. 

“Did you end up finding anyone?” you asked tentatively, addressing the room instead of either Sam or Dean.

“Sam brought a couple kids over to the station while I looked for you,” Dean informed, voice as taught as the suture he pulled through for one final knot. 

“That’s good,” you replied, wringing your fingers together. “What about-” 

“Everything got dealt with, alright?” Dean interrupted, cutting the excess material off with a harsh snip as he finished his stitching. 

“Okay,” you said, feeling like a scolded child. “Look, I-” 

Your words got stuck in your throat as Dean stood abruptly, tossing everything aside before storming over to the sink. You watched as he stiffly scrubbed your blood from his hands, the silence becoming as overbearing as before until Sam broke it. 

“Look, you just…” he trailed off, as if he were testing the water before continuing. “You really scared the hell out of us.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, mainly because you didn’t know what to say. It’s not like you meant to get attacked, for crying out loud. 

“Sorry?” Dean barked, whipping around to face you. “You’re sorry?” 

You stared at him, watching as the fury swirled in his eyes while you thought of what you were supposed to say. 

“Okay- maybe we should all take a breather here,” Sam quickly jumped in, trying to diffuse his brother’s anger. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Dean said, dismissing the idea as he stared daggers at you. “I think we should go ahead and talk about what a goddamn idiot you were back there!” 

The words felt like a slap in the face, and they hurt more than anything else you endured tonight. “I was not an idiot.” 

“No?” he asked, stepping towards you. “Because last I checked, you were supposed to call us if you found something! Not go blindly running in to meet who knows what without any fucking backup!” 

“Oh, please!” you groaned, already fed up. “Just how was that gonna work, Dean? I just stand there and wait for you guys to show up while potentially letting some innocent kid bite it? I had to check it out!” 

“It was stupid!” he shouted back. “You wanna check it out solo, fine, but you still drop a dime! We had no idea where the hell you even were!” 

“Guys, c’mon,” Sam pleaded, desperately wanting to put an end to this. 

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean spat. “She needs to own up to her mistake.” 

“It wasn’t a mistake!” you yelled. “I’m not in this gig to play it safe, I’m in it to save lives.” 

“Yeah, and then I’m the one who ends up with your blood on my hands!” he cried out. 

“Oh, do you always have to be so goddamn dramatic?!” you asked. “Don’t act like getting hurt isn’t part of the job. You’ve got over a decade on me, Dean, you should know that better than I do!”

He laughed sardonically, shaking his head as he backed up to lean against the counter, hands rubbing at his face. “I just don’t understand how you can’t see how fucking stupid you were.” 

“Ah, yes,” you replied saccharinely. “Stupid little me. Just a naive girl who can’t do the job, huh?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying!” he barked, rubbing his face in exasperation. 

“No?” you asked incredulously. “Then tell me, Dean! What the hell are you saying, huh?” 

“God, just- you know what?” he asked, shoving himself off the counter. “Screw this. I’m done here. I’m getting my own fucking room for the night,” he muttered, storming away. 

Before you could even blink, he was slamming the door behind him. You must’ve made a move to follow him, because you suddenly felt a hand lightly grip your wrist as Sam kept you in place. 

“Just leave him to cool off for a bit,” Sam told you quietly. 

You wanted to argue, to rip yourself from Sam’s grasp and go find Dean, who was likely pacing around outside in an attempt to blow off some steam. Yet you knew it was best to do as Sam said; Dean didn’t want to listen right now, and following after him to try and talk would only make things worse. 

“Yeah,” you said belatedly, slipping from his hold. “Okay.” 

“Do you need any help?” Sam asked, watching as you gathered your things for bed. 

“I’ll be fine,” you told him, shaking your head. 

“Alright,” he sighed, not fully believing you but knowing better than to call you on it. “I’ll go next door and grab my stuff. I’ll stay with you tonight.” 

“Sounds great,” you said, despite not fully listening to him. You were too focused on trying to hold yourself together until you made it to the bathroom, letting the emotions run through you as soon as you were locked inside. 

Time seemed to slip away from you while you were in there, lost in thought while the water melded with your tears as you cleansed yourself both physically and emotionally. It was only when Sam knocked on the door with a call of your name that you finally came to your senses. Once you assured him you were fine, you quickly finished up. 

Doing your best to avoid eye contact with Sam, you made for your bed as quickly as you could move. Hiding yourself away in the safety of the blankets, you hoped to avoid any further discussions of this entire event. 

You should’ve known better. 

“You do know we need to talk about this, right?” Sam asked softly. 

“Do we?” you asked in return, staring up at the ceiling. 

He sighed, and soon after you felt the end of your bed dip under his weight. “I meant what I said. You scared the hell out of us.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you said meekly, keeping your eyes trained on the stain above your head. 

“I know that,” he said calmly. “I’m sure Dean does, too, but-” 

“Does he?” you cut in incredulously. 

Sam sighed again, falling silent as he weighed his response in his head. “Yes. C’mon, you know Dean - hell, probably even better than I do. He was more scared than he was angry, and I think you know that.” 

“Well you were scared, too, weren’t you?” you asked, finally turning your gaze to his. “You didn’t try ripping my head off.” 

“That’s because my biggest fear didn’t almost become reality tonight,” he said simply, giving you a look as though you should understand; which, you didn’t. 

“What?” 

“Look,” Sam started, carding his fingers through his hair. “Death is part of the job, right? We all know it’s the risk we take with this life. But you… if I’m being honest, I don’t even know what the hell I’d do if I ever lost you; you’re my best friend, the annoying little sister I never had, and I love you. But Dean… him losing you… I don’t know if he could ever come back from that.”

You stared at him carefully, his words echoing in your head as you searched his face for any insincerity - you didn’t really know what to say once you found no trace. 

“I’d like to get some rest, if that’s okay,” you finally settled on. 

Sam smiled sadly, knowing you didn’t believe him. “Sure,” he agreed, squeezing your calf affectionately before standing up. “I’ll check on you in a few hours, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nodded, tucking the sheets up under your chin. “Night, Sammy.” 

“G’night,” he responded gently, quietly getting himself ready for bed as well.

It was torture. Pure, never ending torture. 

You had been laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, for hours, unable to sleep a wink. 

Not only was your mind still reeling from your fight with Dean, but you weren’t able to get comfortable; the stitches in your side pulled every time you shifted positions, sending a new wave of pain through you that even the painkillers you swallowed down earlier did little to conceal. 

Letting out an irritated huff, you tossed the covers off and slid from the bed to search the dark for your shoes, doing your best to not wake Sam - all you wanted was some fresh air, and you didn’t want to deal with his questions or insistence he go with you. 

After shrugging on a flannel that Dean had left in his haste to get away from you, you carefully slipped from the room and did your best to make sure the door shut silently in your wake. 

“Running away?” came a voice from behind you, making you jump out of your skin as you whirled around. 

You came face to face with Dean, who was leaning against the trunk of his beloved car, one hand shoved deep in his jacket pocket and the other holding a can of beer. The moonlight cut through the darkness, mingling with the fluorescent and neon lights to cast an otherworldly glow upon his face. 

“Why?” you asked tightly, folding your arms over yourself. “Hoping you won’t have to deal with my stupidity anymore?” 

You may as well have slapped him for the way your words made him flinch, and he fixed his gaze on the can in his hand. “You know that’s not how I meant any of it,” he muttered guiltily. 

All you could do was scoff, biting back your snippy response in the hopes of trying to avoid another blow out. 

“Why are you out here?” you asked after a few moments of silence. “Thought you got your own room.” 

Dean shrugged, chugging down some beer before jerking a thumb in the direction of the upper level. “I asked for one, but all they had was one up in the corner.” 

“What, too many stairs?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He shook his head, falling silent as he stared at the puddle by his feet. “Just… too far away.” 

“From?” you asked, taking a few steps to lean against the closest pillar. 

By the sigh he let out, you could tell he didn’t want to answer, yet after a small stretch of silence he finally looked up to meet your gaze. “You.” 

“What, not mad at me anymore, then?” you questioned, hoping to mend this bridge. 

“Oh, no. I’m still fucking pissed,” he instantly admitted. 

“Right, well, spare the lecture this time,” you replied with a scoff. 

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he snapped, setting his can down on the trunk. 

“You wanna know what I don’t get, Dean?” you quipped, glaring at him. “Have you always thought I was such an incompetent hunter, or did your opinion of me just suddenly change?” 

“That is not-” he started to argue, before taking a calming breath. “That is not what I think,” he finished, more quiet this time. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes. 

“Okay, you wanna know how I see it?” he asked, shifting his stance a little straighter. 

When all you did was meet his gaze with your own look of determination, he carried on. 

“You almost died!” he said adamantly. 

“No, I didn’t!” you denied, throwing up your hands in exasperation. 

“Well you may as well have!” he yelled, palm slamming down on Baby’s exterior in an outburst of rage. “You disappeared! You disappeared, and I couldn’t find you, and when I did-... I mean what else was I supposed to think, huh? I find you on your damn knees, covered in your own blood, and I can’t even see how bad it is because we’re literally out there in the fucking dark. So you know what? As far as I’m concerned, in that moment, you did almost die.” 

Stunned into silence by the intensity of his words, all you could do was watch the storm of fear and fury dance behind his eyes before he turned away. 

“I thought I was gonna have to watch you die,” he muttered, choking on his words as he braced his hands on the car to steady himself. 

“I-” you tried to speak, but all words failed you at that moment. 

“And I know, okay?” he carried on desperately. “I know that this job, this life… that’s the risk. And me? Hell, if I go, I go, I can make peace with that. But I’ll be damned if I get to keep on living and you don’t. I’ll be damned, if I have to sit there and watch you die.” 

“Dean-” you tried again, feeling like an idiot for not being able to form a proper response. 

“Look, I- I overreacted okay? It’s what I do, I know that, but-” Dean cut himself off with a sigh, quickly wiping at his eyes before the tears had a chance to appear. “I can’t- I can’t handle the idea of facing a world without you in it.” 

“You’ve… I mean, I don’t understand,” you admitted with a chuckle of disbelief. “I’ve been hurt before.” 

“Trust me, I know,” he sighed, finally returning to sit against the rear end as he fixated on the ground before him. 

“So… what made it so different this time?” you hesitantly asked. 

Dean’s gaze slowly lifted from his boots to your face, and the look he gave you was one you’ve never seen before. He held your gaze as he stood tall, easily closing the space between you two with just a few steps. He reached out to carefully brush your hair away from the gash on your head, tucking the strands behind your ear. Your breath hitched as his fingers gently traced your skin, his touch lingering as he examined your wound. 

“Guess I just reached my breaking point,” he whispered, letting his palm rest against your cheek. 

“What does that mean?” you found the courage to ask. 

“You know what it means,” he replied, reluctantly pulling his hand away. 

“Say it anyway,” you pleaded, heart hammering in your chest as you fought to steady your breathing. 

He shook his head, averting his gaze as he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I don’t think I can.” 

“I know you can,” you encouraged, trying your best to catch his gaze. 

He closed his eyes as if to brace himself for what he was about to say, yet he only stayed silent. When the silence began to stretch on into minutes, you knew it was time to give up. 

“Okay,” you concluded, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in your chest from the jagged edges of your now broken heart. “Have a good night, De.” 

He let you turn away from him. He let you walk the few feet to your motel room door, but he couldn’t let you go back inside. Despite being an irreligious man, your name fell from his lips like a prayer, stopping you as you grasped the door handle

“I’ve been in love with you for longer than I even care to admit,” he confessed. “Yeah, maybe I went a little crazy earlier, but you know what? You make me crazy. The idea of losing you makes me crazy. The fact that you’re selfless enough to risk your life so easily makes me crazy. I can apologize for the way I handled it, for the things I said, but I will not apologize for being scared about losing you, okay? I just won’t.” 

“Dean,” you found yourself saying once more, feeling like you were moving in slow motion as you returned to stand before him. 

“Never thought I’d actually tell you that,” he announced, letting out a nervous chuckle as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I get it if you don’t-” 

“I love you, too,” you admitted quietly, cutting him off. 

“What?” he asked, blinking in shock. 

“You aren’t the only one who’s been harbouring that secret,” you told him, laughing softly. 

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but it was Sam’s voice that called out first. 

“Hey, I’m really happy for you guys and all… but could you just, like, shut up and kiss already or something? I’m actually trying to sleep in here.” 

It took you a few seconds to realize he was calling out from inside your room, and the realization that he likely heard the entire conversation caused laughter to bubble up from your chest and burst from your mouth. The sound was only short- lived as Dean captured your lips with his, rendering you quiet with a searing kiss that made you so weak in the knees you would’ve crumpled had he not been holding you.

You wanted to kiss him forever. You wanted to stay here with his lips on yours, his large hands framing your face as your small ones rested on his chest, for the rest of your life; and you would have, had the burning in your lungs not forced you to pull away for a proper breath.

He refused to let you go, pulling you in close as he rested his forehead against yours. You wished time and space would cease to exist as you stood in his embrace, slowly catching your breath; though as far as you were concerned, the two of you were the only ones to exist in this moment.

“Wait, hold on,” he said, pulling back to look at you, dancing his gaze between you and the door to your room. “Has he been in there this entire time?”

“Ever since you left, yeah,” you told him, a little confused by his sudden question.

“So his room’s been empty?” he asked, a little annoyed.

“Uh- yes?”

“So you’re telling me I’ve been standing out for hours, looking like a creep and getting drizzled on, when I could’ve been using his room?” he questioned.

A laugh escaped your lips without you meaning it to, but the longer you took in his annoyed expression the more giggles you let out.

“Well, it’s your own fault for storming out,” you told him with a laugh.

He rolled his eyes as you carried on laughing, shaking his head as he let you go. “The things I do for you,” he muttered under his breath as he checked the door next to yours.

“Aw c’mon, you’ve had to do worse while on stakeouts,” you pointed out, watching as he swung the door open to Sam’s former room. “Although, I’m not usually the one you’re watching - wait, or am I?” you added playfully, grinning mischievously.

“Just shut up and get in here,” he sighed, holding his hand out to you as he fought off a smile; though the twitch in the corners of his mouth gave him away.

You made your way over to him, ready to take his hand in yours as you continued to tease him. “Can’t help but notice you didn’t say no.”

He rolled his eyes once more, clasping your hand and pulling you into the room so swiftly you let out a squeak of surprise. “You,” he said, kicking the door shut as he took your face between his palms. “Are a pain in my ass.”

You grinned, placing your hands on his wrists. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, running his thumbs across your cheeks. “I really do.”

taglist: @roseblue373, @snowayumi, @iluvdeanwinchester, @winharry, @star-yawnznn, @jc-winchester, @chevroletdean, @angelblqde

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[wendichester]

🐇.•*¨`*•. easter blessing,

summary. you're working a case with the brothers. it gets festive.

pairing. sam + dean winchester x reader genre. crack

wordcount. 599

notes / warnings. happy easter babies 🐰🗿

You’d like to say this is the weirdest hunt you’ve ever been on.

But it’s really not. Which might be worse.

“So let me get this straight,” you say, squinting down at the crime scene. “We’re hunting... the Easter Bunny?”

Sam, bless his over-researched soul, doesn’t even blink.

“Technically? Probably a pagan fertility god that predates Christianity by like a few thousand years. But yeah. Bunny.”

Dean makes a face and kicks a trail of shredded pink plastic eggs off the sidewalk.

“This is a new low,” he mutters. “I didn’t survive hell to get murdered by some pastel-colored Bugs Bunny ripoff.”

You don’t point out that the corpse in front of you has literal jellybeans spilling out of its mouth. Or that the bite marks on the neck are unmistakably rodent-shaped.

The victim’s last expression is... haunted.

Sam flips through a lore book like it’s a normal Tuesday.

“Looks like Oschter Hase,” he mutters. “Old German folklore. Bringer of fertility, eggs, springtime.”

Dean snorts.

“Bringer of death now.”

You nudge a marshmallow Peep out of the gore with your boot. It's still warm.

Disgusting.

Fast forward to nightfall.

You’re in a graveyard (classic), surrounded by cracked eggshells and tufts of fur, holding a flamethrower.

Because, apparently, bunnies from hell don’t like fire.

Sam’s reading Latin out loud. Dean’s loading silver buckshot into a sawed-off. And you’re wondering if you can ever eat a Cadbury Creme Egg again without getting war flashbacks.

“I see it!” Dean shouts suddenly.

You turn.

And there it is.

Bounding toward you with bloodstained fur, beady red eyes, and an oversized wicker basket slung over its back like some kind of festive serial killer.

“That is not a bunny,” you hiss.

“Technically—” Sam starts.

“Shut up, Sam!”

The bunny shrieks. Shrieks. Like a banshee doing an exorcism. It launches straight at Dean, claws out, teeth bared, ears flapping like demonic wings.

Dean yells something that sounds like “SON OF A B—” and goes down hard under a pile of fur and rage.

“DEAN!”

You turn the flamethrower on and dive into the fray.

The bunny rears up like a fluffy demon spawn just as you pull the trigger. Fire roars. Fur ignites. Sam’s still chanting. Dean’s swearing. Somewhere in the chaos, jellybeans explode like tiny grenades.

The smell is horrific.

The thing lets out a final ungodly screech before collapsing in a pile of flaming tinsel and fur.

“I think that’s it,” Sam pants, stepping over the burning corpse like he hasn’t just witnessed seasonal trauma incarnate.

Dean rolls over and groans.

“Did anyone get the plate on that satanic thumper?”

You grin, a little breathless, a lot singed.

“Happy Easter, boys.”

An hour later, you’re at the diner down the road. Covered in soot, minorly concussed, and all staring at the very suspicious chocolate bunnies in the display case.

“So,” you say, sipping burnt coffee. “We’re never doing this holiday again, right?”

“Agreed,” Dean grunts.

Sam hums.

“Well, there’s still Beltane in a few weeks—”

“NO,” you and Dean both snap.

Dean raises his glass of whiskey like a toast.

“To never trusting rabbits again.”

“Or Sam’s German pagan crap.”

“Or candy.”

“Okay, not candy,” Dean amends quickly, grabbing a pack of mini eggs off the table. “I’m still emotionally attached to sugar.”

You lean back in the booth, bruised, exhausted, and vaguely traumatized.

But alive.

And kind of weirdly proud.

Because you, Sam, and Dean just saved a town from a deranged ancient fertility god disguised as the Easter Bunny. With Latin, fire, and questionable decision-making skills.

Just another day in paradise.

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[delilahsturniolo]

⟡ ݁₊ welcome to the end of the world! (please leave your sanity at the door.)

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 . . . four friends: nick, matt, chris, and you—find themselves stuck together at the end of the world, trying to survive a zombie apocalypse with nothing but their wits, a questionable supply of snacks, and zero emotional maturity. you’re just trying to stay alive without losing your mind—or falling for someone on the team.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . . . violence, romantic tension, kissing, use of weapons, a bit of angst

CHAPTER SEVEN: CHRIS GOES CRAZY

read other parts here!

it all starts with a can of tuna.

well—technically, it starts with chris dropping said can while trying to climb over a broken fence with lieutenant whiskers zipped into his hoodie. the cat, being 75% attitude and 25% chaos, launches himself out of chris’s arms like a furry missile and disappears into the overgrown ruins of what used to be a backyard.

and chris?

he completely. loses. it.

“WHISKERS?! WHISKERRRSS???”

he’s screaming like the cat pays taxes or something. nick rubs his temples and mutters something about “how the hell is this our priority in the middle of an apocalypse.” matt’s eyes flick to you, and you just sigh. “this is gonna be a whole thing, isn’t it?”

“oh yeah,” matt says. “he’s already in stage four grief. stage five is building a shrine out of tuna cans.” chris runs in circles, looking under bushes, through broken fences, inside a tipped-over grill. “he’s tiny! what if he got stuck? what if he’s in a hole? what if—oh my god, what if a zombie got him?!” you step forward, reaching out a hand. “chris, he’s a demon in a fur coat. he’s probably hunting them.”

“you don’t know him like i do!”

nick sits on an old lawn chair like this is a reality show he didn’t sign up for. “okay but like, is he microchipped? tagged? gps on the tail? no? then i think we’re just gonna have to—”

growl.

it’s low.

wet.

close.

and coming from the treeline behind the house.

your blood freezes.

then they emerge—three of them. fast, jerky movements. hungry eyes. one is missing an arm. another is crawling with exposed ribs. the third is tall and foaming at the mouth, making a beeline straight for you. matt reacts instantly. pushes you back, raises his weapon. chris grabs a broken pipe, panic in his eyes. nick leaps up, swearing under his breath.

and that’s when a blur of gray fur and rage barrels out from under the porch and launches itself directly at the crawling zombie’s face.

“WHISKERS?!” chris gasps.

it’s like slow motion.

lieutenant whiskers clings to the zombie’s head like a pissed-off backpack, claws digging deep. it stumbles backward, thrashing. the distraction is just enough for you and matt to stab the other two, working in sync—his arm steady at your back, your knife landing clean.

nick finishes the third with a blow to the head and a very dramatic, “NOT TODAY, YOU CRUSTY BAG OF BONES.”

the yard goes silent.

lieutenant whiskers drops gracefully from his victim’s corpse, shakes off some gore, and walks back toward chris like nothing happened. chris drops to his knees, sobbing. “you brave, beautiful, bastard—i thought i lost you!” the cat meows and immediately starts licking his butt. emotional balance is restored.

you’re still panting. the adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet. your hands are shaking a little, and matt notices. “you okay?” he asks, voice low.

you nod, but it’s not convincing.

not to him.

he steps in close, just like he did on the roof. this time, he doesn’t wait for a reason to touch you—his hands slide up your arms, steadying you, grounding you. “you saved my ass back there,” you say, trying to laugh. it comes out thin.

“we save each other,” he replies. “kind of a thing now.”

you’re too close.

not close enough.

your heart is doing that stuttery thing again, like it’s trying to beat its way to him. “i’m sorry,” you say suddenly. “for earlier. for… kissing you and then pretending it didn’t happen.”

he tilts his head. “you think i didn’t notice that?”

���i just—everything’s been insane and maybe i got caught up and i didn’t want to make it weird but i also—”

“hey,” he cuts you off gently. “you didn’t make it weird. okay?”

you blink. “i didn’t?”

“you made it… complicated. and impossible to stop thinking about. and kind of the only good thing that’s happened to me in months.” your heart flips. violently.

and then he kisses you. again.

it’s different this time. no blood. no panic. no almost-dying. just you and him and the heat you’ve been avoiding, pouring out in this kiss like it’s been waiting for permission. it’s needy. it’s desperate. it’s real. when he pulls back, you’re breathless. dizzy. and craving more. “we should probably… check on chris,” you whisper, voice unsteady.

matt smirks. “he’s having a moment with the cat. i think we’ve got a minute.”

“just one?”

“…maybe two.”

and this time, when you kiss him, it’s you who initiates.

and this time?

neither of you plans to pretend it didn’t happen.

not anymore.

not with everything on the line.

© delilahsturniolo

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Bared Fangs.

Commissioned by the very lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Modern/Serial Killer AU, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Blood/Gore, Reader Gets Hurt, Obsessive Behavior, Gun Violence, and Unhealthy Relationships. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as Childe asked you if you wanted to go outside.

Honestly, you should’ve known something was wrong as soon as he found you reading in front of his fireplace, as soon as that crooked, schoolboy grin found its way to his lips and he forewent his usual routine of draping himself on top of you like some muscled, zealously homicidal weighted blanket in favor of ruffling your hair and toying with the collar of the flannel you were wearing (his flannel, technically, but you tried not to let yourself acknowledge how accustomed you’d grown to wearing your captor’s clothes or, more troublingly, how long it’d been since the last time you’d felt disgusted by it). “Snow should be done for a couple hours,” he started, nodding towards the frost-coated windows. It might’ve been a more charming sight if not for the scratches carved into the surface of the glass – souvenirs from there the first time you got your hands on one of his axes. “I’m thinking of stepping out, doing a little hunting before the storm kicks up again. Wanna come with me?”

You narrowed your eyes at your book, trying to hide the way your heart beat a little faster at the suggestion of being able to leave his claustrophobic cabin. But, with Childe, you were usually better off staying safely tucked behind the bars of your rustic cage. “Is this going to be a normal hunting trip or a you hunting trip?”

He only hummed. “’fraid I don’t know what you mean by that, princess.”

“Are we going to be hunting animals, or…” You trailed off, swallowing down the bitter taste that came with remembering why you were here. “… or, you know. People, or whatever.”

“This time of year?” He let out an airy laugh, like you’d asked to go skiing in the middle of summer. “There’s nobody on the mountain ’cept me and you.”

Still, you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to try and think beyond your near-overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here. Childe was a murderer, a sadist, a kidnapper, but he wasn’t the type to play mind games. He tended to divide his reality between the world outside – where people could be hunted like quarry, their bodies left to rot in tents and rivers with only the occasional token taken as a keepsake – and the world inside the walls of his cabin – where he sat you down in front of a low-burning fire and told you stories about ice-fishing with his siblings and pouted when you admit his (admittedly, not entirely inedible) cooking could use a little more seasoning. After that first night – the worst night of your fucking life – he seemed to want to keep you resigned to the latter, at least until he came home covered in blood and desperate for something warm and familiar to fuck until he passed out.

Eventually, you sighed, closing your book and sitting up. “Fine. When do we leave?”

His grin widened, head lulling forward as he pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “The front door’s already unlocked. I’ll give you a head start, a full five minutes. Actually, make it ten – just to make it a little more fun for you.”

 There was a beat of silence, then another. “Childe, you’re making it sound like you’re—”

“Like I said, there’s nobody on the mountain but me and you.” He pulled away, turning on his heel. “I’ll be nice, too – won’t use anything with more than a twenty-foot range.”

“But, you— you can’t just—”

“Tick-tock.” He clicked his tongue, winking at you over his shoulder. “Unless you’d rather cut straight to the good part.”

You should’ve known something was wrong, and now, running through the frozen wilderness desperately lost and barely dressed, your ten minutes spent and a killer undoubtedly chasing you down, you were paying the price for it.

You didn’t have time to be tactical. The snow was fresh enough to make every interruption unbearable obvious, meaning that – even if you were willing to stop and spare the seconds it’d take to hide your tracks, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Your only option was to run, but even that was easier said than done. Childe preferred to keep you in a state of hand-crafted domestic bliss, meaning what few clothes you did have were either picked out by or borrowed from him. Currently, all that separated you from the cold was his flannel, an oversized shirt, and a pair of his boots that you’d snagged on your way out. The chill snapped at your cold legs like the teeth of some unseen predator, the frigid air burning holes in your lungs, but the thought of what Childe would do when he caught you was enough to keep your feet moving, to keep you sprinting blindly through the forest. He wouldn’t kill you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t kill you, but—

A high-pitched holler, the sound of branches snapping underfoot and foliage being pushed aside somewhere behind you. You hadn’t stopped running after your first trembling steps away from the cabin, and yet, he couldn’t have been more than a few hundred feet behind you – half a mile, at your most generous guess. You started to curse under your breath, then thought better of it, biting down on your bottom lip with enough force to draw blood and pivoting to the left, where the forest seemed to be just a little thicker. If you couldn’t get away from him, you could at least try to hide before he got to you.

It was a haphazard, half-baked plan that was cruelly and immediately cut short as your foot caught on a root hidden by the snow, tearing away your right boot and leaving you sprawled over the frozen ground. Dampness sunk into your thin clothes, and you shut your eyes, trying to listen for Childe’s footsteps, but there was a reason none of his victims ever seemed to hear him coming. The forest’s minimal white noise was enough to swallow him entirely, the sound of birdsong and distant car engines disguising his presence despite your best attempts to—

Your realization was delayed, but intense.

Cars.

Cars meant roads. Cars meant civilization. Cars meant people, people who could take you away from here, away from Childe. You clambered to your feet, but failed to take so much as a step before a sudden, stabbing pain bit into your calf, your leg immediately buckling underneath you. You would’ve fallen entirely if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline running through your system, numbing the agony and choking the ragged scream that threatened to rise from the pit of your chest into a cracked whimper. It was one of Childe’s arrows – you would’ve been able to recognize that black steel from a mile away – but you didn’t let yourself linger on the implications. With grit teeth and balled fists, you limped forward, leaving a thin trail of crimson in your wake. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been looking, but it was there – a thin, wobbling, unpaved dirt road, only marked by two thin rows of tire tracks that sliced harshly through the otherwise unmarred blanket of snow. God, you never thought you’d be so happy to see dirt.

There wasn’t time to think. You stumbled out of the woods and into the road, the arrow’s head sinking that much deeper with every stuttering movement. The car you’d heard was still there, too; a by-the-numbers sedan, only a few hundred feet down the road. You threw up your arms up, then thought better of it; cupping your shaking hands around your mouth. You moved to call out, but whatever you might’ve said was stolen away from you as something dark flashed across your peripheral and another arrow planted itself in your right shoulder. This time, you crumbled like a dead leaf – broken into pieces by a morning gale.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Childe emerge from the tree line, his crossbow still in-hand. As he came to stand in front of you, your gaze shifted back to the car. You watched, your mind buzzing with pain, as it disappeared around a sharp bend, never so much as slowing down.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you heard Childe coo, wiping away the tears flowing down your cheeks before they could freeze against your skin. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, his voice low with a painful edge. “I guess I cheated, huh? Couldn’t help it – just knew you’d look so cute all bruised up and bleeding.”

Dropping his crossbow carelessly, he fell to your height. He was dressed for one of his usual hunts; a cut-off shotgun slung over his back, a hunting knife sheathed at his hip. The leather casing of the latter pressed into your side as he dipped lower, burying his face in the crook of your neck and pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss into the base of your throat. You felt his knee settle between your thighs, and weakly, your hands found their way to his chest. “Not here,” you mumbled, more afraid of the chill quickly seeping under your skin than being seen. “It hurts, Childe. I—I think you hit something imp—”

“I’ll be fast.” Another kiss, this one to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His calloused hands skirted over your sides, then your waist, hiking the thin fabric of your oversized shirt up to your midriff. You were already past the point of total numbness, and yet, the rough gravel beneath the snow cut harshly into your exposed skin. Rather than distracting you from the pain in your calf, your shoulder, it only seemed to draw more attention to your bleeding wounds, only seemed to make it harder to ignore the dull heat of Childe’s mouth against your chest. “Gotta take you out more often. You’re always beautiful, but I didn’t know you’d look this pretty.”

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. His arrow burnt into the tattered skin of your calf as his hands fell to your legs, groping at the plush of your thighs playfully before shifting his attention to the fly of his jeans. You knew what he wanted, he’d always been transparent, but the sound of shifting fabric, the sight of his rosy-tipped, stiff cock pressing flush against his stomach – that was enough for the loose coil of dread writhing in the pit of your chest to tighten into a tight, jagged knot of pure terror. You tried to sit up, to make your refusal that much more apparent, but Childe only caught you by your uninjured shoulder, shoving you into the ground with enough force to earn a pained scowl, a fractured whimper. His only response was a wordless, vaguely sympathetic noise, a softened lull to his wide smile. “No skipping out on this, babydoll. I can’t guarantee you’ll end up in one piece if I have to wait ‘till we get home.”

It was a fair warning, but anything he could have said would’ve been lost on you. Your heart was beating in your ears, blocking out any other sound. Pools of red blood and piles of limp bodies flashed across your vision and desperately, futilely, you clawed at the hand on your shoulder, kicked at his chest, thrashed underneath him like an animal unaware that resistance would only make the predator want to drive its teeth that much deeper. It was more Childe’s divided attention than your strength, but your heel found his side and, just for a moment, he slipped, letting out a soft grunt as the hand pinning you down fell away. You were scrambling onto your knees in a second, attempting to get your feet underneath you in another, but your little stunt was cut short as Childe lashed out, wrapping his arm around your neck and forcing your stomach against the ground. There was no whimpering, anymore – just a ragged, ear-piercing scream as his free hand found the arrow in your shoulder, tearing it out of you in one clean, unfaltering motion. His only response came in the form of a throaty moan; deep and terrible and followed immediately by the feeling of his cock against your dry cunt. You would’ve begged him to stop, offered to let him do anything he wanted to you if he just didn’t do this, but he didn’t give you time to bargain. Without hesitation, he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

Trembling sobs tore at your throat and past your lips, tears now flowing unabashedly down your cheeks. Childe kept his full weight against your back as he fucked into you with short, sharp thrusts – never happy unless he was burying himself in the deepest pocket of your poor, freezing pussy. Rather than desensitizing you, letting you fall back into some distant state of nonexistence, the snow seemed to burn where it was pressed into your cheek, your chest. You wished he would’ve taken off the rest of your clothes. You wished he would’ve just shot his stupid arrows into your skull and put you out of your misery.

It shouldn’t have felt good, you didn’t want it to feel good, but your body didn’t know that. Your cunt clenched and drooled around him, trying in vain to turn his assault into something you could enjoy, but the way he grunted into your ear snuffed out any pleasure you might’ve been able to feel. “Tryin’ to pull me back in,” he muttered, his voice already airy, already strung out. You couldn’t help but wonder if, had you only been able to run from him for another minute, he would’ve found something else to shove his dick into and left you out here to freeze to death. “Is that your goal? Wanna – Fuck, wanna help me warm you up?”

His hands fell to your hips, pulling your ass flush against his hips and letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much more brutally. Your injured leg grated against the dirt of the road and you cried out, your voice ragged and barely coherent. “St— Hurts, stop, stop, please, stop—”

“That’s it, always making such pretty sounds for me.” He buried his face in the dip of your shoulder. “Sometimes, it feels like all I wanna do it cut you open and crawl—”

He was interrupted by the dull roar of an approaching engine and something brightened inside of you, your eyes shifting towards the road, towards the well-beaten pick-up truck speeding in your direction. The breaks screeched as you and Childe came into the driver’s view, and for a second, you let yourself go slack underneath him, relief overwhelming your better judgement.

Childe wasn’t so sentimental.

His shotgun was in his hand before you could so much as process that he’d moved. Wordlessly, he fired off two shots; the first to the windshield on the driver’s side and the second to one of the front tires. You watched on helplessly as your last hope for salvation bucked, swerved, then veered off of the road entirely, catching on a snowbank and turning over once before crashing into the trunk of an oak that failed to so much as shake under the force of the collision. It was quieter than you’d expected it to be, the only sounds that of shattering glass and crunching metal. If there were survivors, no one screamed, or called for help, or came stumbling out of the wreckage. Childe’s breath hitched in his throat, his pace growing that much more erratic as he buckled into you – his pointed canines finding the tender junction at the base of your throat and burying themselves in your skin. It was less a love-bite and more an effort to eat you alive. What little blood he didn’t lap up washed over your chest, melting the frost and mixing into the snow beneath you. “Look—” He groaned, tried and failed to pull away from you. His voice reverberated against the curve of your neck as he went on. “Look what you turn me into, princess. Got me making all kinds of messes for you.”

Blood. Bodies. The taste of his cum on your tongue as your friends bled out under the same roof. You would’ve choked the air in your lungs if you’d been able to breathe, but there was no point lingering on pleasant hypotheticals. There were no distractions from the feeling of Childe’s hips grating against yours, the way his cock twitched as settled against you. A guttural moan tore past his lips as something thick and searing flooded into you, and you refused to let yourself acknowledge that this was the warmest you’d felt in days.

You stayed there, limp and frozen and miserable, as Childe pulled away from you, pulled out of you. Your eyes fell shut as he stumbled to his feet, your skin too numb to feel anything aside from the pressure of his arms around your motionless body. He pulled you against his chest, then let out a low whistle. “Might’ve gone a little overboard there. Sorry ‘bout that, princess.” A low chuckle, a gentle squeeze. “I just can’t help it, not when it comes to you. You’ll forgive me after a warm bath, right?”

You didn’t answer. The arrow in your calf must’ve fallen out, or maybe not – you couldn’t feel anything below your knees. Your hands felt like dead weight too, utterly disconnected from anything you might’ve used to control them, but every drop of panic, every ounce of horror – that all paled in comparison to the never-ending pit of pitch-black loathing that formed in your chest as you stared up at Childe. You hated him, wanted to see him torn apart with his own stockpile of weapons, but you really couldn’t blame him. Not for this, at least.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as the monster bared its fangs.

[sombreset]

I’m still not over Deadpool & Wolverine: WWIII. At all.

(Spoilers, also cw for blood and gore and just. Weird imagery)

There’s SO much stuff that happens in this comic, way more than I am posting here, that really digs deep into why Wade and Logan are so intertwined. They both suffered horribly. They’re both near immortal. They’ll both outlive everything they know. They both have rage that doesn’t ever seem to go away, they just have very different coping mechanisms.

This comic LITERALLY intertwines them, in more than one way.

First example is the one most people talk about, which is the whole thing where Logan cuts off a chunk of his own leg and cooks it for Wade so he has at least something to eat (is it gay to make the decision to cut off a piece of yourself and give it to another man so he has something to eat, even tho you both technically don’t need to eat, it just helps? Who knows)

Second example is the end of the comic, which I wish more people would talk about. While they’re fighting a big bad, Wade gets torn apart. Like… crushed. Into pieces. Past the point where Logan thinks regenerative healing can save him. And Logan is, despite all his complaining of how much he doesn’t like Wade, destroyed. Scared, and as the big bad points out— afraid.

Logan then goes into an absolute blind rage. He’s in pain. He’s scared. He genuinely thinks he lost Wade, and he loses it.

All the while, a small voice can be heard telling him to stop. Begging him to stop. He’s lost control. The antagonists of the comics wanted this, and while Logan is thrashing around they intentionally teleport him in front of a mother and child, fully expecting Wolverine to not tell the difference between friend or foe and kill them. Logan certainly cannot tell what he’s doing at this point. He can hardly see.

And then…

Suddenly, Wade. Because some of Wade’s blood got into Logan, he literally grew OUT of him, just in time to stop him from murdering innocent people. Because Logan had fully lost control. Wade pleads with him to stop, and in the end he literally pulls out one of Logan’s bones and shoves it into his face to get him to actually snap out of it. Afterwards, they have a lot of really good conversation, but to avoid clogging this post more— tldr Wade calms Logan down, and tells him “Nobody can decide we’re monsters but us.” Which… I love.

Later on after the fight, there’s this funny panel (and a few before) where Wade’s like dude we are sharing your ass AND dick rn isn’t that crazy and then yeah he makes the comment about being “in” Logan which. Nice

Anyways crazy b/c by the end of this comic, parts of Logan have literally been inside of Wade (chunk of Logan’s leg eaten by Wade) and ALL of Wade has been in Logan (he fucking grew out of him)

This comic is VERY good go read it if you haven’t

[cursedcatvibes]

SWEET BELIEFS

re2r!zombie leon x survivor reader

word count: 7.2k

summary: Leon turns into a zombie and has to learn to navigate how to live as one, while doing this he comes across you and your group of survivors. What will he do when he eats your now dead boyfriend's brains and falls head over heels in love with you enough to make you become like him?

tags/warnings: 18+ only please. I don’t want any controversy, minors DNI. Smut, Angst? Fluff for a paragraph or two. Descriptions of blood and gore. This could technically be considered a bit of Necrophilia? Implied suicide. Pain kink, Leon kinda takes a few bites out of reader. Slight non-con. Mentions of breeding but it doesn’t happen. AFAB reader, I tried to keep it as gn as possible.

A/N: hii so like i am absolutely awkward when it comes to writing smut to be honest, like it’s a bunch of thoughts that have to go into positions and the dialogue. i’m still a little unsure how to work tumblr and i feel so old. I took very very heavy inspo from warm bodies, one of my personal favorite movies. (I pulled up the script and everything so if you've seen the movie and are like hey.. word for word, bar for bar, YOURE NOT WRONG)

Songs I listened to while writing (just so you can picture some scenes with what songs I was feeling):

Sweet Beliefs - Cyann and Ben

Yamaha - Delta Spirit

Midnight City -M83

Hungry Heart - Bruce Springsteen

happy reading!

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

Leon was a determined man; he could do mainly anything he set his mind to if he tried, and he did. He would do everything in his power possible to stop the spread of this virus, well, he tried anyway. He knew that he couldn’t do much to begin with, but he always had a small sliver of hope that he could. Stupidly he braved his way forward after the car exploded, promising Claire to meet at the police station. How naive. Is the two words he uses as he thinks back to that same day.

He held his Matilda gun in both hands as he made his way towards the front gate of the R.P.D. He grunted audibly as he shut the gate and then proceeded to lock it. He turned around to face the front of the building in partial awe, a bitter expression souring his face. This is where he was meant to work, to protect and serve the people and yet he never got a chance to properly even start to accomplish that task. 

With a heavy sigh Leon stepped into the building and looked around the main lobby, taking note of the shudder to his right that had a large warning with blood splattered on the floor, he grimaced and walked up to the small computer on the front desk, watching the cameras to see some guy flailing around a small notebook with the promise of a way out inside of it. 

Leon typed away on the computer to find out which room the guy was in and felt his heart sink a bit when he realized it was being blocked off by that same shudder he had saw earlier which was definitely not ideal but if he wanted to help get a cure he had to first escape with as many survivors as possible, so he inhaled sharply and opened the shudder by a lever with shaky hands, his grip on his gun tightening.

The shudder only opened enough for him to crawl under, so he pulled his flashlight out and crawled under while shining the light around, biting his bottom lip anxiously as he stood up from the floor and made his way to the room where the guy was, which unfortunately was behind another shudder. 

Leon holstered his gun quickly and manually forced the shudder open enough to pull the other officer out from, but unfortunately he was too late because the zombies had caught up to the guy on the other side and all the pulling from both ends along with the pressure of the shudder on the guys pelvic area ended up splitting him into two, leaving Leon with the upper half and the zombie with the delicious bottom half. 

He immediately felt sick, just staring at the blood and organs leaking out from the guy's poor body. Yet he forced himself to look away once he grabbed the small notebook from the guy's dead hand. He gasped softly when he saw that he needed to collect three medallions from different statutes and put them into the main statue in the lobby to unlock a secret path. 

Leon quickly pocketed the notebook and stood up, silently disappointed in himself for not saving the guy and making a quiet promise he would find a cure and try to save everyone else. He turned towards the door he entered, only for the door to swing open and a zombie to come barreling through, without hesitation Leon shot the zombie in the head and darted off, his main goal? Get back to the damn shudder that led him to this damn area in the first place.

As he ran, he bumped into two zombies, he panicked and shot one in the head and kicked the other one in the stomach to stagger back enough to fall on the floor. Leon heard a window break and started running towards the shudder, he could see the main lobby light peeking out from beneath the small sliver.

He got down on his hands and knees and started to force the shudder open, fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Yet he couldn’t get it open much with just his hands so he pushed his upper body through it and placed his palms flat on the floor, forcing it open enough with his back, almost crying with relief as he crawled through.

That relief was short lived as his leg was grabbed from the earlier zombie and before Leon could try and either shoot it or attempt to squirm away he felt this horrible pain shoot through his leg. A loud scream erupting from his lungs, he scrambled for his gun and shot the zombie, standing up quickly to force the shudder shut. He whimpered in pain as he limped over to the medical beds in the main lobby. 

He could see the blood seeping through his pant leg and when he rolled the fabric up, he almost vomited at the sight of his flesh missing. Apparently while he was crawling and squirming it caused his pant leg to bunch up a bit to expose skin and a bit of his pants fabric was missing from where he was bit. All the hopes of saving everyone and being the help people needed went down the drain. He’d seen enough zombie movies to know he was going to turn within a few hours and this whole thing was pointless and stupid. 

He glanced down at his gun, breathing heavily as he brought it up to his temple. “I won’t become those... Things.” He whispered to no one but himself, tears welling up in his eyes, but he was too chicken shit to kill himself. He burst out into tears and laid back onto the bed, sniffling softly to himself. He failed. For the first time in his life, he failed to protect someone. 

That was the last thing he remembered as a human as his eyes got droopy, fluttering shut every once in a while, before finally shutting, taking his last breath. 

When he awoke, he gasped as he rose up, clenching his hand over his heart, taking no note of the fact his heart was no longer beating anymore. He glanced down at his hands and saw they were paler than usual, he figured it must’ve been a nightmare or maybe he was immune. Otherwise, how did he survive a whole zombie bite? 

He got off the bed and grabbed his gun once more he was able to find a sharp object to use to pry open a door, he carefully stalked through the West Office, pulling his lips into a thin line as he tried to be as quiet as possible but when he stepped onto an empty plastic bottle his head shot up towards the two zombies in the room that roused up from their sleep. Leon fumbled for his gun getting ready to shoot because he was not about to be bitten or eaten alive, only for the zombie sleeping at the police desk to shush him. “Sleeping... Shush.” The zombie grumbled tiredly before going back to sleep. 

Leon’s jaw dropped in awe, why hadn’t they attacked? Why could he understand them now?! All the scenarios ran through his head at once and he could only land on one possible one. With a panicked look on his face, he rushed out and sprinted up to the second-floor bathroom, the zombies lingering in the hallway ignoring him, grunting and groaning out broken English to each other. 

He threw the bathroom door open and walked towards the mirror, finally looking at himself. It finally made sense to him now. It only took one look at himself to clearly see that he too was now a zombie, a hideous creature like the rest of them. Yet he didn’t look busted and beaten up, all his facial features were still intact and none of his skin started rotting, although some joints of his were stiff, assuming the rigor mortis set in for him if he were to be an actual dead corpse, but he wasn't. 

His reality came crashing down on himself and he couldn’t even cry, dead things don’t have emotions anymore.

-

Upon watching the news for a few days, months, years? He wasn’t sure anymore, everyday blended into one and after a while he stopped caring, he was dead now. He made a few zombie friends, those…people? Helped him adjust to the new life he was forced into fairly quickly. Almost like a family, every zombie was family, it didn't matter if you weren’t related or what you looked like, if you were a walking corpse you qualified as family. 

But if you were human, you were considered bad, an enemy, a meal. He learned that humans managed to build a wall to keep zombies out while they tried to start civilization anew, hoping to repopulate. Though some rebellious teens often snuck out beyond the walls and became a meal or turned into a zombie, or people ransacked through old buildings in hopes of coming across supplies, fortunately for zombies they could sense humans by smell from miles away, just most were lazy and didn’t want to die a whole second time for a worthless meal, unless the humans were in groups. 

Just like your group.

Out ransacking a place for medicine for some members of your community that fell ill and just extra medicine just in general. Leon was rather hungry as he walked with his usual horde of zombies towards the building you and your friends were in. He was quite happy because it smelled delicious. (Having grown accustomed to eating humans at this point.)

It didn’t take long for the horde to break down the door to the room you were in before they started attacking, gun fire ringing through the air, yet if it wasn’t a headshot, it didn’t matter much. Leon made eye contact with you when a zombie in front of him got shot in the head. Once he locked his eyes with you, he was smitten, he hadn’t felt like this since the day he arrived in the city. He felt… determined. He was absolutely fascinated with you enough to spare your life from being taken by him, he watched your beautiful eyes widen before sliding away behind a counter to hide. 

The moment was short lived as some annoying guy shot him, Leon growled and pounced on the guy, ripping him to shreds within seconds, eating the yummy brains he got through hard work, blood all over his mouth, hands, and clothes. As he chewed on some of the guys' brains, he indulged in the memories he got from them, for some reason if you consumed the brains of a human you get to see, experience, and feel all their past memories stored in that part of the brain.

Yet as he silently ate the brain’s he started seeing you in this guys’ memories, your sweet laugh, the soft and tender kisses between you both, even when you guys had sex. Leon’s eyes snapped open at the last part, gasping softly at the stirring in his loins. It wasn’t strong, no. But it was very faint, and for a moment he felt human again. 

It didn’t take a miracle for Leon to figure out he ate your boyfriend, he gulped down the brains in his mouth and pocketed the rest, all while chaos ensued around him, people dying, gunfire, stabbing, crying, shouting. None of it mattered. He could feel the amount of love your boyfriend had for your coursing through his veins as he crawled over to you. 

He saw the look of horror on your face as he spotted you, slowly crawling over to you because your gun had jammed, and you ran out of stuff to defend yourself with. He sat right in front of you and watched as you leaned back with a scared and disgusted look on your face. He frowned slightly and leaned closer, placing his bloodied hand on your cheek, making sure to smear you in your now dead boyfriend's blood.

In a hoarse and cracked voice Leon then spoke up. “S-Safe... Now.” He stuttered out, it had been a while since he had to use that word that he almost forgot it. He wanted to keep you safe, he now claimed you. It didn’t take long for the other zombies to grab the brains and other pieces of human body parts before they got ready to leave, sniffing around to make sure they couldn’t smell any more alive humans. 

He carefully took your hand and placed his bloodied finger over your lips. “Shh... Come.” He muttered softly, it hit him that he hadn’t spoken in full sentences or English in a while now, zombies understood each other by just grunting or groaning, they did speak in broken English sometimes. 

“What?” You whispered in confusion as he helped you up and walked you alongside the pack of zombies. He held onto you tightly with an expressionless face, guiding you along with the group all the way back to the police station, very determined to keep you as his own. He took you to a small space that no one really lingered at. Luckily, he had claimed this space, so no other zombies dared to go back there out of respect for when Leon wanted to be alone. The other zombies didn’t suspect you either, to them; if you smelled like you belonged then they thought you were one of them, plus they’re brainless idiots too, who is gonna know the difference if they don’t have the intelligence to figure it out.

Leon stared at you with uncertainty in his eyes, wondering if it was really the best idea to bring you back here of all places. What he did know was that he was super happy to even have a human in his vicinity, even if well you did attempt to kill him.

“This is... home...” Leon said softly, crouching down in front of you on the floor, trying to figure out how to explain he wasn't going to eat you. He pointed at you and then himself, chomping his teeth a few times. Cringing internally when you looked even more horrified, so he repeated the motion once more. “Not... eat.” He mouthed quietly with a soft expression in his eyes.

“Keep you safe.” He stated firmly, his eyes darting away from your gaze awkwardly. He got up and searched the room for some canned goods he had stored away when he first turned into a zombie. Eating humans disgusted him and he really didn’t wanna try to figure it out, so he tried to eat normal food, but that was never no use. He always spat it out with a disgusted look on his face, it tasted horrible.

He found a large can of fruits, smiling happily as he brought it over to you with a knife. You shakily took both items from his hands, being extremely cautious around him still because you were still unsure. Plus, it’s not like he looked like a model, you were sure that if he wasn’t covered in blood and didn’t have a few pieces of his cheek missing he would be close to a model. 

He was cute in a sense, like a dog almost. But you didn’t trust him, not yet at least. Zombies were the things you were warned about. With a reluctant sigh you stabbed the knife into the top of the can and ended up prying it open. You glanced up at him as you used your fingers as a spoon, catching his eyes dart away nervously. 

You pulled your lips into a thin line before letting out a small chuckle. “I guess you’re not all that bad, Mr. Zombie.” You snorted, watching Leon sit down in front of you. He scratched gently under his chin, a habit he never grew out of even when he was undead. He also learned that if he scratched too hard then his skin would fall off. 

Which is why it looks like a cat scratched the side of his cheek; it would’ve been a cool scar if it healed. But he was dead... So, nothing could scar... Or heal.

“My name...” He murmured, trying to think back on what his name actually was. It had been so long since he actually heard his name or even said his name that he forgot what it was. You on the other hand perked up a little bit. “You have a name?” You asked, sitting up a little straighter. He nodded and tried to think back on it. “L...” He elongated the first letter of his name because that’s the only thing that came to what little mind he had left. 

“Leonard? Lachlan? Landon? Leroy? Lawrence?” You started listing off different names that started with an L that came to mind, hoping one would stick but he just kind of shook his head before blinking a few times. “Familiar.” He narrowed his eyes before shaking his head, he almost had it but just as soon as he thought he did he lost his train of thought.

You sighed and ran your clean-Ish hand through your hair, eyes roaming over his body before you saw what looked to be an imprint of a wallet in his pocket. Your eyes widened slightly, and Leon noticed your gaze at his pants. He got excited for a moment, thinking you were checking him out or trying to look at his dick. He would gladly show you if you wanted!

He watched with excitement as you moved your hand out to his crotch area, he wasn’t sure if he was prepared! What if you didn’t like what you saw? Could he even have sex? So many questions racked his brain, each making him more excited than the last. Until... Your hand swerved to the left of his pants, aiming for his pocket as you tapped the stiff object. His face dropped in disappointment, but what was he thinking? Why would you even want to think about such an ugly hideous monster in such an intimate way? “Can I?” You nudged your head towards his pocket, and he nodded in slight defeat. 

You took out the wallet and flipped it open, looking at his ID. If you thought he was partially cute before, he was definitely cute now. You had to hide the blush that was threatening to sprout on your cheeks, quickly shaking it off. You redirected your attention where it was supposed to be aimed at. His name. 

“Huh. Leon Scott Kennedy.” You murmured aloud, watching Leon perk up with excitement as his name came back to his brain. “Yes! My name...Leon!” He pointed at himself happily again. He nodded and gently took the wallet from your hands. 

His eyes settled on the ID photo, and he felt a small wave of sadness wash over him, it wasn’t even his fault he turned but he supposed he turned in the least painful way possible, the most unscathed too. Some people had their limbs pulled off their body and some people had been halfway eaten alive because the damn zombie wanted their organs and not the brain. 

Yet he felt this was the closest he had come to crying ever since he turned into a zombie. He had tried everything he could do in his power to cry, and none of it worked at all. It mostly just damped his mood.

But even now he could not get that tear he so desperately wanted to fall from his eye. He shut his wallet and stuffed it into his pants pocket again, looking away from you awkwardly. He was going to say something until he watched you look out the window with your own longing look.

He wanted to comfort you but didn’t know how, plus he definitely didn’t want to be called or considered creepy. So, he turned around and pulled out some of the stashed away brains in his jacket pocket, he popped a big piece into his mouth like it was gum. He was able to divulge in a few new memories that your boyfriend had.

His eyebrows scrunched up as he could see your dad happily welcoming your boyfriend into the family, having a serious conversation while also celebrating your dead mom's anniversary. Then the memory faded out until he came back to reality because you had started talking to him. 

“I want to go home, Leon.” You stated firmly, your gaze still peering out the window for a bit longer before turning around to stare at him. “It’s n-not safe...” He warned you once more that going outside was not a good idea at all and you were stubborn and set on leaving. 

You sighed rather heavily and rubbed your face as you tried to figure how to explain it to him because he was quite literally not the brightest tool in the shed, and it wasn’t even on purpose either. “I get that.” You paused before continuing. “And look… I know that you ‘saved’ my life. And I'm grateful for that. But you walked me into this place. So, I know that you can walk me out again.” You narrowed your eyes at him as you waited for his response, you had a solid argument through and through. Leon knew that but didn’t want to let you go.

His poor brain scrambled for an answer, he didn’t wanna lose you. “H…h… have to wait. They… They’ll notice.” He blurted out as best as he could manage. You weren’t the happiest person on the planet with that answer, but it was better than staying with him permanently. 

“How long?” You questioned, sitting down in front of him as he kept his eyes trained on you. “F.. f.. few days. Th.. they’ll forget. You’ll be o-kay.” Leon tried to reassure you and he sounded quite serious about this. 

You nodded with a firm tight-lipped expression. “Fine. A few days it is then.” You responded quite tiredly. Leon was a bit eager that you bought into his lie, why wouldn’t you? No one else could sway you to believe otherwise since he was a zombie and you believed he knew everything about every zombie in this post-apocalyptic world. 

The next few days consisted of the both of you doing fun things to relieve your boredom, he showed you his fun little trinkets and items he collected during his time as a zombie just so he could feel a little human again and you in turn showed him the fun things humans still did that he forgot about.

But all good things must come to an end when he got distracted roaming around outside the safe place, he took you to find some more food and perhaps a better blanket, it was a big police station, something had to be there. But when he arrived back a while later with the objects, he was shocked to find you missing when he deliberately only went out while you were napping or sleeping so he didn’t have to stress about you running away.

He pursed his lips into a pout before he heard you scream, he immediately dropped the stuff in his hands and rushed off towards the direction of the scream, finding you surrounded by zombies. He panicked and grabbed a fire extinguisher, whacking the other zombies in the head in order to protect you while you stepped out the way to avoid being attacked or injured in some way possible. 

When he was sure he killed the other zombies, he dropped the fire extinguisher and huffed softly, wiping the blood away from his face and hands onto his already bloody clothes. Leon snapped his head up towards your direction with a frown on his face. “You said a few days. It's been a few days, Leon.” You demanded answers, you were feeling restless after all. “I have to go home; I have a family. A family that's on the other side of that giant wall that keeps creatures like you out of it.” You tried your best to explain it to him, but he didn’t want to hear the nonsense. He wanted you.

He took your hand in his own cold and stiff one, tilting his head at you fondly. “S... stay t-together.” He smiled as best as he could manage while guiding you to the parking garage. “We leave.” He tapped his wallet again and then took you over to a hoodless red car that had the keys still in the ignition.

Leon wanted to drive but he wasn’t very sure in his abilities and as if you read his mind you spoke up. “I'll drive.” You exclaimed cheerfully, hopping into the driver’s seat while he got into the passengers. He took the parking garage keycard out from his wallet that he often used to go out and explore carefree and handed it to you, which you gladly accepted. 

-

It had been a few hours since you and Leon left the police station, a clear destination in mind for you. That same wall you referenced earlier. You could’ve gotten there before midnight, but it had started raining and the heater in the car crapped out. “Dammit it, I’m freezing...” You grumbled in slight frustration, but Leon wasn’t cold at all. Corpses don’t get cold, which is an added bonus sometimes.

You glanced around and realized you were in a neighborhood close to home, well not super close but close enough to finish driving the rest of the way there.

“Full disclosure, I am exhausted beyond, and I want to warm up before I catch hypothermia. I’m not a corpse you know.” You teased, smiling a bit as you informed Leon of what was about to happen. He nodded and gave you a thumbs up.

You were still a little uneasy around him, but he was growing on you. You pulled over into a random driveway and hopped out the car, shivering as the cold wind paired with the rain blew harshly against your skin. Leon followed right behind you, albeit a bit slow but he still followed along.

As you approached the door you silently hoped it was unlocked, because who the hell would lock their door after being evacuated in a zombie apocalypse? 

Unfortunately, it was locked, and you seriously considered busting the door down, you took a step back but stayed beneath the awning of the front porch, rubbing your hands up and down your upper arms to warm yourself while searching for a window that wasn’t boarded up to break into.

Leon on the other hand was confused why you didn’t just open the door considering he got there a little after you did. “What's... wrong?” He questioned, staring at you with his usual cute look of curiosity.

Your eyes darted back towards his own and you purse your lips tightly as you explained that the door was locked. “It’s locked, I can’t get in it and I’m searching for a window-” Before you could even finish your sentence Leon slammed into the front door and it swung open. You were stunned. Could he always do that? If so, why hadn’t zombies come in bigger hordes to storm the wall keeping the rest of humanity alive.

Leon turned towards you when he opened (broke) the door for the two of you, but mainly you. It’s like he was expecting some praise for helping you out. He was a good zombie after all! 

With a small smile on your face, you patted his head. “Thanks Lee.” You crooned, the nickname easily slipping past your lips as both of you sauntered inside the house while Leon closed the door behind the both of you once inside.

You desperately rubbed your hands together for a shred of warmth, Leon took note of this and frowned. He wanted to help you warm up but how? His brain (what was left due to deterioration) searched for an answer and came up with one possibility but didn’t know if you were going to want to do that. After all, he was let down earlier with the whole wallet situation.

“Let’s go upstairs, I’m dying to get out of these clothes and under a blanket.” You emphasized your point by tugging on your soaked shirt. Leon being Leon let his eyes roam over your body, admiring the way it clung to your skin before noticing you were walking away towards the stairs. “O-Okay.” He murmured, tailing after you like a puppy.

Once you reached upstairs you asked Leon to make sure no other zombies were in any of the rooms, you survived this far. No way in hell were you going to die in such a pathetic way. It's the first rule of the apocalypse, be cautious and also know your route to escape if you do encounter a zombie. You can thank Zombieland for that warning, it did amuse you in some odd way.

Watching some guy who was surviving a zombie apocalypse thinking it would never happen but never say never. It felt like some sick joke that sometimes didn’t feel real until you encountered a zombie, then it felt a little too real.

Speaking of zombies, here comes the cutie who waddled back with a shake of his head. “No zombie!” He exclaimed, pointing to a room at the end of the hall. "Bed.” He said simply, putting his hand on your lower back to guide you inside the room. You didn’t protest it at all, hell you would sleep on a rooftop if it provided you with good enough shelter along with a decent bed at this rate.

After a quick check of the mattress to discover it hadn’t rotted much, and a bedsheet was over it so it added a decent layer of protection as well, you sat on the edge of the bed while Leon sat on the floor like usual, wanting to make sure you were comfortable.

“I’m gonna get undressed. Don’t look.” You ordered firmly, hoping he would understand. You smiled when he nodded and turned your back to him while he turned his head away long enough for you to see he did before he turned right back towards you.

Leon wasn’t an idiot; he knew very well what he was doing. He was once human too after all, plus he would feel stupid if he let this rare moment slip away from his grasp, it had been too long since he saw actual decent tits and ass, most of the other zombies who were women were all rotting and very unappealing to him. He’s sure you would look so beautiful if you looked like him. 

You on the other hand were completely oblivious to Leon’s plan or the fact he was ogling you like you were his next most delicious meal, and in a way... You kind of were. 

Nonetheless you stripped down to just a bra and panties before curling back into the bed and under the blanket, shivering quietly while hugging your legs for warmth still. It was so silent between the both of you. So silent you could hear your teeth chattering echo throughout the room.

Leon sat on the floor awkwardly, wondering what to do with his newfound feelings. You never banished him from the bed, nor were you shying away from him when he touched you recently. Maybe this time he could get what he wanted from you, right? He would have to eventually.

A very confident Leon rose up from the floor, you watching with furrowed brows in confusion. Was he going to leave the room? But to your surprise he curled up in bed with you, his cold dead hands sliding around your waist to cuddle you from behind, you instantly stiffened up from multiple things, the fact he was cold, and his hands were resting on your belly and the fact he was so close to you like this. But after a few moments you relaxed and leaned back into his touch.

Leon felt like he was over the moon when you reacted positively at his touch, he could smell your scent, your musk and if he had a consistent blood flow, he was sure it would’ve all rushed down to his penis. Luckily for him he could make his body stiffen up in places or even all over in general. Lord knows how many times he escaped second death by doing this neat party trick when humans tried killing the groups of zombies he was in. He never left unscathed though and caught a bullet in his shoulder once. But it never bothered him because he didn’t feel it. It did piss him off though. 

He was so tempted to take a small bite of your sweet supple flesh; he had been suppressing his desires for so long now it was becoming unbearable. “Such a temptress...” He thought to himself, rubbing his hand up and down your waist gently, easing you up to his touch in small doses. 

You were feeling pretty sleepy but a part of you was getting a little turned on, you hadn’t had sex in a while even while your boyfriend was alive so any touch from a male was enough to set you off, even if unfortunately, that male was a zombie. But it was different somehow, he was gentle. Plus, he was cute so that definitely didn’t hurt either.

You guess the only plus of the whole situation was the fact Leon wasn’t breathing super loud in your ear like a fat pig. That’s what your now dead ex(?) boyfriend did, and it was a major turn off because it sounded like he was dying every time he was moaning or even came. 

Not a word was spoken between the two of you as Leon’s hand drifted lower to cup your inner thigh, the two of you looking down at his hand on your body. He whimpered softly at the warmth between your thighs. “M-May I?” He pleaded; he can’t remember the last time he was this nervous. Oh wait, yes he can. The first time he met you and a few hours earlier when you pulled that little stunt of disappearing on him. He thought he lost you forever. 

Not this time. 

Not ever again. 

You gulped quietly and looked over your shoulder at him nodding slightly, breathing out a soft yes. 

Leon was happy, he felt a warmth within himself in his chest area, well maybe if he had a beating heart it would feel way better, but he can’t get greedy now. Not after he worked this hard to get to this moment.

It had been a while since he had sex, things with his ex-girlfriend weren’t so great before he came to Raccoon city. He silently apologized if he was a bit rusty. Though as soon as his hand slipped beneath your panties, and he heard your soft gasp when his fingertip brushed against your clit it's like all his knowledge on how to please a woman came back to him.

He tightened his grip on your waist with one hand while the other dipped down to collect the slick leaking from your hole, using it as lubricant to swipe at your clit as best as he could, hoping to pleasure you. He figured he was doing a good job when you pressed your face into the pillow to muffle a moan.

That wouldn’t do at all!

Leon removed his hands from you and sat up, pouting a bit as his ego inflated from the soft whine of confusion left you. “I wanna..” He paused and looked down into your eyes. “So pretty...” He thought to himself. 

“Sound.” He pointed at your mouth; it took a second for it to click but once it did you nodded. “Right, yes. Sorry.” You blushed at his comment, for a zombie he seemed sure of exactly what he wanted. Even if he wasn’t good at it verbally.

Leon smiled and climbed on top of you, running his knuckle against your cheekbone with a delighted expression. You nuzzled against the gesture, a small part of you was calling yourself a freak for even enjoying this and the bigger part was you telling that other part to shut the fuck up.

Your hands came up to cup his face, being mindful of the piece of flesh missing from his cheek, he appreciated the gesture, but he couldn’t care less if you touched the wound. He rested his weight on his forearms to grind his cock against the wet spot on the gusset of your panties. A soft moan left your lips and if you weren’t so scared of getting bit you would’ve kissed him, but you didn’t want to tease him and him end up biting you.

You were so eager and desperate though that you yourself disregarded foreplay because you were definitely wet enough. You helped Leon strip down to nothing, admiring his toned body, ghosting your fingertip over the bullet wound too. He was embarrassed and shied away from your wandering eyes.

“You’re so handsome, Leon.” You confessed, watching his eyes go wide with his head snapping back towards you with a hint of vulnerability beneath them. “Really?” He tilted his head at you while you discarded your bra and panties somewhere in the room. 

When you met his eyes, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek, nodding while dragging your fingers through his soft but slightly matted hair, trying to ignore the fact you might’ve tugged a bit too hard that some strands actually fell out. It was just another reminder that you were literally about to have sex with a whole zombie.

Leon cleared his throat as best as he could while positioning himself between your legs to rub his cockhead between your folds. Low moans escaped both of you before he slowly pushed himself past the tight muscle that relaxed with ease. Leon swore he was in heaven, that he died for a second time and that heaven was you.

So warm and wet. Is literally all he could think of.

You on the other hand couldn’t get over how good it was, but that lingering guilt still bubbled at the back of your mind. You shoved those thoughts down and wrapped your arms behind his neck tugging him closer towards your body.

Slowly he started to thrust into you, he tried to be gentle, but each thrust was hard and rough. Punched out gasps and moans filling the room each time his hips met yours. “D-Do you like...?” He asked quietly, burying his face into your neck, holding his desire to bite you at bay. He had to remind himself it wasn’t a good moment. But seeing your bouncing tits and flesh so close to his face was his breaking point.

“Y-yes... I love it–AHH!” You screamed at the end of your remark, feeling tears well up in your eyes at the pain of being bit. 

Leon cursed himself for doing it, but he could only hold his primal desires at bay for so long. “What the fuck did you do! G-Get off of me!” You shrieked, trying to fight away from his grasp but he was much stronger than you. Immediately pinning your wrists down to the mattress with one hand, shaking his head as he continued pounding into you.

“I'm s-sorry!” He apologized profusely but his hips never slowed down. “Accident...” He whimpered coyly as you kept struggling. 

You felt like an idiot, who in their right mind would trust a zombie after all? You. You did and now you were reaping the consequences. 

As much as you hated to admit it, the blood loss and the blood around Leon’s mouth was making you dizzy with pleasure. It didn’t take long for your struggling to cease; you knew you would ‘die’ from blood loss but the adrenaline in your body was fighting while blood gushed out from the bite on your neck.

Leon let go of your wrists shakily to test if you would harm him but when you didn’t and you just laid there looking up at him with a hazy look in your eyes, he felt like he was on top of the world. In one swift movement he put your ankles over his shoulders, putting you into a mating press damn near with how feral he was fucking you.

The lewd squelching sound of your pussy was enough to send him over the edge, but he can’t cum, he lost that ability the day he died. He was upset he didn’t meet you earlier, he’s so sure that you would look so perfect with his child in your belly.

“You’re going to be just like me...” Leon hummed, concern brewing in your belly when he started getting easier to understand. Was this really it? You weakly protested against the idea when his thumb pressed against your clit to get you to have one final orgasm. 

He tilted his head to the side to lick up your calf all the way up to your ankle, suckling on the area he wanted to bite. Without much thought he sank his teeth in your leg, right where he was bit. What was more romantic than having matching bite marks?

You jolted from the pain mixed with pleasure, weakly crying out Leon’s name. “L-Leon... Stop it...” You pawed at his back as your back arched off the bed, feeling the life slowly draining out your body the faster your heart pumped out blood from such a stimulating touch, your body temperature lowering to almost eerily match his own.

He could feel your gummy walls squeezing the non-existent life out his cock and he threw his head back in pleasure, groaning loudly as he doubled down on his efforts, he could tell you were close. 

He wasn’t wrong though, you were so close to reaching your sweet release, the bedsheet and mattress soaked with your bodily fluids. Blood and your arousal forever staining the sheets. “P-Please my Goddess...” He squeaked out, leaning down to lick at your neck, lapping up the blood oozing out. 

Your body was getting weaker and weaker, eyes fluttering shut longer than they were open as you slowly died beneath him, yet right before you took your last final breaths as a human you came violently around his cock, feeling utterly spent and satisfied as you drifted into an unconscious state.

Leon sat up straight, staring down at your lifeless body with a small amount of concern. He had never turned someone into a zombie before, so he wasn’t sure if he actually killed you or not. He pulled his cock out of your hole, admiring the creamy white ring around the base of it.

He ran his fingertips over the bite mark on your leg, sighing in content, his eyes drifting up your body to admire your glistening folds. He glanced around nervously before leaning down to lap at your cunt, moaning softly at the taste. "Gosh..." He could definitely eat you up.

He whimpered in frustration when you didn't stir awake after a few hours (minutes), placing small kisses on your belly with a pout, wrapping his arms around your waist while he laid on top of you, covering your naked bodies with the blanket. 

He kept your hand outside the blanket, staring intensely at it. 

“Please move. Please move.” He thought anxiously, finally after what felt like eternity, he saw your fingers twitch and he felt relieved. He smiled fondly at the sight, kissing your sternum with a dopey grin.

You were going to be with him for eternity. <3

[blues-stories]

LAD’s as Horror movie characters and why.

⚠️Light Gore under cut⚠️

Xavier: Predator/Yautja

• Let’s all remember that in the current timeline, Xavier has not only the highest kill count for wanderers but also goes full on feral hunting mode when he’s on the job. Not to mention the Yautja hunt with a weapon from their favorite hunt; That being said he would definitely still hunt with a sword and nothing else. Meaning his combat is focused on getting up close and personal.

• You know that one scene in the predator movies where he’s working with the girl and ends up leaving that predator mark/Scar? Yeah that definitely did something to me and he’s 100% doing that to MC/Reader. Predator Xavier is literally chasing MC through the woods like a DOG only to eventually spare them after seeing them fight and kill a prey of greater or equal threat, Maybe lowkey saving him in the process.

• Cue the dozens of fanfics filled with Freaky Predator Sex

Rafayel- Shape of Water

• TECHNICALLY SPEAKING this movie is listed under horror and romance but it’s definitely more just filled with Gothic imagery and a few graphic scenes. That being said this picture just felt so fitting for Rafayel and his hatred for cats.

• MC/Reader discovering this biological secret and at first tending to Him like a pet, only to realize he’s more “Human” than they thought. Long story short, A Human falls in love with a weird fish man, WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

• Rafayel would be curious about reader, to eventually starting to sorta imprint on them and then becoming super territorial and possessive of them, even going as far as to attack and injure other people as well as beloved pets in their home when MC sneaks them out. (God help any Cat or Dog in that household 😭)

• MC probably gets a home overlooking the ocean to be with him, or he somehow finds a way to make them one of his kind, Mated and bound to him for the rest of your lives.

Zayne: Pin Head from Hell Raizor

• Okay so obviously the big drawing point to me choosing PinHead for Zayne is because of how Cold, Apathetic, and aloof the character is portrayed and initially scene as by most- if not all characters in the movies. However in actuality he’s a pretty complex character that you get to see display emotion and get riled up in different situations and extreme moments throughout the movie that I feel represent Zayne really well.

• MC who manages to open the puzzle box only be greeted with Cenobite Zayne who talks about the euphoric joys of pain (And is so familiar with it if you recall dawn-breaker and his pain).

• Zayne would be persistent in sharing the “Ecstasy” that was pain with MC, going so far as to maybe even drag Them to hell with him, only to end up not really hurting Them at all. MC is definitely going to try and remind him of how he was once human (Cue Dawn Breaker memories), OR maybe even give in and accepts his offer. They would become a Cenobite as well and stay by his side for their remainder in hell together. In pain.

Sylus: Darkness from Legend

• NEED. I. SAY. MORE?!

• Obviously this is heavily inspired by his myth and how he’s seen as a “monster”. Even in the current timeline people seem to assume and rumor that Sylus is some evil creature and maybe even the devil?

• Don’t get me wrong, Sylus is not someone I would exactly classify as lawful good, He’s incredibly morally grey and I think that’s exactly why so many people are drawn to him. But when it Comes to MC? He would move Heaven and Hell to get to them- to give them everything and more

• MC being dragged to hell and utterly terrified of what looks like literal satan standing before them, only to be confused as they’re treated like royalty- Shown Love and care that rivals anything they got back home. And All Sylus asks for in return is that you love him too- that you allow him to love you with all his being.

• Do you accept and become his queen of darkness and all his desires, or are you going to deny him for the sake of normalcy and morals?

Caleb: Candymen

• Incase you couldn’t tell, I definitely view Caleb to have a more possessive approach to MC, though arguable I would say Him and Sylus are the exact same, He just shows it in a much more extreme and urgent way whereas Sylus is more calm and nonchalant about it.

• So In the movie the spirit that is “Candy Man” shows up and actually sees the Main character as his reincarnated lover from another time. That being said he’s just determined to find her and be with her again whilst keeping her safe. This would 100% apply to Caleb and MC as well.

• Caleb would be haunting the MC’s home and dreams, feeling nothing but hope and happiness that his “love has come back to him” and making sure no one gets in his way to reunite with them. Taking out friends and even family one by one in the process.

• It really would be a tragic story too because MC is quite literally scared of him and is desperately trying to get away from him. That fear turns into something heavy and more somber when he puts his “life” on the line for her and sacrifices himself to save them. He’ll always put them before himself

[spacedace]

Found this old snippet and don't really remember of the context for it outside of being a joking exploration of how weird the Fenton/Phantom family tree would seem to outsiders (not even getting into how relationships might be classified differently between the human side & the ghost side)

Anyway gonna drop it here as a prompt lol

Mind the quick reference to dismemberment, there's no gore or detailed description and no one is actually hurt, it's more there for comedic effect, but still wanted to give the heads up on it 👍

---

Nomad motioned to the towering, vaguely vampire-looking buff dude with literal flaming hair what the fuck, “Dan, this is everyone. Everyone this is Dan. He’s my…” Nomad trailed off and blinked, a look of confused befuddlement on her face as she let the sentence hang for too long.

“Huh…” She said considering, looking up at vampire-dude, Dan apparently, with a confused furrow on her brow. “You know this is the first time I’ve ever had to try and explain our relationship to each other and I’m drawing a blank and what exactly to call you. Uncle? Dad? Brother? Like, I think you could technically be considered all three.”

What the fuck did that mean??? Kon snapped his attention over to meet Tim’s masked gaze, the look of wild confusion Kon was sure was on his own face mirrored there. Around the meeting room confused and worried looks were being shared by the rest of the League. Which like, yeah, what in the Habsburgs was happening here for all of those terms to be applicable?

“Well, you’re Danny’s Mirror, so if you consider him your dad then it stands to reason I’m also your father.” Dan said, hand coming up to his - literally flaming, how did that work? - goatee thoughtfully.

“Yeah but like, I call Danny dad just to piss Vlad off.” Nomad countered, toying with her severed arm with her still attached hand. Kon didn’t think he’d ever get over how casual she was about being literally disarmed and just…not caring. “And I definitely don’t see you as a dad. Uncle?”

The giant of a ghost shook his head with a frown, “Implies that Danny and I are brothers, which could work but gives our relationship kind of a weird vibe. I feel more like his father than anything.”

“Gramps, then?”

“No.”

Nomad laughed, “Fair, wouldn’t want to take the title of Grampa away from CW. Besides we’re both half Vlad, so I think brother works best here.” She frowned, looking thoughtful, “Maybe half brother?”

Dan considered, “Half-brother could work. Though it gives Vlad more credit than he deserves.”

“Oh come on, can you imagine the look on his face if we went in together on suing him for child support?” Nomad asked, fanged grin wicked. Dan’s face lit up at the idea, and Kon felt like they were rapidly heading towards the two ghosts running off to go and go torment whoever this Vlad guy was rather then them help deal with the current demonic problem at hand.

“Can you please explain what any of that means?” Kon asked, more a squeak than anything else. He was starting to get a headache.

[thedovesaredying]

Co-Parenting | Ex-Husband!Nikto x F!Reader

You're finally stepping back into the world of dating, with your first official date since divorcing your husband, Nikto. It seems simple enough in theory, but suddenly having the fur baby the two of you co-parent dumped on you causes some issues.

A/N: Okay, some of y'all wanted a continuation of this with ex-husband Nikto, so I have come to deliver you some more food. This one is more of a Sputnik centric chapter than a Nikto one, but he does make an appearance. Also RIP Nathan, you didn't deserve any of this lmao.

Warnings: Mild Gore, Nikto's Possessive Ass.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Prev | Next

You have to admit it. 

You look damn good tonight.  

A light touch of makeup, some of your nicer jewellery, and a cute, flowy dress in one of your favourite prints. You give a quick twirl, feeling your confidence return with every passing second you view yourself in the mirror. It’s been a long time since your last date with someone other than your ex-husband, so nerves have been slowly eating you alive, pulling apart your confidence at the seams.  

Nathan is a sweet enough man, always kind and respectful toward you. Normally, you wouldn’t invite a man back to your home on a first date, but the two of you have been meeting for coffee for weeks now, so you’re willing to take the risk. He’s even agreed to pick up dinner and drinks for you so you don’t have to worry about getting anything yourself.  

It feels weird to be thinking about a man other than your previous husband in a romantic way, but you’re determined to push past that discomfort. You can’t just continue to be hung up on your ex-husband for the rest of your life, you need to learn to move on, regardless of how difficult that may be.  

A knock on the door startles you from your thoughts and you hurriedly rush toward the front door. A glance at the clock informs you that it’s almost an hour before Nathan in due to arrive, so you’re a little confused as to who could be disturbing you so early in the evening. You pull the door open without bothering to check through the peephole and are immediately pounced on by a massive creature.  

Two large paws rest upon your shoulder and there’s hot breath being puffed directly into your face. You only barely stop yourself from falling over backwards, but you can’t be mad, not when you see Sputnik grinning at you with her massive smile. She cries loudly at you, trying desperately to lick at your face, despite your futile attempts at saving your poor makeup from the impending slobber.  

A harshly snapped out “ЛЕЖАТЬ!” thankfully has the hyena dropping back down to the floor before too much damage can be inflicted and draws your eyes to the voice’s owner. It’s more than a little frustrating that you feel your nerves settle the moment you spot Nikto behind Sputnik, his eyes slowly dragging over every inch of your body with very little effort to hide his rather obvious interest.  

“You are going out?” The question snaps you out of your brief moment of contemplation and back into the present. You ignore the question since, technically it isn’t any of his business, and telling him that you’re about to spend the evening with another man just feels... strange.  

“What are you two doing here? I thought I was picking up this big baby on Sunday?” Normally, you and Nikto go half and half with the custody of Sputnik – she's Nikto’s pet, obviously, but you know she tends to get stressed if she hasn’t seen you for a while, and you’re more than happy to take her when your ex-husband is on a mission that doesn’t lend itself to having such an animal present – however, you’re more than certain it’s not your time to take over her care.  

“да,” he agrees with a firm nod, “but we are being deployed last minute, she requires care while we are away,” he goes on to explain. “We apologise for the last minute notice, but the kennels on base will no longer accommodate her.” 

That much you do know. Something about Sputnik trying to bite one too many of the canine handlers for the crime of merely existing in their own workplace. She’s allowed to be on base while Nikto is there to control her or left in his quarters, but no longer are they willing to risk the limbs of their poor operatives while Nikto is abroad.  

Although you would normally be up for hyena-sitting, there is one major issue. While Sputnik is tolerant of your female friends, any man other than her precious daddy is considered untrustworthy scum that need to be torn to pieces. Especially, men that get close to you. An unknown male touching you is a crime punishable by death in the hyena’s eyes and you’re not entirely certain if she’s always felt that way or if it’s a trait she’s picked up from her owner.   

Before you can argue, however, Nikto’s phone starts ringing. He presses it to his cloth covered ear and listens to whoever is mumbling on the other end. You can see the subtle shift of his mouth under his balaclava, frowning in clear annoyance at whatever message he’s just received. He covers the phone’s microphone, offering only a quick, “we will be back soon,” before he’s dumping Sputnik’s blanket in your arms and near enough jogging away from your front door.  

You watch, stunned, as he pulls himself into the driver’s side of the car and practically floors it out of the quiet street. Clearly, there’s some kind of emergency he needs to deal with personally. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help fix your current predicament. Sputnik might currently be grinning up at you with an excited giggle, but you know for certain that her demeanour will change the moment poor Nathan arrives.  

Taking a deep breath and letting it out in a loud sigh, you call Sputnik inside, allowing her to sprint around the house. She has her snout pressed to the ground, inspecting the entire perimeter of the building’s interior with the sound of wet sniffing. You let her reacquaint herself with your house then call her into your once shared bedroom.  

Her blanket is spread out across the foot of the bed and immediately Sputnik leaps up so she can roll on the soft material. It’s the same blanket Nikto tends to have on his bed, so it smells strongly of the other man and the hyena is more than happy to try and spread the scent all over your bed.  

It seems you won’t be getting up to anything fun in the bedroom tonight.  

You try to stealthily sneak out the bedroom door without Sputnik noticing, but the moment you’re away from her side she’s lifting her head and looking toward you. “Stay Sputnik,” you say, holding up a hand and backing out of the door, slowly closing it behind you, “be a good girl for mum Sputnik, stay!” She tilts her head to the side like a confused puppy, but stays put, even when you pull the door all the way closed.  

Luckily, you still have a few minutes to touch you the makeup that was slightly smudged by your beloved fur child, before someone knocks on the door for the second time that evening. Before you can even get to the door, you can hear Sputnik's panicked cackling and snarling, accompanied by the sound of sharp claws raking down the wood of your bedroom door.  

You mentally run through the list of commands Nikto has previously taught you, then shout out a firm, “Tiho!” The pronunciation isn’t quite perfect, but Sputnik seems to get the gist of the command and quiets with one final whine.  

When you open the door this time, you’re relieved to find it is in fact Nathan this time. He’s come supplied with the takeout the two of you had agreed on and a nice bottle of wine to share. He thankfully doesn’t seem to have heard Sputnik, for he greets you normally and is happy to come inside and relinquish the food to you at your insistence.  

Serving up the food and wine is a quick process and the two of you are seated on the couch in no time, both happily munching away while some sappy romance film plays in the background. You’re almost able to completely relax and enjoy the evening, chatting about nothing in particular and giggling whenever you’re complimented. You can hear an odd grinding sound in the background, but decide to ignore it since Sputnik hasn’t made a peep otherwise.  

It’s only after the two of you have finished eating that you realise your mistake. After just enough alcohol to get a light buzz and feeling rather relaxed, the night has progressed to you laying on your back on the couch with Nathan settled above you. He’s sat straddling your lap, leant over so the two of you can exchange slow, explorative kisses. Everything seems perfect... until you hear a familiar snarl.  

Your head whips around to see the massive hyena stood in your living room. Her lips are peeled back in an ugly snarl, displaying her huge teeth covered in drool. That’s all you get to see before she’s lunging, grabbing a hold of Nathan’s arm. His screams, filled with panic and pain are terrible, but what’s worse is the sound of bone splintering.  

Sputnik yanks her head back, easily pulling the man off of you and onto the floor. “Sputnik! Fu! Fu!” you quickly shout, shooting up to your feet. The hyena gives you a slightly confused look, tilting her head to the side again as if she doesn’t still have poor Nathan’s arm firmly held between her iron jaws.  

One final command of “drop it!” has her reluctantly releasing her hold. You grab her collar, heaving her muscular body away from Nathan, but the man is already on his feet, making his way for the door. He ignores it when you shout after him, not that you can blame the man. Nor can you blame him for slamming the door closed on his way out and not looking back.  

Sputnik looks up at you with a bright grin, clearly very pleased with herself for “saving you” from the big, nasty man. She leans her snout against your stomach with a self-satisfied huff, and you mourn your poor dress now covered in blood. You really need Nikto to teach you his release command.  

On further investigation, you’re unsurprised to find the large hole gnawed into the bottom of your bedroom door and the corner of the wall. You’re equally as unsurprised when you find Nathan has blocked your phone number.  

When Nikto appears the following day, you’re forced to explain what happened the previous evening. He assures you it won’t be an issue and that Nathan won’t be calling animal control on either of you. You try to ask him how he knows that so certainly, but he simply tells you to leave all the worrying to him. At least he offers to spend the day fixing your wall and door, perhaps the only good thing to come out of all this.

-

Back on base Nikto is greeted by Krueger in their shared rec room. The Austrian eyes Nikto and Sputnik for a moment before asking, “the operation went smoothly?” 

Nikto provides a snort, “да, our mission was a success, yes Sputnik?” he asks, watching as the hyena offers her own pleased snort. “She has protected our girl, just as planned, and that pathetic,” he spits the word, “excuse for a man will stay far away from what is ours.”  

Krueger simply rolls his eyes, “scary fucker.”  

[bagels-and-cream-cheese333]

RAPH FICS.

WARNING: I HAVE A FUCKED UP TASTE IN LITERATURE. A LOT OF THESE COVER VERY SERIOUS TOPICS. READ THE SUMMARY I GIVE OF THE FICS AND READ THE TAGS, DON’T PURPOSEFULLY TRIGGER YOURSELF, PLEASE AND THANK YOU, HAVE A NICE DAY. 

Here I am, giving my concerning amount of ROTTMNT Raph fics to you :) the poll I made got an astounding almost 100% yes soooo I’m guessing y’all want these <3 also PS it is VERY IMPORTANT to read the trigger warnings in the actual fic because I might not cover all of them/forget a couple!!

defective by a_rutabaga - oneshot

defective - a_rutabaga - Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Prison Dimension Raph tries to protect his brothers, but just ends up hurting everyone (including himself) in the process. It’s not pretty (I’m lying it’s very handsome I absolutely adore this fic.) I will say that it’s made for the prison dimension turtles AU, which you should TOTALLY CHECK OUT. THAT AU IS INCREDIBLE. TW for body horror, mind manipulation and control <3 and just overall bad things happening :)

Survivor’s Guilt by JupiterJimsBootyyyShaker - multichapter, ongoing

Survivor’s Guilt - Chapter 1 - JupiterJimsBootyyyShaker - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Touches on the guilt Raph has after Leo sacrificed himself, and the consequences of the Kraang. Siiighhhh I adore this fic <3 everything from the overwhelming, debilitating guilt to Raph refusing to leave Leo’s side? Muah. No notes. Perfect. TW for nightmares, vomiting, guilt obv, refusing to eat, and technically self harm in the first chapter.

deep gut by ironAdage - oneshot

deep gut - ironAdage - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Raph’s trauma catches up to him, and he overeats. Again. And again. And again. Or Raph develops bulimia: the fic. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaa…… oh my god this fic was AMAZING. SHOWSTOPPING. PERFECT EVEN. definitely showed me that I have some things Very Very (that’s two verys) Wrong with my brain, but wtv fuck it we ball. This just shows his mental state and everything AMAZINGLY. Ugh it’s beautiful <3 TW for bulimia, shame, the works. 

Hold On, Pain Ends by douchegrayson <3 - multichapter, completed

Hold On, Pain Ends - Chapter 1 - douchegrayson - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Raph deals with the aftermath of the Kraang <3 basically another aftermath fic. AAAAAAAA but BRO. This hurt in the best way possible. Absolutely adore this <3 the ending? WOW. NEVER THOUGHT THAT MEDIA COULD TOUCH ME LIKE THIS. Just go read it guys it’s amazing <3

and then.. we have…..

the quarantine series by somethin-strange - multichapter, ongoing

quarantine - Somethin_Strange - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

An entirely new take on Raph’s experience with the Kraang. Genuinely cannot sing enough praises for these fics, definitely some of the best I’ve ever fuckin read. Jesus Christ guys just go read it I need more ppl to talk to about this <3 and honestly it has something for everyone. It has Leo angst, Donnie angst, Mikey angst, even Splinter and April and Casey Jr. get their moments. Honestly TW for like SO MANY things though, mind control, manipulation, themes of SA, needles, major blood n gore, and probably more since those are just off the top of my head. But goddamn is it good. Check it out.

The Foundation by LotusFlair - multichapter, ongoing

The Foundation - Chapter 1 - LotusFlair - Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

This has got to be my (tied) second fav raph author ever because WHAT THE FUCK

this goddamn fic. has messed up my mental state. it is rearranging my brain waves as we speak. I can’t think normally anymore this fic is just BURROWED in there. Basically Raph gets excluded by his siblings <3 <3 not on purpose. But damn. It’s written so well. And then mystic powers go brrrrr and then brain n brawn and then sunset duo and then magnetic twins and baby raph AAAAAAA. My explanation skills are absolute shit but cmon. ITS AMAZING. THE CHARACTERIZATION? ON POINT. WRITING? EVEN MORE ON POINT. TRAUMAAAA?? don’t get me started

Eventful Night by The_Most_Neon_Leon

Eventful Night - Chapter 1 - The_Most_Neon_Leon - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Look guys. I know. I know… only one chapter.. but that will not stop me from aggressively crushing on this fic. I think about it atleast twice a week. I HAD A DREAM ABOUT IT. and chapter two is canonically in the works so <3 basically Raphie has nightmares blah blah comforts Mikey’s there, Kraang angst. Very good fic. Love it. 

ain’t much that’s dumber by rolameny - multichapter, completed

ain't much that's dumber - Chapter 1 - rolameny - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Guys I don’t think y’all understand the sheer amount of illness I feel about this fic whenever it’s mentioned. The brain worms have successfully wormed into my brain. I can’t even pick one solid thing about this fic to focus on because it’s ALL. SO. GOOD. GO READ IT. also this author is the other author tied for my second fav Raph author (take a shot everytime i say author, you’ll end up dead)

and then just every single one of somethin_strange’s raph fics ahem ahem who said that.

One of Them Days by goldenspecter - oneshot

One of Them Days - goldenspecter - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Can you tell my ability to summarize these fics is going down auwjekcmwkjw… anyway. FANTASTIC FIC!!! Love when Donnie comforts Raph <333 Raph with depressive episodes my beloved <333 brains and brawn will never fail to get my brain going vrrooommmmmmm

Several Studies in Scarlet by douchegrayson <3 - multichapter, ongoing

Several Studies in Scarlet - Chapter 1 - douchegrayson - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Ooooaoahwhwkdkdm this is LITERALLY SO GOOD. I mean everything by douchegrayson is but THIS ESPECIALLY <3 LOVE IT <3 the fourth chapter… definitely hit different. Honestly I absolutely love the idea of this,  it’s always been bouncing around in my brain that Raph was fundamentally different from his bros, but this chapter put that into words in the best way possible. Also love how short it was but how I was able to feel every sentence <3

Anyhow that’s all!! For now. I have like 100 more but I’m getting a lil tired from summarizing them so if the people want a part two then it’ll likely just be same title format, links to the fic, and a copy/pasted summary.

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter nine: need your body when my fire's cold

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: With the full moon tomorrow, you're feeling a little more pent up than usual. Perfect time for your ex to reappear.

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking!!, 🚨reader has gone into heat🚨, oral (f receiving), piv sex, bondage with a paranormal twist, (being gagged and bound by snake tattoos that are telepathically controlled by a demon), magic, possessive behavior, past abusive relationship, attempted assault/murder, death threats, animal death mention, being held at gunpoint, immortal character(s) get shot but it's ok, gore, blood (lots of it in fact), minor character death, trauma, panic attacks, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The day before the full moon, you start to feel feverish.

And not just a normal, regular fever either. Everything feels hot and pulsing, like your body is filled with some unseen electricity that’s surging through you, lighting your nerves on fire. It’s been torturing you all day. All through your shift at the diner, all through the long, grueling hours that it has taken for you to get home. Waves of heat rushing through your body, drenching you from your head to your toes in sweat.

You wondered, at first, if Eddie was possessing you again, but it felt like your body answered that question for you– with a gush of arousal between your legs at the mere thought of him, soaking your panties. You didn’t hear his voice in your head, didn’t feel any sort of weird jerking of your limbs or touches on your skin that shouldn’t have been there. He isn’t possessing you.

You wondered if, maybe, you were somehow channeling that same strange magic again– the kind that he showed you how to use, to transform a water glass into a flower vase. That had felt so concentrated, though, in one area of your body. This is an all over ache, an all over fever. It doesn’t feel like the magic that you’ve used so far. 

So… why are you feeling like this? 

You considered calling out of work sick, but when you got to the diner and you looked around you, absolutely no one seemed enticing. Like your body was recoiling from anyone else, you physically shuddered at the prospect of anyone touching you but Eddie.

Which would normally be fine, except your body is going insane. Heat below the surface of your skin makes you perspire. The moon hangs overhead, bright white in the sky and looming like it sees you, and knows what you’re going to do tomorrow night.

How you’re going to give yourself over to Eddie, fully. Completely. More than you even have yet– if you can count it, it’ll be the first time you two honestly fuck, and you can’t contain yourself at the thought. Your skin flames, your heart pounds. You feel like climbing up the walls. You’re excited and you’re nervous, and just thinking about the prospect makes… whatever’s happening to your body ruin yet another pair of your underwear. 

When you get home again, you run a cold bath. You tear at your clothes as you go, moving through your apartment. Dante is nowhere to be found, somewhere off in the aether doing his hellhound business again. You’re getting used to him coming and going just as often as his previous owner does.

When you sink into a cold bath, it’s like heaven on your overheated skin. You don’t know if this is technically good for you– you wonder if your body can handle this elevated temperature. Considering you can make coffee boil with your touch and telepathically transform glassware, you’re having trouble telling what’s within the realm of possibility, these days.

Inevitably, your thoughts turn to Eddie. Where he is, what he’s doing. If he’s feeling the same thing that you are, this infernal heat that’s taking over your body and making it difficult to focus on anything other than the thought of him. 

Your wandering fingers dance over your wet skin and you dream that they could be his, and it’s bad enough that you’re wanting him so much you can practically taste it. But you still haven’t quite faced the realization that started nagging at you just days ago. 

You love him.

This was not the plan. Ideally, you figure you would have fucked the demon on the obligatory days once a month, and otherwise you would have gone about your life, business as usual. But you guess that making a deal with a demon doesn’t exactly lend itself to business as usual. And you sure as hell didn’t expect your demon to be so… so perfect.  

Perfect for you. A fucking nerd with a heart of gold, even if he does keep running around trying to maim people who hurt you. He’s adorable, he has a sense of humor. He brought you an entire garden’s worth of flowers– they’re still on your counter, miraculously still fresh nearly a week later, half of them stuffed in the vase that he helped you create before he put you back to bed. Tucked you in and kissed your forehead and then fucked off like he knew he’d made you cranky.

You think you’d do anything for him, if he asked.

If a deal with a demon is something like a marriage– and your deal includes the stipulation of sex– wouldn’t it make sense for you to fall for him? Isn’t this all just a stereotypical marriage of convenience trope wrapped up in a little supernatural bow? 

Whatever the reason, rational or no, you’re falling for him. That pyroclastic flow of his that you’d sworn would burn you alive when you first met him to make the deal– it's caught you, and it’s completely decimating you. Covering you in ash and boiling your blood. You can hear it roaring in your ears. 

…Actually, that’s just you boiling your bath water. 

“Shit.” 

You leap up, splashing water across the floor. The paint on the sides of the tub is bubbling up and peeling with the heat of the water as it rolls like a jacuzzi and threatens to spill over. You’ve been boiling it as you lay in it, thinking about you and your little demon problem. 

Well, that’s the first time you’ve ever managed to do that. So much for cooling off. 

You wrap yourself in a towel, and you hope that you won’t manage to set that on fire, or something. Eddie’s mark on your arm twinges, pulsing beneath your skin. You need to calm down, before you manage to burn the fucking house down.

As you pull on a thin nightshirt– something breathable, which hopefully won’t make you sweat too much in your sleep– there’s a knock at your door. You drag your hands down your face and heave a long, extended sigh. You just want to sleep. You just want to wait out the day tomorrow until you have to meet Eddie at the crossroads, and then… 

And then you hope for some kind of relief to your frustration.

There’s another knock, more forceful this time. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and steel yourself to go answer the door. Whoever the fuck is bothering you at eight o’clock in the evening better have a good fucking reason. 

As you cross your living room to the door, there’s a scuffling from the direction of the couch, and then Dante emerges from the darkness. At first as a shadow, and then he materializes into his full Rottweiler self, and barks. Very, very loudly. 

“Dante!” you yelp, trying to shuffle toward the door as the dog jumps at you, barking and trying to bite at the bottom of your nightshirt. “Baby, I know, I’m happy to see you too, but I gotta get the d–”

The door is knocked open just as soon as you unlock it, throwing you back and onto the floor. Dante skids toward the door, snarling, growling and baring his teeth at whoever it is. 

“Andy?” You look up to find your ex closing the door behind him. “I thought you were– what are you doing here?” 

“Look at what you did to me, you bitch,” Andy snaps, and turns toward you. 

You’re a little too distracted to do what he says, though, considering he’s pointing a gun in your face. 

Adrenaline cuts through your body like a knife, making your limbs tremble. You can hear Dante barking, distantly, like from underwater. You feel nauseous, a roiling in your gut about to spring forth. Ohhh, this is a bad time to be having a panic attack. “Andy, I don’t know what you’re–”

“Look at what you did to me!” Andy’s shouting makes you tear your eyes fearfully away from the gun. You don’t want to look at his face, but you do. You do, and it makes your stomach lurch even worse– because only half of it is there anymore.

The cops who came to the scene said that Andy had sustained third degree burns, but they didn’t say where. You figured they were probably on his arms, maybe his chest and his legs, since he was reaching for the car door. You didn’t know that half his face had been taken off with it. Clearly, his time in the ICU hasn’t been enough for the wounds to heal properly; the skin is still blistered and oozing in places. His nose a burnt nub, his lips curled back from his teeth in a permanent smile that makes him resemble the phantom of the opera. 

Okay. This is really bad. You’ve never tried calling for Eddie before, and you don’t know how to consciously do it– you’ve just done it on accident a few times, and he’s answered. You hope that he answers now. 

Eddie. I really really need your help right now. Please.

“Shut that fucking dog up before I put a bullet in it,” Andy snarls, gesturing to Dante with the gun.

“Dante,” you whisper desperately, reaching for the angry, over-protective Rottweiler. “Down. Down, baby, it’s okay.” 

Dante backs off, but only a bit. 

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK.

“You should be in the hospital,” you tell Andy, for lack of anything else to say. You can’t even begin to understand why he’s out, looking the way that he is. He shouldn’t be walking, shouldn’t be talking with the amount of damage he’s taken. 

Andy shakes his head. It makes a disgustingly wet clicking sound, and you wonder if somehow, some way, he’s been magicked out of there by your paranormal circumstances. Wouldn’t it just be the comeuppance you deserve? You wonder if tonight is the full moon, and you miscalculated the timing of the ritual. Have you unintentionally sealed your fate? Not held up your end of the bargain?

“I left,” Andy tells you, and his voice is grating and rough with the damage his throat has taken. “As soon as I woke up– couldn’t let you get away with it. Fuckin’ witch.”  

You knew Andy to be a hypocrite, sure. He roped you in by claiming to hate the bigots in town who harassed you. He would talk shit about church and about religion, and he could honestly give a fuck about scripture. You’re not sure that he’s ever actually picked up a bible. But then, he could also be known to break up dinners and conversations with the same vapid evangelical rhetoric. “Prepare to meet Jesus your Maker, my friend, because the end of the world is coming in three weeks! Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife… or girlfriend, or whatever.”

It took a while for these moments to really pile up– a few too many dinners and gatherings embarrassingly ruined until it was too much to laugh off as a joke– and ultimately it was what spurred you to finally try to “end” the relationship. This was all, usually, a way of peacocking and showing off his supposed “piety” to the other people in town. Always on a high-horse about something. Usually it stemmed from his intolerance of other people’s idiosyncrasies. But you wouldn’t have expected him to fall into the hunt-the-witch category.

“I didn’t do anything to you,” you retort, starting to scoot backwards on your hands, slithering slowly away from the gun in your face. Eddie’s mark on your wrist throbs, your hands heating up and beginning to scorch the floorboards you crawl across.

“I know that you did.” He shakes the gun, as though it’s going to get his point across further. “I know– I know you fucking did something. Black magic or some– some demonic shit! I felt it! Look at my fucking arm!”  

Andy brandishes the arm that you grabbed, when he tried to cut into Eddie’s mark on your wrist. The welt is still angry and red, the clear imprint of your hand raised on his skin. 

“You did this to me,” Andy repeats, looking more and more crazed. His blue eyes are wide and flashing angrily as he gestures with his gun. “You fucking cursed me, you marked me with your– your Devil’s mark! I’m gonna make you take it back, put things right. Take it back or I’ll fucking kill you.” 

Dante leaps forward again at the jerk of Andy’s gun, putting himself between you and the weapon.

You shake your head, trying to figure out how to calm Andy down, or disarm him. You’re a witch, right? You’re a witch, and you have some kind of crazy power in you– you can transform objects with your mind. It can’t be so hard to just… turn the gun into a rubber chicken. Right? 

Rubber chicken, rubber chicken. You can’t focus well enough. Dante is still barking, baring his teeth and growling at Andy. “I don’t know why your car exploded–” 

“SHUT THAT FUCKING DOG UP!” Andy roars, and before you can even tell Dante not to, the hellhound’s eyes glow red and he springs for Andy’s legs. 

You scream as the gun goes off, your heart plummeting into your stomach. A sob escapes you, tears pricking at your eyes and flowing over onto your cheeks. For a second, you fear that Andy has killed yet another dog in front of you, that you’ll have to bury Dante beside Lacey in the woods. In your panic, you somehow forget that Dante isn’t from your world, and a spirit can’t be killed twice.

You leap forward to grab at Dante, to hold him if he’s been hurt– but Dante isn’t even fazed. The bullet passes through the dog’s body, bounces off the floor and ricochets off into the living room somewhere. He sinks his teeth into Andy’s thigh, tearing into the flesh without remorse. He bears down, snarling, blood spurting from the wound and beginning to drip onto the floor. 

Andy howls, and kicks his leg until he’s able to fling Dante off. Dante skids across the floor, and comes to a stop just in front of a pair of black boots, materializing out of the darkness. 

A hand drops down, fingers clad with chunky silver rings, and pets the growling hellhound’s blood covered head. 

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs, just as his form solidifies from the shadows. He lifts his hand and sucks the blood from his finger, gazing up through his bangs at Andy. 

“Eddie.” Just one look at him, and warmth floods your system. You go to stand and throw yourself at him, but Andy points his gun at you again. He isn’t looking very good– cringing and clutching at his wounded leg, the hand with the gun shaking as he holds it towards you.

“This is your little fucking boyfriend?” He tries to sound intimidating, but his voice wobbles as Eddie lifts himself to his full height, fixing him with an unblinking stare.

Little. Right.

“Sure am.” Eddie tilts his head. “And you’re a piece of shit who’s had too many second chances.” 

You watch as Eddie steps forward, and the gun swivels toward him. Andy shouts, “DON’T MOVE! I’ll shoot you, motherfucker!”

“Shoot me while you’re talking, it’ll save time.” Eddie pauses, and bends down to take your burning hand. He gingerly wraps his arm around you and lifts you up easily, like you weigh nothing.

You stand on shaky legs, squeezing his hand as Eddie presses his lips to your feverish forehead. Relief spreads from his kiss like the antidote to a poison, calming your panicked mind and urging your tense muscles to relax. Sniffling, your voice is sticky with tears when you whisper, “I called you.” 

“I know,” Eddie says apologetically, wiping your tears away with his clean hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take so lo–”

“Aww aren’t you two just so fucking cute,” Andy sneers, interrupting him. “Guess I’ll just have to kill both of you. I bet you’re just as into that devil shit as she is. Couple of fucking freaks, the both of you.”

Eddie scowls, turning his head to glare at Andy. He squeezes your hand, guiding you to hold onto the counter before he lets you go. “You’re so right. We’re perfect for each other. He doesn’t even know how right he is, does he?” 

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out– you’re just sort of staring, dumbfounded, as Eddie turns to advance towards Andy.

The gun fires three times, and Eddie stops in place. He puffs out his cheeks and groans, turning toward you with his hands on his hips. Wide-eyed, Eddie looks at you with a perturbed expression. “He shot me.” 

Three bullet holes litter his chest, ripped into the fabric of his Metallica t-shirt. There’s no blood that you can see, but the bullets force their way out of his skin, dropping to the ground with a quiet plink, plink, plink.  

You blink, and you set your jaw. Beyond the fear, and the tears, your mind burns with malice. “He did.” 

“What the fuck?” Andy, looking afraid all of a sudden, like he only just realized that he’s in over his head, starts backing away. “What– what the hell is happening–”

“What, what, what?” Eddie hisses mockingly, his black eyes flashing with amber sparks. He bites his lip as he gazes at you. “I should show him, right?”

Show him…? You don’t even care what Eddie’s suggesting, really. You’re just beyond mad and vibrating with it– nerves and anger and searing infernal heat that’s starting to sizzle the very sweat on your skin, the longer you look at your demon. 

You nod at Eddie. “Do it, baby.”

Eddie grins. His eyes catch fire as he turns back to Andy, and grabs him by his throat, lifting him into the air with one bloody hand. “Oh, you really shouldn’t have done that, buddy. Now you’ve made her mad. And I do whatever she wants.”

You watch as his shirt and jacket melt away, baring his chest and a pair of broad, pale shoulders that are covered in the faded scar tissue and tattoos, creeping up onto his neck. The tattoos swirl and move on his skin, like they’re alive– snakes curling and slithering up each arm, bat wings wiggle like they want to pop out of the skin and take flight. Skulls scream and laugh, spiders crawl. There are so many it’s like a second skin, almost as if he carries the entirety of Hell on his body.

His hands grow long claws, his head a pair of horns. And then, just like you thought they would, the wings unfurl. Enormous, they extend from his back, inky black and pointed. Taking up what little space there is in your entryway.

Your breath stutters in your chest, realizing that this is what Eddie’s true form is. The one that he said you wouldn’t like, if you saw it. 

He was very very wrong about that. 

Andy kicks, his blistered skin oozing at the pressure of Eddie’s hand squeezing him, and he howls at the sudden contact. Dropping the gun so that he can grab at Eddie’s arm, he gurgles, “What the hell are you?” 

Eddie’s eyes burn as red as the blood on his hands when he bares his fangs. “The Devil.”  

Oh. His voice. It has that same deep cadence, but it sounds smoky, almost rumbling directly from his throat rather than out of his mouth. It sends another wave of heat through your body, the same kind that boiled your bathwater and burned the shape of your hands into your floorboards. 

There’s a swelling in your head and in your chest that’s starting to creep down into your stomach. A vibrating in your bones that you feel will split you apart. You groan quietly, clutching your middle. 

Eddie unhinges his jaw. All the way, his mouth practically splits his face in half to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth that shouldn’t realistically fit there. His long, forked tongue extends to lick Andy’s burned flesh, roaring at him as Andy shrieks. Eddie pulls Andy close, as though he means to swallow him whole.

But a wet crackling noise rips through the room, and then Andy explodes.  

He bursts like a water balloon, splattering blood and bits of flesh all over the walls, all over Eddie, all over you. You stand tensely, open mouthed and with your shoulders pulled to your ears as it rains down from the ceiling, splashing onto your floor. In the silence afterwards, you hear Dante stop growling and start gnawing on a piece of Andy’s flesh that dropped to the floor beside him.

Eddie’s jaw closes and melts back into his normal face, his wings closing and retreating into a tattoo on his back. He blinks, stunned, and then turns his head and looks at you in shock. He raises his eyebrows, his face completely, comically red to match the color of the volcanic flames in his eyes. A piece of torn flesh hangs in his hair. 

And that sick feeling you’d been having is suddenly fucking gone.  

“Did–” You stop, smacking your lips as metallic blood oozes into your mouth. Your hands are clenched, held up by your face like you’re trying to shield yourself from it. Not that it’s helping. “Did I do that?” 

Eddie nods slowly, an incredulous grin spreading across his face. He starts to laugh.

You shake your head, clapping your bloody hands over your mouth. It makes a wet slapping noise. “No– Eddie, don’t fuck with me right now–”

“Sweetheart… You blew him to smithereens!” Eddie cackles, rushing forward to wrap his arms around you. You squeal as he lifts you, jumping up and down with you like you just won first prize. “That was so fucking metal! Holy shit!” 

You grab onto him with shaking hands, pressing your face into his neck. His bare skin is warm and slick, his scars bumpy against your cheek. “I thought I was just having a panic attack…”

Your demon, your self-proclaimed boyfriend, giggles like a child on Christmas and twirls you around. “That’s what he gets! That’s what anyone fucking gets for messing with my baby…” 

“I was just so angry,” you tell him shakily, clutching to him like a lifeline. “He fucking shot you and he shot Dante and I– I just wanted him gone.”

“Well, he’s gone now.” Eddie snickers, pressing his blood soaked forehead against yours. “He’s gone now, you fucked him up so bad. Attagirl.”

You hold Eddie’s face and kiss him earnestly, fiercely, with everything you have in you. He grunts, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you flush against him, kicking up a squelching wet noise that would throw you off if you were thinking clearly. That same heat that’s been bothering you all day blasts forth, setting you aflame. A beast howls in your chest, snarling and vying for his attention. 

“I just wanted to protect you, Eddie,” you tell him between frantic kisses. “You’re mine. No one touches what’s mine.”

He takes a slow breath and releases it with a warm purr deep in his chest. Your hand strokes his cheek and he nuzzles into it, his glowing eyes fluttering shut, and you feel an inordinate amount of pride welling up inside you. 

You’re holding a demon in your hands– a real, actual demon– and he’s purring like a kitten over it. He has claws that could kill you with a single swipe, fangs that could tear flesh from bone, power beyond believability, and he’s yours.  

Your kisses turn heated and deep. You scratch your nails down his chest toward his belt, pressing yourself further against him. Eddie chuckles against your lips.

“You know, you have a habit of trying to fuck me whenever Andy gets blown up,” Eddie points out, pulling back just slightly with a lopsided grin. “Should do it more often.”

“God, I’ve been so horny for you all day,” you hiccup, already frustrated as your fingers slip across the metal, fumbling and awkward as you try to undo it quickly. “I don’t know what it is, I feel like I’m gonna explode if I don’t have you right now.”

“You want me like this?” Eddie asks. Even though his voice is deep and sultry, there’s a touch of insecurity in it. “I know I’m not much to look at, sweetheart.”

You shake your head. “You’re gorgeous. You’re so gorgeous, Eddie, you don’t even know.” Your voice is coming out breathy, near panting as you lay kisses to his lips and cheeks, tasting Andy’s blood in your mouth. 

The heat of your own body matches Eddie’s to the point that his skin– which always feels too hot, almost to the point of burning– feels normal to you. It makes your mind reel, and you don’t have to steel yourself before pressing your body against him, grasping him in your hands. His flesh is damp and sticky, and his hair still drips with blood; none of it makes a difference to you. 

He yanks you against him, his claws tearing into the threadbare fabric of your nightshirt. He nearly snickers at it. It’s barely covering you as it is, all your curves and edges on display as the wet cotton clings to your body. With one sharp tug, the shirt rips and falls away from your chest. 

You moan when his tongue gently glides along your shoulder and up the side of your throat, collecting the blood on your skin. Your cunt throbs with desire and your own blood boils with a need you haven’t felt before.

“So fucking cute,” Eddie coos in your ear, somewhere between chastising and affectionate. “Just can’t wait for it, can you? Gotta get all impatient with me the night before the full moon?”

“Yes, Eddie.” Your voice sounds pathetic. Whining, practically crying for it when you’ve got him so close, and his tongue on your bare skin is enough to give you a head rush. You think the touch of it ought to melt you to your core.

Well. Something’s melting in your core, anyway. And Eddie’s all too aware of it; he slides two thick fingers between your legs, urging your thighs apart just barely so that he can stroke you where you want it. He hisses through his teeth, his fingers coming back dripping with arousal and blood that isn’t even yours. 

“I should make you wait,” he murmurs as he stares down into your eyes. 

You can already feel yourself shaking your head, your hands grabbing for him desperately. It’s ridiculous– just the thought of him leaving you like this has you near tears. “No, please–”

“I said I should,” he tells you as he licks his fingers in front of you; a forked tongue flickering over the digits before disappearing again. “Not that I will.” 

You heave a relieved sigh, a noise of contentment as he presses a chaste kiss to your jaw. 

“You’re gonna wish that I did, though.”

“Eddie, what– HOH FUCK!”  

You screech as Eddie manhandles you down onto the floor. Puddles of blood squelch beneath your body as you come in contact with the wood, flopping onto your back as he kneels and crawls over you like some kind of predator. 

You hum. “You know, we tend to fuck in my kitchen a lot–”

Eddie shushes you. A tattoo of a snake slithering along his forearm leaps out of his skin, forming into a 3D image. Before you can even comprehend it, the snake circles your head and slithers its way into your mouth. 

You make a noise of surprise. The snake doesn’t delve too far, just enough to gag you. It tastes like blood and Eddie’s skin. Discreetly smoky and laced with salt.

“Whose fault is that?” Eddie asks, dipping his head to lick a long trail up the center of your stomach, the two appendages of his forked tongue tickling your skin and making you squirm. “Be a good girl and lay still for me.” 

You grunt, scowling down at him. Eddie snickers– even with all his skeletons out of the closet and his magic surrounding you, you still behave like such a little brat. He moves slowly, dragging his nose up your torso, and letting his breath billow across your oversensitive skin. His arms cage you in, his knee slotting between your legs until the damp fabric of his jeans just barely brushes the lips of your pussy. 

You whimper, bucking your hips instinctively towards that contact. He jerks it away just as quickly; the snake in your mouth, made of his own flesh, inches forward until you just barely gag on the intrusion.

“Sweet little thing,” Eddie purrs as he stalks up your body, his tongue flicking out to lick the blood from your breasts. He groans in the back of his throat, almost as if he’s savoring the taste of it. The fact that it’s also driving you insane, the slippery and hot caress against an erogenous zone, is just a happy byproduct. “You forget that I have all the time in the universe. I can do this until the end of time, if I want.”

You’re dizzy with arousal, oversensitized from every point of contact he’s giving you. You want to tell him that you’d fucking love it if he did keep you here forever, but all you’re able to do is moan around the writhing extension of him in your mouth. 

He takes his fucking time licking the blood from your skin, his inordinately long tongue dancing between your breasts and over your stomach, until you swear that he’s going to try to clean you entirely. But he stops just over your pelvis, and his tongue just barely flutters over your clit.

You scream. Your hips jump, back arching at the sudden touch, while your toes are curling and all your muscles are drawn up tight and aching. 

“I know, baby,” Eddie murmurs softly. He tuts, his mouth dragging so softly over the skin of your pelvis that it makes your hips jump, and you bite down on the snake in your mouth just as he bites down on the plush of your thigh.

To offset his gentle voice, another snake leaps from his arm and latches around your waist, pinning you to the floor. You whine brokenly, just a sob around the one in your mouth, as you feel two more slithering along your skin and winding around your legs to pull them open. 

“You’re intoxicating,” Eddie sighs, just watching as you lay there, pinned down with the extensions of his body that he controls as easily as his own hands. Your hands still scratch along the floor, lifting to grab onto something of his. 

Eddie gives you his own hands; he laces his fingers with yours, sticky blood gluing them together. 

You squeeze his hands when his tongue glides through the lips of your cunt, sweeping over the soft, hypersensitive flesh. Something about him finally touching you after you’ve been starving for it all day, and the exposing position you’re in, splayed open and unable to move, makes it easy to give up control. 

The sounds coming from your throat are sharp and quick, mingling with the noises of Eddie below, of the snakes hissing along your skin. He clamps his lips around your clit and sucks, as the tendrils of smoke and metaphysical matter that make up the snakes on your skin morph and change into hands– many many hands that caress you and grab you everywhere. Your breasts, your arms, your legs. A palm on your chin, forcing your head back so you can’t look, only feel.

With a moan, you rock your hips against Eddie’s face as best you can, given the circumstances. There’s so much happening, you barely even notice when your orgasm hits, and by that time you’re completely unable to stop it. You cry out around two rough fingers, shoved deep into your mouth to replace the snake that had been gagging you, as you squeeze at the two hands pinning your own against the floor. 

When the hand in your mouth disappears, you’re panting. Gasping for breath, punctuated with little moans that don’t stop, because Eddie doesn’t stop. He keeps lapping up the arousal that drips from your swollen pussy, letting his tongue prod into your entrance like he means to fuck you with it again– knowing how well that went over last time, you don’t doubt that he would try, just to extend the torture. 

Just to remind you that he could do this forever.

But he pulls away and sits up, and finally looks down at you, shaking on the floor. A smirk adorns his bloody, glistening face. “You still want more, princess?”

You nod with all the strength you have, reaching for him.

You should have known that, after watching him morph into half a dozen different shapes and sizes, he wouldn’t have to undress himself. It still doesn’t make it any less surprising to you when his pants just fucking melt out of existence, like it’s all just made of smoke. 

“Couldn’t have done that when I was fucking with that goddamn belt buckle?” you grumble, finally finding your voice.

His eyebrows jump, a gorgeous grin spreading across his face. So much like the first one he ever gave you, there at the crossroads– brilliant, sharp teeth and dimples and sparkling eyes. Something that you’d kill to see every day for the rest of your life and beyond it. 

“You’re… you’re impossible,” he giggles, crawling up your body to plant a wet kiss on your lips, tasting of metallic blood and salt and sweet smoke. Everything that you know and love about him is wrapped into one kiss. 

Your hands come up to cradle his face, deepening the kiss until your teeth clash and you suck desperately on his tongue. He hums, dropping his hips to yours. The slick glide of his cock through your folds is so reminiscent of the dream he’d superimposed himself into, but this time it’s real, and it’s so much better. Hotter and wetter than you’d expected, kicking up an enormously loud, slick sound, echoing the slippery blood you roll around in. Your mouth drops open in a gasp, clinging to him as he grinds against you.

“This what you want?” Eddie’s voice wavers, a soft groan in his throat slipping out at the end. He huffs, dropping his forehead to rest against yours. “Fuck, tell me you want it, sweetheart. Need to hear you say it.”

He sounds just as broken as you. Maybe just holding on by a thread, but it’s just so thin. You can’t help the mess that it makes of you, your pussy drenching him the more he rocks against you. The sound of his voice crackling, the low and smoky demonic tone of it giving way to weakness at the feeling of your body against him, is so profoundly erotic. 

You try to answer him. You do. But between the slow grind of his cock against your clit and his broad hand wrapping around your throat, all you manage to do is allow yourself to moan into his face.

Eddie tightens his hold on your throat just a touch. He spits, and a drop of his saliva hits your waiting tongue. He growls, “Tell me.” 

You sob, your fingers tangling in his hair as you try desperately to rock against him. “Pleasepleaseplease– Eddie, I want it. W-want you so bad all the time, oh my god–”

“No god here, baby,” Eddie tells you heatedly, the smoldering lava pools of his eyes boring into yours. “Just me.”

He splits you open slowly, like after all of this terror and bloodshed, he’s afraid you might break. His cock slides thick through your walls, stretching you until you swear you can’t take any more and melting you from the inside out.

It’s blinding, searing bliss and agony all at once. He glides in so smoothly, because you’re practically fucking drowning him with your want. 

He draws out even slower, letting you feel every ridge and vein as it moves through you, making your toes curl, your chest burn. Your clit throbs hard like it’s feeling neglected, but you can’t muster the ability to do anything about it.

You’re a whimpering mess. Watery-eyed and half insane with how much lust is flowing through you. You aren’t even aware that you’re babbling and whining until Eddie tucks his thumb between your lips.

“Shhh.” He guides your head back and forth, shaking it from side to side gently as you stare tearfully up at him. “No whining.” 

You pretty much do the exact opposite. You want him to go faster. You want him to go deeper. You want him, you want him.

Eddie thrusts the rest of the way in, like he read your mind. You’re almost sure that he did, or is. He must be. It’s the only explanation for how he’s able to give you everything you want, exactly when you want it. You think you want his hands in your mouth, he gives them to you. You want him to fuck you harder, he does. 

The force of your cry makes it ring sharply around the room, magnified by the wetness on the walls and floor. Your back slips through puddles of blood on the hardwood. It’s frankly disgusting, and yet…

“Ohhh you’re such a fucking freak for liking this, baby,” Eddie chides, confirming that yes, he can hear your thoughts. He sees every one of them, like he’s inside your own head, and it makes you burn for him even worse. He grins down at you as he jolts you along the floor with another thrust. “I love it. Y’so fucking perfect for me.”

Your hands grip his shoulders, nails biting into hot skin and pulling him down until his chest is flush with yours. “Whose– whose fault is tha– huhh!”

His hips rock backwards and roll into yours so fluidly that it astounds you with its grace. There’s always going to be two sides to him– smooth and rough. Sharp and soft. Juxtaposed and yet complementary. 

“You feel so good,” you whimper softly, your voice coming out small and feeble. 

“And you feel like heaven,” he whispers hoarsely, his nose nudging against yours. “Closest I’ll ever be to it.” 

You arch your head back, exposing your neck to him as you cry out toward the ceiling. There’s nothing in your head except him– he’s managed to take the rest of your world and shrink it down until he takes up the brunt of it. 

Eddie chuckles, like he knows. He knows what he’s doing, knows that each stroke of his cock is just stoking the fire that burns under your skin. His cock dragging slow and purposefully through your cunt, hitting that spot deep inside that makes you scream with pleasure. His tongue on your exposed neck, his claws digging into your thighs hard enough to draw blood. 

Not that you need any more of it.

“That’s right,” Eddie croons as you moan loudly, dragging his mouth along the curve of your throat, lingering over your shoulder. “Let me hear you, little witch.”

Your body tenses and you tighten down around him, letting out a long amalgamation of noises that you’d been holding back. You’re starting to forget where you end and he begins, like the longer this goes on the more you start to fade into him like a shadow. 

Eddie tucks his face into your shoulder and whispers something you don’t quite catch. You’re dizzy and your pussy pulses angrily in warning. Your mounting orgasm feels devastating already, like you’re on the brink of being torn apart. 

“Mmm, getting close, isn’t it?” Eddie muses, and he sounds far away, like he’s talking to you from underwater. His voice is soft and sinful, exactly what you think it should be. “I can feel it, baby. Dirty little girl just loves getting fucked by a demon, doesn’t she?”

“Eddie, please–” you cut yourself off with a gasp when his thumb touches your clit, and you convulse once like you’re about to have a fit.

There’s a snicker in his voice, but you don’t miss the soft staccato breaths that he takes when you tighten around him again. “What, y-you wanna hear how– how wet you are? Fuckin’ drenching me, baby, it’s so fucking good–”

You sob, grabbing at him and smacking at his shoulders like that’ll get your point across. 

He chuckles again, and his voice is absolutely wretched when he rasps, “If only Andy could see you now, huh?”

His words knock you directly into your orgasm, which was… much closer than you both realized, apparently. You clench down around his cock and your hips jump up, rocking desperately against him like he isn’t giving it to you exactly how you want it, already. 

Eddie’s breath catches, going silent for a second before he groans loudly into the crook of your neck. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl for me, holy shit–”  

The break in his voice simply kills you, dead. You cum around him hard, while his thumb continues to circle your clit in slow, gentle circles. So much gentler than you imagined he would be. Soft to offset the sharpness of his claws.

Or the sharpness of his teeth, rather, because he gives you one ragged moan into your overheated skin before he’s sinking his fangs into it. The sting is only as intense as the second wave of your orgasm, which sends sparks and shockwaves through you so hard that you swear you actually are burning alive beneath him. 

Eddie cums for a long time. He keeps moving through it, slowly pumping into you and drinking your blood like it’s a means to sedate him. By the time he’s finished you’re so spent, it’s like the very life has been drained from you. Your limbs and eyes are heavy, your hands on his body are weak.

In the silence, you hear a crackling. A wave of heat, a cloud of smoke that engulfs you both– like the hellfire that he embodies no longer just belongs to him, but the both of you. 

Eddie’s fangs retract from your skin, his tongue leaves you. He says your name softly– a quiet cooing, sing-songy and sweet. You hum, and your head lolls tiredly towards his palm against your cheek.

“Sweetheart,” he says, a little more urgently now. “You gotta get up.”

“Mmmm no. Let’s stay here.”

Eddie huffs, and then deadpans, “Your apartment is on fire.”

Your eyes shoot open. First you meet his eyes– crackling flames dance in them, but not the way that you’re so familiar with. They reflect on the surface of his eyes, rather than coming from within. Half his face is lit in an orange glow, flickering and dancing, making the shadows dance across them more than normal.

Then you feel the heat. It’s more than him, more than you. And then the smoke alarm in your bedroom starts shrieking.

The room is engulfed in flames. The flowers preserved in the vase on your counter wither in the heat and crumple like paper. The walls, the furniture, the floors catch on like you live in a tinderbox. Fire surrounds you so closely that it should burn you. 

It should. It doesn’t. You feel the heat, but it doesn’t hurt. It tickles, it warms you like a soft blanket. 

“How the hell did that happen?” you splutter, cringing and grabbing at Eddie as you hear a cupboard lose its structural integrity and collapse, along with all the dishes inside of it. 

Eddie giggles, his cheshire cat grin splitting his face wide. Dimples on show, hair reflecting a little bit of gold from the fire, he says, “We’re just a lot more powerful than you think.”

You gaze around at your burning apartment. All the mediocre remnants of your life peel from the walls and settle as char on the floor. Dante is once again long gone; you didn’t figure he would stick around.

Turning your head back to Eddie, you blink slowly, feeling lulled by the warmth surrounding you and the weight of his body on yours. You almost don’t even care about the hardness of the floor and how it’ll be murder on your spine in the morning. Eddie peers down at you with an affectionate smile, his thumb stroking your cheekbone lovingly.

“Oh fuck,” you say after a moment. “I’m not gonna get that fucking security deposit back, am I?”

[eternallyordinary]

"He Belongs To You" - Part 23

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series masterlist<3

Summary: A lead breaks through the silence—and with it, the recent past comes roaring back in a way Homelander never expected.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture, Psychological manipulation, Gore / graphic violence, Mental illness, Death, PTSD themes, Suicide, Disturbing imagery, Obsession

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Two weeks and two days.

Two weeks, two days, twelve hours, and thirty-eight minutes since you vanished, if we’re being technical.

No trace.

No warning.

Just gone.

Homelander paces the floor like a caged animal. He hits things. Destroys things. Kills anything that so much as breathes wrong in his direction.

At his lowest, he finds himself buried in the scent of you—

Sniffing a pair of your underwear he stole from your hamper like some deranged, lovesick pervert.

He just needs to feel you again.

To touch you.

To know you’re still real.

He storms down the hallway, boots echoing like war drums against the marble floor of the tower. There's another lead, or... more like another dead end in the making.

He’s heading to one of Vought’s "white rooms"—cold, sterile, suffocating. They might as well rename them kill rooms at this point. That’s all they’re used for now.

Today’s suspect? A supe who happened to grab a coffee at a place you liked.

Once.

Wrong place, wrong time. Which, these days, is all it takes to die.

This is interrogation number... twelve? Fourteen? Twenty? To be honest, he’s lost count. But he'll wipe out the whole fucking super human race if it leads him to you.

—

The white room hums with silence.

Fluorescent lights buzz faintly above. Cold steel walls. One metal chair. One man strapped to it.

Homelander stands in the corner like a statue. Watching. Waiting.

The supe fidgets in his restraints, forcing a laugh he hopes sounds casual.

“Hey, listen… if this is about the property damage in Midtown, I already squared that with—”

“You think I give a fuck about that?”

The man’s smile falters.

“Okay… so, what is this?”

A long pause.

Then, slowly, Homelander begins to pace. Step by step, boots echoing against the floor.

“You stopped at Mocha & Co. two weeks ago. 8th Street.”

“Yeah, sure. I mean—I think I did?” He shrugs awkwardly. “Coffee’s not a crime, right?” He tries to joke.

Homelander doesn’t laugh.

He leans forward, placing both hands on the table, his eyes locked on the man like crosshairs.

“She loves that place.”

“…She? I… don’t follow.”

Homelander stands upright again, slowly circling him.

“You’ve heard the rumors, right? The whispers. Something about supes going missing? Hm?”

The supe swallows. His voice drops. 

“You mean… all those disappearances? I thought that was fake.”

“Oh, it’s real. Very fucking real, David.”

Another pause. The silence weighs like concrete. David blinks rapidly, the panic starting to set in.

“Wait, wait—I didn’t know. I didn’t know anyone was—Jesus, I was just getting coffee. I swear, I—Man, you have to believe me!"

Homelander cocks his head.

“Funny. You were only in town that one day. What was so special about that day, David?”

“Yeah—yes, I was just passing through, patrol got rerouted—”

“You think I believe in coincidences? You think I’m fucking stupid? You show up at her favorite coffee shop the same week she disappears. And you expect me to think that’s random?”

“It was! I swear to God—”

“Swear to me.”

The man’s breath hitches. He tries to lean forward, but the cuffs dig into his wrists.

“I swear I didn’t do anything! Who is this about?!"

Homelander exhales slowly, his voice chilling now—too soft.

“You're making this very difficult, David.”

“I swear to you—”

But it’s already over.

Homelander grabs the table with one hand and flips it like paper, sending it crashing into the wall.

Then he’s on him.

A hand to the throat.

Squeezing.

Lifting.

The man gasps, legs kicking wildly beneath him.

"You should've just gone to Starbucks."

With one brutal motion, Homelander drives his fist through the man’s sternum. The sound is wet. Horrific. Organs rupture. Bone cracks. Blood splatters across the sterile white wall like an abstract painting.

He drops the body. Turns.

Walks out without looking back.

Another day, another mess someone else will have to clean.

—

Homelander storms into one of Vought’s executive lounges, blood still drying on his gloves. His jaw ticks. His vision is vibrating red around the edges.

He’s hit another road block. Another worthless fucking supe who didn’t know a thing.

He doesn’t even know why he came in here. Probably just to breathe. Or break something.

But the second he enters, he hears voices. Two interns. Barely old enough to buy a lottery ticket. Sitting on the sleek velvet couch, sipping their energy drinks without a care in the world.

Homelander freezes in the doorway. They don’t notice him at first. His eyes narrow in on them. 

“Get the fuck out.”

The interns jump so hard one drops her drink.

“Now.”

They scramble to their feet, fumbling for their things.

“And for fuck’s sake,” he calls after them, “why are you watching the news like you’re 70? What, you want me to install a landline for you next?”

The door slams behind them.

He grabs the remote to turn the TV off. Thumb hovering over the power button.

But before he can press it—

“...Developing now: 27-year-old Andrew Bellamy has officially been declared missing and dangerous following his escape from the Bellwick Super Human Psychiatric Facility two weeks ago...”

The TV flickers to footage—security cam stills of a man in hospital scrubs. Hair messy. Expression blank.

“Authorities report that Bellamy killed a nurse during his escape and fled with another patient, who was later found safe.”

The image cuts to stock footage of police tape, flashing lights.

He’s barely listening. About to click it off.

Then—

“This escape comes just days after a separate incident: the death of Bellamy’s younger brother, Eli, who was found dead at a rooftop party here next to the NYU campus. In light of Andrew’s disappearance, he is now being considered a suspect. Neighbors describe Andrew as unstable, violent, and obsessive.”

Cut to: a previous neighbor of the family on her front porch, stringy gray hair, talking into a handheld mic.

“I always said he was trouble. His brother was the good one. Smart, respectful. But Andrew? That one’s been off since he was a kid. Honestly… I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who killed Eli. I pray to God they find him…”

They show a photo. Two boys, side by side.

Homelander barely glances—

Until his eyes catch on one of the faces.

Wait.

He squints, stepping closer to the screen.

No.

It’s him.

The college kid from the rooftop.

The one who made you laugh.

The one Homelander snapped like a twig and forgot just as fast.

The remote in his hand creaks under the force of his grip—then finally shatters.

The TV keeps playing. Flickering.

“If spotted, do not approach. Bellamy is considered extremely dangerous. Please call the number below.”

And suddenly, everything slots into place with horrifying clarity.

The timing.

The rooftop.

The death.

It’s all connected.

And he missed it.

He fucking missed it.

Because Eli had meant nothing to him. Just another body. Just another stupid human who wanted something that didn’t belong to him—you. And now, that oversight has cost him everything. But not for long.

Because now? He knows exactly who to kill next.

Homelander steps closer to the screen, breathing hard.

“I found you.”

And just like that—his blood runs cold.

And then hot.

And then lethal.

The cock suckers brother is a fucking supe. It all makes sense. 

But why? Why you? You didn’t do anything wrong.

Homelander has this thought briefly. But then he remembers…

No.

You did nothing wrong.

But he did.

Homelander did.

And this—this was revenge.

The first of many, he realizes. A long, inevitable list of people who will come for you, not because of anything you did—

No, no, you are perfect. They will come for you to hurt him.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if it were Butcher, storming in with his little rat pack of wannabe heroes. That would’ve made sense. That would’ve at least felt like a fight worth having.

But this?

A nobody.

A broken, grieving brother of some boy he killed without a second thought.

He didn’t see this coming. And that makes him furious.

Rage surges through him as he rips the TV from the wall, slamming it down again and again until it’s nothing but shattered glass and plastic dust.

This is his fault. All of it. He can’t control himself. His jealousy runs so wild it devours anything that looks at you for too long—

Even a harmless, soft-voiced college kid who never stood a chance.

Stan Edgar had called him bad product once. A failure. A weapon without a conscience.

He used to scoff at that. Used to lean into it.

But now? Now, he can’t even pretend.

Because he’s not a hero.

Not to the world.

Not to Vought.

And maybe not even to you.

And the weight of that? It crushes him.

Andrew Bellamy.

He doesn’t know this man. But he knows one thing: He took you.

Now it’s not a question of if he’ll find you. It’s when. And God, help anyone who gets in his way.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡

tag list: @raginginkedslut @lilyalone @emily048 @naty-1001 @helreyy @forest-green-1994 @rainbowangel @harlowedoktravelsthemultiverse

[uns4lted]

𝘇𝗼𝗺𝗯𝗶𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗽𝗮𝗱𝗲𝘀 (pt. 1 w/ the bllk boys)

characters: isagi, bachira, kunigami, chigiri synopsis: series of bllk boys trying to survive zombie apocalypse genre: crack/comedy tags/warnings: swearing, gore imagery, might be ooc, horror, zombie apocalypse!au a/n: will be making this one as a series so each of the bllk boys can shine! ;D

The streets were unusually quiet, save for the occasional rustle of wind through broken glass and debris. Isagi trudged alongside Bachira, clutching a crumpled map he’d scavenged from the front seat of an abandoned car. The map wasn’t exactly clean—it had coffee stains and what might have been ketchup smears—but it was better than wandering aimlessly through zombie-infested streets.

“Alright,” Isagi muttered, studying the map. “There’s a grocery store up ahead. Looks abandoned, but we might get lucky.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bachira perked up, his usual grin spreading across his face. “Think they’ll have snacks? I’m in the mood for some chips. Oh! Or pudding. Definitely pudding.”

Isagi sighed. “Focus, Bachira. Supplies first. Survival second. Pudding… way down the list.”

When the store finally came into view, Bachira didn’t hesitate for even a second. “Nice! Let’s go!” he exclaimed, jogging toward the entrance.

“Hey, hey, wait!” Isagi called, his voice laced with panic. “Are you out of your mind?! Can you at least check if there are zombies around?”

Bachira spun around, walking backward with his arms spread wide. “You know what? Let me just say something about all the crazy stuff happening around here—”

“Not the time for a speech!”

“—zombies are so misunderstood,” Bachira continued, completely ignoring Isagi’s protests as he disappeared inside the store.

With a groan, Isagi followed him, folding the map and shoved it in his pocket then clutching his backpack like a lifeline. The inside of the store was just as trashed as the streets—empty shelves, scattered cans, and a distinct smell that Isagi decided not to think too hard about.

“Okay, just be quiet,” Isagi whispered as they crept deeper into the aisles. “We grab what we need and leave. No stupid—”

Both of them froze mid-step.

On the ground ahead of them was a zombie, sprawled on its stomach like it had faceplanted and never bothered to get up. It wasn’t moving.

“Is it… dead?” Isagi whispered.

“Well,” Bachira said, tilting his head thoughtfully, “technically, it is dead. But you wanna find out?”

“No, I really don’t—”

But Bachira was already moving. He spotted a marker lying on a messy shelf and snatched it up, the grin on his face widening. “Alright, listen. All I’m saying is zombies aren’t as bad as people think. They’re just grumpy, y’know? Probably just need some love and—”

“What are you doing?!” Isagi hissed, watching in horror as Bachira crouched next to the zombie and started doodling on its face.

The marker squeaked as Bachira drew two squiggly eyebrows and a lopsided mustache. “See? Look at this guy. Total softie. Misunderstood, for sure.”

“Get away from it!”

Just as Isagi was about to yank Bachira back, the zombie’s eyes snapped open.

“AHHHHH!” Bachira yelped, stumbling backward as the zombie lunged at him.

“IT’S ALIVE!” Isagi shouted, full-on panicking.

The zombie grabbed for Bachira, its groaning raspy and guttural, and Bachira screamed, waving the marker like it was a weapon. “Back off, Picasso! I was making you beautiful!”

Isagi fumbled around, his heart racing, until his eyes landed on a crowbar lying on the ground then hastily grabbing it. Without thinking, he swung it with all his strength, whacking the zombie on the head.

It wasn’t enough.

“Do something!” Isagi yelled.

Bachira, still holding the marker, panicked and grabbed the nearest thing—an expired can of beans. With a dramatic yell, he chucked it at the zombie’s head.

The can hit with a sickening thud, and the zombie finally slumped over, truly lifeless this time.

Both of them stood there for a moment, panting.

“…Well,” Bachira said, breaking the silence. “Guess he couldn’t handle my art.”

Isagi glared at him, still clutching the crowbar. “You’re insane. I’m leaving you behind next time.”

“Aw, c’mon, Yoichi! Admit it. That was fun!”

“NOT FUN!”

But Bachira was already poking the now-dead zombie with his foot, humming cheerfully. “Think we should grab that pudding now?”

Isagi groaned. He was definitely going to lose his mind before the zombies got to him.

Isagi crouched by a shelf, squinting at the labels on the remaining cans. Most of them were dented, and some didn’t even have labels. He sighed, grabbing what looked like canned soup and stuffing it into his bag.

“Bachira, what are you doing?” he called over his shoulder.

“Grabbing snacks,” came the lazy reply from the next aisle over.

“Snacks? Seriously?” Isagi stood, looking at him incredulously. Bachira was casually shoving packets of chips and candy bars into his sling bag like he was prepping for a movie marathon, not an apocalypse.

“Duh. Snacks give you energy,” Bachira said, grinning. “You’re gonna need energy if a zombie starts chasing you.”

Isagi opened his mouth to argue but stopped. “You know what? Fine. Whatever.”

As Isagi turned back to the shelf, a faint sound made his ears perk up. It was subtle—a dull thud, like something bumping against a door. He stiffened, gripping the crowbar tighter.

“Bachira. Shut up for a second,” he hissed.

Bachira blinked. “I wasn’t even talking—”

“Shhh!”

The sound came again, louder this time, followed by a low creak. Isagi’s eyes darted toward the back of the store, where a door was nudging open. His heart skipped a beat as two figures stepped inside, slamming the door shut.

“Hey! Who are you?!” Isagi shouted, raising his crowbar defensively.

Bachira peeked around the shelf, his head tilted curiously. “Oh, we have guests?”

The appearance of the two newcomers, an orange-haired guy with a serious expression, raised his hands. “Relax. We’re survivors, same as you.”

“Yeah,” the redhead beside him added, tying his long hair back into a ponytail. “We were being chased and needed a place to hide.”

The orange-haired guy glanced around the store, his eyes landing on the bags Isagi and Bachira had stuffed with food. He let out a low whistle. “Seems like a lucky day. Smart move.”

“Yeah, but who are you?” Isagi demanded again, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m Kunigami,” the orange-haired guy said, nodding toward his companion. “This is Chigiri.”

“Isagi,” he replied cautiously, still gripping the crowbar. He gestured toward Bachira, who waved enthusiastically. “And that’s Bachira.”

“Nice to meetcha!” Bachira chirped, as if they weren’t in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.

The four of them exchanged brief stories about their struggles. Kunigami leaned against a shelf, crossing his arms as he spoke. “My group didn’t make it,” he said quietly. “We got separated a few weeks ago when we were ambushed. Since then, it’s just been me trying to survive.”

Isagi nodded, gripping his crowbar tightly. “That sounds rough. We’ve only managed because we’ve been sticking together. It’s… easier when you’ve got someone watching your back.”

“Yeah,” Kunigami agreed, glancing over at Chigiri, who was browsing another aisle. “I got lucky running into him earlier. He’s fast as hell, I’ll give him that.”

Bachira piped up from where he was lounging against a shopping cart. “Fast legs are good. Zombies don’t usually sprint like track stars, you know?”

“Not yet, anyway,” Isagi muttered grimly.

Meanwhile, Chigiri had wandered to the personal care aisle. The others’ conversation faded into the background as he scanned the cluttered shelves. Most of the bottles had been knocked over or spilled, but he managed to spot an intact bottle of shampoo. He grabbed it, flipping it over to check the label.

“This one smells nice,” he muttered to himself, then frowned. “No conditioner? Come on…” He crouched down, rummaging through the mess in search of a matching set.

That’s when he heard it—the faint, rhythmic thud of something against a door. His head shot up, his heart pounding. He turned slowly toward the back of the store, where a door was nudging open, inch by inch. A hand appeared, clawing at the edge.

His breath caught in his throat. “Oh, hell no,” he whispered, dropping the shampoo bottle.

Scrambling to his feet, Chigiri bolted back to the others. “Guys!” he hissed, his voice urgent. “We’ve got a problem!”

Everyone turned to see it: a rotting hand curling around the edge of the door, pushing it open wider. The low, growling of zombies followed.

“Fuck, they got in!” Chigiri yelled. “Run!”

No one argued. They bolted toward the front of the store, the sound of shuffling feet and snarls growing louder behind them.

“Go, go, go!” Isagi shouted, shoving Bachira forward when he slowed down to grab a pack of gummy bears.

As they sprinted outside, Kunigami stumbled, his weapon—a heavy pipe—clattering to the ground.

“Kunigami! What are you doing?!” Chigiri yelled, his voice sharp with panic. “Keep up!”

Kunigami hesitated, torn between leaving the weapon and grabbing it. With a curse, he snatched it up and ran, the zombies now uncomfortably close.

The four of them darted behind a parked car, panting heavily.

“Did we lose them?” Isagi whispered, peeking around the edge.

For a moment, the coast looked clear. Then he spotted it—the keys dangling from the car’s ignition.

“This car has keys,” he said, turning back to the others.

Before anyone could celebrate, another group of zombies appeared at the end of the street, heading straight for them.

“Get in the car!” Isagi yelled. “Let’s get out of here!”

The four of them scrambled inside, slamming the doors shut.

Kunigami sat in the driver’s seat. Isagi slid into the shotgun seat beside him, glancing nervously at the keys still in the ignition. In the back, Bachira plopped down behind Isagi, grinning as if this was just another fun outing. Meanwhile, Chigiri took the seat behind Kunigami.

“Okay, who’s driving?” Chigiri asked, his voice laced with urgency.

“Let Ichigo drive,” Bachira suggested casually, grinning at Kunigami.

Kunigami scowled. “Shut up!”

But he twisted the key anyway, the engine roaring to life. His hands hovered awkwardly over the wheel and pedals.

“What do I do?!” he shouted, panic setting in.

“Hit the gas and GO!” Isagi yelled.

Kunigami stomped on the gas, and the car lurched forward, nearly crashing into a lamppost before he corrected the steering.

“Damn, you don’t know how to drive!” Isagi shouted, clutching the door handle for dear life.

“OW! My head!” Bachira groaned, rubbing the spot where he smacked into the window. “Kunigami, are you trying to kill us before the zombies do?”

“Why does it feel like we’re on a roller coaster?!” Chigiri snapped, clutching the back of the driver’s seat to steady himself.

Kunigami shot them an exasperated look, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. “I haven’t gotten my license yet, so give me a break!”

Suddenly, a raspy groan came from the shattered window beside Chigiri, and he barely had time to react before a decaying hand shot through, grabbing a fistful of his hair.

“Shit! My hair!!!” Chigiri screamed, thrashing against the seat as he tried to pull away.

“Hold on!” Bachira yelled, grabbing a nearby empty soda can from the floor. With an enthusiastic swing, he slammed the can into the zombie’s wrist, knocking its hand loose.

The zombie let out a wet snarl, stumbling as the car sped up, leaving it behind.

Chigiri frantically tied his hair into a tighter ponytail, glaring at the still-grinning Bachira. “Next time, maybe check the windows!”

“Relax, you’re fine! Plus, I saved you. You owe me a snack,” Bachira teased, winking.

“Are you kidding me right now?!” Chigiri snapped, but he was too shaken to argue further.

Meanwhile, Kunigami wrestled with the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding another lamppost. Zombies swarmed behind them, but the car kept gaining distance.

Isagi groaned, burying his face in his hands. “We’re all gonna die, and it’s not even the zombies’ fault.”

a/n: lmfao, i tried my best. 🤣🤣🤣

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 7: TOO YOUNG TO GROW WINGS

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

He needed to learn how to stop being so goddamn obsessive. He’d work on it later, maybe. He’d try not to speak curses into existence from the way he felt about you.

At the moment, he wants to make this good for you. Something like love.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, drunk sex, face sitting, blowjobs, cum eating (lol) lots and LOTS of angst, gore, blood, graphic descriptions of injuries, bullying, satoru being......... himself

ੈ✩ wc: 8.8k

ੈ✩ a/n: i wasnt gonna post this but then i was like well. i start a new job on monday so who knows if i'll be able to keep up the weekly update thing. this is also prob my fav chapter so i couldn't hold back OOPS enjoy the yaoi btw <3 title from angel by omar apollo

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

April, 2009

Jujutsu Technical College looks lovely in the springtime—the golden light hits the room in a specific way that makes your body warm. You’re calm, nearly dozing off until three people barge into the classroom, taking up as much space as they can. When you open your eyes, you see Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko smiling at you as they take their seats.

The boys had convinced you to attend (with the help of Shoko) after informing you there was a generous stipend included with your education. Despite the scholarship you’d gotten from the college you’d meant to attend, they had easily persuaded you. You hadn’t had friends you were so close with before, after all.

“Suguru. Switch with her.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it. I want her to sit next to me.”

You lift your head, realizing that Satoru is talking about you. Suguru laughs nonchalantly and stands up to switch with you, and you move to replace him when you notice Satoru’s baby blues searing into your skin. He grins at you brightly as you roll your eyes.

It’s been like this for weeks – Satoru possessing you, claiming you, even though you never ask for it. Truthfully, it pools your stomach with ardor. You’ve never felt as wanted as you do when you were within a close radius of him. 

It dwindles eventually when you realize that the boys’ strength is so far beyond yours. In combat, they’re flawless, beautiful in their movements as they spar. You’re happier to watch than join—Shoko thinks the same, often rolling her eyes every time the two of you are assigned to practice hauling cursed energy for the sake of fighting. It’s nice when you can get her alone, studying healing techniques and watching her reversed curse technique grow.

Sometimes, you don’t even know why you’re here. Shoko is talented and you aren’t. You’re useful enough for superficial wounds, but you can’t do a reversed cursed technique. You doubt you could even heal something of a higher caliber than what you’re used to. You fear the prospect of this revelation on a mission that you know Yaga will eventually send you on. 

“Do they ever fight over you?” Shoko asks over a cigarette.

“Wh-what?”

“You know,” she drawls, smiling. “Satoru’s such a brat. Suguru is more open when you’re around. They’ve gotta be possessive, right?”

You shrug. You don’t know the extent of what she knows, but you can assume from the boys’ behavior that it was written all over their faces. Satoru’s hand on your waist, Suguru’s point to tower over you. Unspoken proximity wars between them with you in the middle. 

“I don’t know about that. They’re overprotective for sure,” you admit, taking a slow drag of her cigarette when she offers. 

“Twigs! Not you, too!” Satoru bellows. “Don’t give my girl your cancer sticks, Ieiri!”

Shoko laughs at that, grinning with the cigarette in between her teeth as you fold your hands into your lap.

My girl.

Satoru hovers over you and holds out his hands. Curiously, you take it, which you regret immediately when he pulls your body and hauls you over his shoulder. You thrash a bit as he laughs until you’re stumbling onto the grass. When Suguru throws a staff in your direction, you catch it reflexively. 

“Ready?” 

You roll your eyes. You’d gotten better at sparring, though you still choose to hang back and concern yourself with areas of Shoko’s expertise. She had become a mentor to you despite being a peer. Meanwhile, the boys had been trying to get you to practice combat, thinking you would do well with a cursed weapon.

You remember the first time you had tried to fight, watching Satoru and Suguru wrestle in the grass shortly after. Their raspy grunts, the skin of their waists underneath ridden-up shirts. The memory makes you flush.

“Yes,” you sigh.

You focus on Satoru’s eyes, saturated like a lightning strike. You were rather well-versed in the language of his body – you think that your intuition often matched Satoru’s rather equally. He was still much taller and larger than you, but you exceeded in your efforts to dodge. He didn’t often bother with hand-to-hand combat much anyway, much more focused on perfecting his inherent techniques.

You gasp when he decides to close the distance between you. The touch of his fingers on your skin is a jolt to the senses as his legs sweep you when you’re too occupied with dodging. You hit the ground with a thud, groaning.

“Sorry, babe,” he chuckles, leaning down to take your hand. When he does, you pull him backward so that he tumbles.

“Hey!”

“Payback,” you shrug. You maintain a fighting stance once again, staff in hand. 

Suguru often took you more seriously, offering to teach you martial arts when Satoru was off on solo missions. You breathe heavily as Satoru takes his first swing, which you dodge by a hair. 

Focused, you move with the grace of a ballet dancer, halting his movements with your staff the way Suguru had taught you. When you kick a leg high in the air, Satoru catches you by the ankle just for you to fall again. This time, you’re sure you’re bruised. 

“There’s still time for you to give up,” he teases. 

You groan in irritation, rising to your feet and walking closer to him. He smiles, enjoying seeing you pissed off and breathing so hard. He’s so wrapped up in looking at you that his senses are hit with whiplash – your fist gets through his Infinity easily and socks him square on the jaw.

“You little–”

“Why didn’t you have your Infinity on?” you exasperate, but he’s already pushing you to the ground and struggling with you the way you used to when you were children.

“I’m soooo gonna get you for that–”

You end up kicking him again, this time in the ribs as he groans. When you pin his wrists above his head, he merely stares at you with wild eyes and heaving breaths. His face is red and cherubic, and when he squirms, you squeeze his waist in between your thighs.

You lean down close to his face, your breath tickling his ear.

“I win,” you whisper. You flick him on the forehead and he flinches. You wonder again why he’s letting you touch him like this. 

“Letting you pin me down isn’t me letting you win, sweetheart,” he rasps lowly, only for you to hear. He rolls his hips slightly and it makes your eyes widen, much to his satisfaction. You frown and crawl away from him just in time to hear Shoko beckoning you.

“Lab time!” she calls after you. Without a second look at Satoru, you follow her inside.

Satoru is lying on Suguru’s stomach, frowning because it isn’t as soft as yours. 

He’s also without entertainment since Suguru has been hogging his DS for the better part of an hour, which Satoru had only let him do because he claimed he wanted to take a nap. But, as per usual, he can’t sleep. He’s still roused from sparring with you, slightly sweaty still from the warmth and the mustiness of the dorm room, and his cock is getting hard again just from thinking about you on top of him. 

“Fuck,” Suguru swears under his breath, caught up in a game of Pokemon Emerald.

Satoru lifts his head to scoot his body higher, chin resting on Suguru’s forearm to peek at his progress. 

“You’re doing terribly.”

“I know that, thanks,” Suguru groans. “I have like, two backup Pokemon left and they’re both level 30.”

“Do you use the same technique with your curses?” Satoru teases. Suguru makes another agitated noise again in response.

“You should’ve brought your Game Cube from home.”

Satoru shrugs, sighing as he sits up. He snatches his DS out of Suguru’s hands, interrupting the boy’s protest with a wet kiss to the mouth. Suguru kisses back immediately, tongue peeking into Satoru’s mouth before he pulls away.

“You haven’t kissed me in months,” he chuckles. Satoru shrugs. 

“Maybe you haven’t kissed me in months.”

“I would’ve thought you’d count it as cheating.”

Satoru is quiet for a moment, rubbing Suguru’s jawline with his fingers gently. He’s been rather gluttonous lately, and he thinks Suguru is starting to catch on. He’s been clingier to the both of you, obnoxiously so, acting more of a nuisance to you specifically for the sake of attention. His heart is aflame whenever he sees you interact with Suguru in ways that are both good and bad, but he doesn’t prefer to dwell on it for very long before he nearly forces you to give him attention.

“Having withdrawals?”

“Huh?”

“She’ll be back soon,” Suguru laughs cruelly. “Whenever she’s gone for a bit, you act like you’re fucking dying.”

“No, I don’t,” Satoru frowns. But he knows he’s lying.

“Don’t mope. C’mere.”

Suguru sighs, seemingly out of pity. He grabs Satoru by the face and sticks his tongue in his mouth – a rough kiss out of spite, out of unbridled passion. He’d dreamt about Satoru and you for weeks, always sneaking glances. 

He’d considered taking both of you months before when you and Satoru and Shoko threw him an impromptu surprise birthday party despite his refusal. He had seen you tipsy, squirming in Satoru’s lap while Utahime set up karaoke on the television, and decided he’d let you come to him when you wanted to. You were still a shy thing even after New Year’s, never asking again for his touch.

Satoru groans, palming his dick over his slacks as he leans back. He could feel his cock leaking in his boxers already just from the roughness of Suguru’s knuckles grazing his skin. There was a manic buzz in his head, thrilled by the slight power imbalance he was allowing. 

Suguru hadn’t touched him since before he started seeing you, and even then, it was mostly rudimentary teenage lust. Jerking off to magazines together. Seeing how much they could take in their mouths before gagging like it was a competition.

“Fuck,” Satoru grunts, feeling Suguru’s tongue on his clavicle.

“You thinking about her?”

“Yeah,” he rasps.

Suguru chuckles darkly, biting harder at the bone. “She was so hot today. I taught her those moves, y’know.”

Satoru makes a mumbled nose, eyes fluttering shut as Suguru palms him. He unbuttons his slacks to reveal the snowy trail of hair above his pubic bone, Satoru’s cock flushed and weeping as Suguru holds it. 

“Want me to fuck you?”

“Use your mouth,” Satoru pants. He knots a fist in Suguru’s dark hair. “Want it like this.”

He hisses when he feels Suguru’s mouth. His jaw slackens at the feeling, gasping for air when Suguru hollows his cheeks to suck tightly. Satoru shoves him down further.

His body feels tight when Suguru motions a finger towards his hole, pausing to spit on his fingers beforehand. With two fingers stretching him open, Satoru pants and gasps. His thighs twitch, hips rolling upward into Suguru’s mouth like it was a cunt.

Your face flashes in Satoru’s mind and it makes his insides careen. Brain like pulped fruit. He opens his eyes to see Suguru’s, narrowed and golden and taunting. It’s similar to the way you look at him, sometimes.

The fist in Suguru’s hair tightens now, knuckles white. Satoru grunts brutishly, overwhelmed by the stimulation in his hole in tandem with Suguru’s tongue pressing on the underside of his cock. 

“Fuck, gonna cum–” 

Suguru moans, jaw aching only slightly. Satoru could feel his dick inside Suguru’s mouth, heat building up until he spills onto the boy’s tongue. His head falls back. Breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

“You need a better appetite. Shit tastes like battery acid.”

“Doesn’t all cum taste like that?” Satoru frowns. His hand is still in Suguru’s hair.

“You tell me.” Suguru kisses him, licking the inside of Satoru’s molars. His lips move against Satoru’s mouth slowly, listless so he can take himself. When he pulls away, Satoru wipes the slick off his mouth, plump and bitten.

“You’re exaggerating.”

May, 2009

The sky is oddly grey this afternoon despite the pleasant morning. Yamanashi prefecture is as beautiful as ever with cherry blossoms blooming, but as you approach the cursed site, you continue to feel a chill down your spine. 

It’s your first real mission. One that Yaga had at least approved you for after you had nailed your physical assessments, able to imbue enough cursed energy into a katana to swing around without slicing yourself. Still, you were meant to act as backup for Suguru, which Satoru hated. 

“Why don’t we just both go with her?” he had wailed to Yaga days before, to which Yaga grunted in dismissal. 

“You have a solo mission.”

“But–”

“That’ll be the end of it, Satoru.”

Admittedly, you do wish he was here. Suguru is a comforting presence, though, calmer in demeanor but much less talkative than what you’re used to. You walk with him through overgrown grass and lengthy vines. 

“What kind of curse are we supposed to find?” you question out loud. 

Suguru shrugs. “It’s difficult to tell exactly, but I’m assuming the cursed spirits roaming around here will be, er, women-shaped? Maybe. It should be Grade 2 at most."

“What do you mean, women? What happened here?”

“You don’t know? This place is super haunted.”

“So we’re ghost-hunting.”

“Ghost exorcising,” Suguru grins. “There used to be gold mines here in the 16th century owned by the Takeda Clan. They also ran brothels for the miners. After the Battle of Nagashino, the clan had to give up the land, but not before they killed all the prostitutes to keep them from spreading information about the gold mines.”

“H-how did they kill them?” 

“The miners had the women dance at a farewell party, then they hacked the vines that kept up the bridge they were on. They fell into the waterfall.”

“That’s horrible,” you frown. Foreboding swells in your chest. 

You can’t sense any cursed energy around you other than Suguru’s. You’re too busy ruminating to watch your step, accidentally tripping over a thick root. You fall forward into Suguru’s arms. 

“You okay?” he croons. His face is inches from yours and you forget how to breathe.

“Y-yes. Sorry.” As you untangle yourself from him, your body jolts. You gasp when you hear the hint of a wretched, bloodcurdling scream in the far distance that makes your blood run cold. It isn’t very loud, but it almost sounds muffled, like someone was screaming from another room.

“What? What is it?”

“Did you not hear that?” you whisper. 

Suguru frowns at you in confusion, his expression seemingly genuine. You blink, trying to shake off the horrible feeling in your body. 

“I think I just heard something. It sounded like a scream.”

Suguru waits, prompting you to elaborate. The forest seems darker now despite it being midday, the curl of the trees billowing in a way that feels uncanny. A girl-shaped forest. 

“Maybe we should split up.”

“Absolutely not,” Suguru protests, his mouth set in a firm line. You hold his hand in yours, stroking it gently with your thumb. 

“Suguru, you can’t expect to protect me the entire time. I need to learn how to handle things on my own–”

An inhuman gurgle rumbles from behind you. The curse looks similar to a reptile, yet human-like with webbed hands and sharp incisors slick with algae. The stench of mud is apparent in the air now. It drools green sludge before it bows.

You stand in shock, unsure of what to do as you lock eyes with Suguru. Warily, you draw your sword, and the curse’s eyes roll back in agitation as it lets out another gurgle. 

“Oh, shit–”

You dodge a projectile of slime, but it crawls towards you at a faster pace than you expect. A slice of your katana dismembers one of its arms, but it easily grows back. Within seconds, a giant curse rises from the ground and swallows it up, teeth mashing on gooey flesh in a way that makes you want to hurl. Suguru’s ringworm curse is dismissed once the riverbank is cleared.

“What was that about not needing me to protect you?” Suguru sneers.

“I still mean it,” you exasperate, heart hammering out of your chest. “You barely gave me time.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll let you have the next one, I swear.”

He smiles genuinely. Satoru must’ve gotten to him – he’s not nearly as neurotic as Satoru in that way, but he wouldn’t be able to stand it if you got hurt. It was less of a possessiveness thing and more of a selflessness thing. Suguru had always been the one to be reliable. He was also more perceptive than Satoru in the way that he could practically feel the tightness of the leash he held on you. 

If you were going to be something in the Jujutsu world, you wouldn’t be held back. Suguru thought you could be something ever since he saw you.

You continue to walk with him, knuckles brushing as the air turns thick. Suguru thinks that maybe you’re sulking in his periphery, so he pokes your cheek.

“Yes?”

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“Just thinking,” you mutter.

The katana feels heavy on your back. You had never thought of yourself as a particularly strong person, growing up to be obedient. A maid’s daughter. Hands a little rough from housework and the dirt of the Earth when you were wild, once. 

“Let me walk around in that little brain of yours,” Suguru murmurs, always charming.

You pause, swallowing. You realize you have never spoken your insecurities out loud. When you were on the brink of it, it would always be during petty arguments with Satoru, who had a way of shutting you down dismissively. He was always a bit of a control freak, even with you.

“Do you think I’m weak?” Your voice sounds almost frail.

“Of course not. I think you’re very talented, actually,” Suguru says. “Satoru and I– we just care a lot.”

“I’m not sure if talented would be the word. It’s not like he thinks so, either.”

“He does. He just doesn’t know how to express his feelings.”

There seems to be something lingering in his tone that gnaws at you. The way he sighs. You decide not to pry, attempting to steer the conversation away from Satoru altogether. 

You hear a wail again. Something in the shape of a girlish scream but only the echo of it. Suguru gives you that confused look at him and you aren’t sure if he’s just messing with you at this point. He touches your hand again and the motion makes you wince.

“What’s wrong?” He looks genuinely worried now as he looks at you, holding a hand to your jaw. That alone is mildly unnerving for some reason, even though you think that in any other environment, you’d welcome it. You place your hand over his palm.

“Do you really not hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That woman screaming!” you hiss. 

“Are you sure it isn’t some wild animal?”

You blink at him blankly.

“You don’t hear it.”

When he shakes his head, you hear it again. You begin to walk towards the source of it while Suguru stalks behind you, but you stop him. 

“Maybe I should handle this.”

He grimaces, clearly unhappy. You raise your brows, challenging him. Suguru wants to hold you back but he knows he shouldn’t. 

“Hey, another fucking– river monster could show up, and you’d be able to handle it. Maybe this is something that only I can see or hear. We’ll be too conspicuous with both of our cursed energy.”

He says your name with a hint of desperation and discipline, but you hold your gaze firmly. 

“Okay,” Suguru sighs. “But if anything goes wrong, just yell for me, okay?”

You nod. 

The tall grass tickles your legs as you move, which makes you thankful you decided to wear trousers instead of your usual skirt for the mission. Your hand grips the strap of your sword bag with anxiety. As you get closer, it’s as if the air is permeated with a smell that you can only describe as being in between sex and blood.

The scream you hear is louder now. You aren’t sure if it’s truly a hallucination, but it seems like the forest laughs back at you after. If you were a smarter person, perhaps you’d return to your partner. But you also assume that if you were to do that, you’d be a weaker person.

You walk over a wooden bridge that feels like it’s holding on by the barest thread. The creaking of the bridge beneath your weight adds to the unease that has settled in your gut. Every step forward feels like a gamble, a test of your bravery. The forest seems to close in around you, the trees whispering secrets you can't quite decipher. 

A scream rips through the air and this time, against your better judgment, you follow it.

It’s punctuated with sobs and whimpers, getting louder and louder as you walk along the path. Cursed energy flickers in the shape of a girl. When you get closer, you see her. 

A girl is sitting in a fetal position behind a tree, clutching her shoulder as she wails in agony. Her long black hair is matted and damp. She doesn’t seem to notice you yet, so you swiftly move to hide yourself between shrubbery to get a better look.

“P-p-please… help me…” she sobs. You choke up at the sight of her torn dress, hands and shoulder crimson with blood. She looks younger than you – no older than fifteen.

You grasp the strap of your sword bag tightly and cautiously as you walk towards her. Her eyes widen when she sees you. You aren’t sure if it’s a look of relief or fear.

“Hi there,” you say with a tremor in your voice. “What’s your name?”

“Akane,” the girl whimpers. Her face is pale with bruised lips.

“Akane. Are you lost? How did you get this injury?” You crouch down to meet her at eye level. 

“Th-there was a man… I was trying to run away from him… but I’m in t-too much pain to keep going,” she breathes. “Please help me.”

You furrow your brows. You’re surprised that there was anyone in this forest besides those grotesque cursed spirits considering how abandoned and desolate the place was. The girl must’ve run far. 

“Where are you from, Akane?”

“Tabayama.”

“That’s not too far from here,” you smile softly. “Let me heal you and my friend and I can get you back home, okay?”

You reach for her arm but she flinches and looks at you with unease. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “I’m a healer, see?”

Your cursed energy waxes and wanes within your palm like a luminous mist. You hover it over a superficial cut on your hand that you’d gotten from dealing with thorns earlier and the skin patches up like new. Akane watches in awe.

“I want to help you. Is it okay if I touch you?”

She nods her head apprehensively. You unwrap the saturated cloth from her shoulder, cringing at the sight of the gore and blood. You can’t quite envision the type of violence she’d just been through from the vagueness of her words, but you don’t want to make the poor girl explain in the midst of her trauma. 

It’s more effort than what you’re used to – the wound is so deep that you fear that you’ll overexert yourself. You’d spent enough time in the lab with Shoko to improve your technique, but this time, it seems as if everything you’re doing isn’t enough. The skin on the girl’s shoulder is healing very slowly, and when you think that her condition is improving, another area of her body seems to bleed out.

“Maybe I should get my friend to help. He could take us to a hospital.”

“He?”

You look up to see Akane’s eyes grow cold. Almost lifeless, as if she’s looking through you. You hear the visceral sound of a limb breaking, the squelch of her organs. It seems as though her face is transforming right in front of your eyes, but it feels like an illusion – the way her skin looks decayed, the way her teeth grow sharper. 

Akane – or what was Akane – cackles cruelly. Her cursed energy is overwhelming now, suffocating you. There’s a warbled cry that falls from her mouth.

“I’ll kill him.”

This is not a fucking Grade 2 curse.

You immediately get to your feet and swing your katana, but the curse blocks your attack easily. She’s also growing exponentially, no longer the size of a teenage girl and more like the river monster you’d seen earlier. She grabs you by the ankle, tripping you. A hack to the wrist with your katana makes the creature scream even more. You watch in horror as thick, black blood seeps out.

You yell Suguru’s name at the top of your lungs.

You see the Rainbow Dragon first, flying through the forest around you and the curse, but the nails on her other hand are strong enough to slice through the dragon’s hide. When you turn to lock eyes with Suguru, the curse lets out something in between a sob and a scream, shrill in your ears. 

It seems as though she forgets you entirely, running head-first towards Suguru. 

“I’ll… kill…. youuuuuuu!”

“No!” you screech, pulling her backward by the leg with all the strength you can muster. You slash the curse’s skin with your katana, making her wail, but she pins you down in retaliation with cuts to your arm from its sharp nails. 

You hiss at the pain. You notice that her hair has transformed into its own entity, tentacle-like and razor-sharp as it slices through one of Suguru’s hound-like curses. She directs her attention back at him and aims for his neck, but you hold down a bloody hand onto her back as your hand pulls one of her sharp hairs back. 

You cry out at the wound it makes in your hand, but your other stays pressed to the slimy flesh of her body. Your cursed energy ignites something unfamiliar in your body, something painful, but you imbue it into your touch with all you have. 

She’s screaming. Or maybe you are. You can’t tell anymore – your head is dulling from expending more cursed energy than you ever have. It’s all dissonant to you. A horrific cacophony. You feel blood drip from your nose. 

The curse’s flesh is rotting. As if the wounds she had when she appeared as a human were only rapidly progressing into decay, cells rupturing, body degenerating the harder you push. 

It’s like she turns to mush. The corpse of the curse is barely recognizable anymore, just a puddle of chunky purplish-black blood. 

You breathe heavily, looking up to see Suguru staring at you in shock. You try to give him a weak smile, but you don’t feel anything other than sick. Or maybe it’s numbness, at least for a few seconds as the forest is quiet again.

You double over and vomit. Your vision blacks out.

As a surprise to no one, Gojo Satoru is fucking livid. 

He’s about to open his mouth but stops himself when Suguru gives him a look of disdain. There’s no one to yell at, except maybe Yaga, because why the fuck would he put you on a mission that could potentially involve a Special Grade?

“She’s fine,” Suguru affirms. 

Satoru merely exhales through his nostrils, curling his hands into fists as he slumps down on the bench next to Suguru. He can’t help but envision your corpse, his brain reeling a horrific supercut of all the ways you could’ve been disfigured, maimed, bruised. Changed.

He realizes that the protectiveness over you he feels has turned into something ugly now that he knows you’re in the infirmary, something akin to fear, which is foreign to him. 

It sinks into him like teeth down to the marrow, parasitic. He thinks of a faceless curse that he wants to tear apart with his bare hands. Satoru had tried to get over the desire to keep you in a cage, to keep you so unbearably close to him out of his own selfishness, but the feeling came back. He doesn’t know where to keep it other than lodged in his chest like a bullet.

“Did you absorb it, Suguru? Because I might need you to summon it later so I can get my fucking hands on it myself,” Satoru says, his voice low and seething through gritted teeth.

“No,” Suguru sighs.

Satord nods dumbly. Silence ensues.

“She killed it herself.”

You have dreams while you’re passed out. The curse you killed transforms its face from its teenage girl form and into others. You see Shoko, Suguru, Satoru. Everyone you’ve ever known. And when the skin of its face starts to rot the same way it did when you used your technique on it, you end up staring at yourself. 

When you wake, it’s slow. The fluorescents in the infirmary don’t help. From outside of the room, you can hear hushed voices. 

When you attempt to lift your body off the bed, you see Shoko sleeping in a chair next to you. Your bones ache, your skin stinging with the ghost of a wound. The cut on your palm from being slashed by the curse is a scar now.

You drop your head again, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to rest more. It’s too fucking bright in this room. Your breathing stills when you hear the door creak open.

“For fuck’s sake,” a voice bristles. 

You hear another whispering Shoko’s name. Waking her, you assume.

“How is she doing?”

“She’s okay,” Shoko yawns. “Just sleeping. Her wounds were kind of deep, but I took care of it.”

A hand caresses your jaw gently, fingers stroking through your scalp. Your eyes blink open slowly to see Satoru grimacing above you. From the way the overhead light illuminates the back of his head, you think he almost looks like an angel. A makeshift halo shining on moonlit hair.

You notice the way he holds his fist tightly and the iciness of his gaze. It’s a fraction of rage, which makes you feel nauseous again. You’d seen that look on his face before, during the night of Shoko’s party. You wonder now, vaguely, what he looks like when he kills.

“Hey,” you mumble weakly.

“Hey,” he scoffs. “Wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”

“Satoru, let her be–”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt. You rise, wincing at the soreness of your muscles. “Um. I… killed the curse.”

“So I’ve been told,” Satoru deadpans. His jaw is tense, but his eyes soften. He looks up, flickering his gaze between Shoko and Suguru.

Shoko clears her throat. “She used her technique. The healing part of it is based on cell regeneration. Apparently, it can also be used… the opposite way. It must've been activated by adrenaline, and then it was too much. Passed out from exhaustion.”

“How is that possible?”

“Well, our technique is like a muscle, right? And she didn’t use hers very rigorously until now, so…”

“Right,” Satoru sighs, his voice clipped.

“I need a smoke,” Shoko rasps. “Do you need anything, baby?”

You smile weakly, shaking your head. 

You can’t help but feel guilt snaking its way into your body. Even though you had exorcised a curse, your first actual achievement in Jujutsu sorcery, the bloodshed you’d experienced feels fruitless. You don’t feel very powerful at all, only monstrous. 

It’s difficult to gauge what Satoru is thinking. He’s clearly upset about the fact that you got hurt, but you wonder if there’s more. If he resents you pulling a stunt like that and nearly killing yourself in the process—because what would you be if not his? Are you still his with bloodstained hands? Would he like you better now that you could prove to be strong?

It didn’t matter. He would always be stronger. 

You hate the tension in the air. You can’t bear it. Maybe they’ll disperse once you get on your feet. There wasn’t anything left to do with your treatment since Shoko had tired herself with your wounds. 

When you swing a leg over the cot and attempt to sit up straight, an invisible wall stops you. You glare at Satoru holding his hand out, palm outstretched inches away from your chest.

“No,” he snaps.

“Don’t do that,” you grumble. “I’m fine.”

He laughs but there’s no amusement in his tone. His eyes are cold again. Pools of ice.

“Right. You’re in fucking pristine shape.”

“Satoru,” Suguru warns.

“I– I can walk–”

“No,” Satoru repeats. “You’re hurt. Stop it.”

You look between Satoru’s hard gaze and Suguru’s frown and roll your eyes. You’re so tired, and overwhelmed with pain that transcends the physical kind. You can’t even put a name to it, the amount of emotions spilling out of you as you look at the two of them with mild desperation. You want to sleep for another twelve hours.

Irritation flares behind your face. You aren’t sure if you want to scream or cry for catharsis, but you stay quiet, trembling.

“I want to be in my bed,” you mutter.

Satoru lets out a breath as if he’s been holding it for a while. Gently, he touches the nape of your neck, Infinity down. Laces his fingers in your hair in a sort of compromise. He moves his arm underneath your back with the other under your knees and lifts you, kicking off the blankets.

You curl into him, head on his chest. It made it hard for Satoru to breathe, for some reason, like something was stealing the air from his lungs. He nods to Suguru as a voiceless confirmation, watching his cursed energy flare. I’ll take it from here.

When he gets you into your room, Satoru releases you, placing you gingerly on the floor. Part of him wants to shake you by the shoulders, have you slap him across the face for reasons unknown to him. Something, anything other than the despondence of your limp figure. He can’t stand it.

“Satoru,” you whisper. “I’m sorr–”

“Don’t,” he strains. “Do you even know why you’re apologizing? Or is it just second nature to you?”

You say nothing.

He strips off your uniform, torn and battered. Still reeking of copper blood, the stench all too familiar, but not on you. 

“I’m sorry for being mean. I was just worried,” he says. “I’m… proud of you.”

“Proud?” You look at him, dazed, as if this is the last thing you expect him to say.

He nods curtly, a sad smile on his face. “I always knew you had it in you.”

He picks you up again despite your futile protest, walking you to the attached bathroom. After turning on the faucet, he sits next to you, hand stroking your thigh gently in silence. He doesn’t look at you. He’s not sure if he can.

“C’mon. Up.” He taps your thigh once.

You’re still dizzy as you enter the bath, sighing at the warmth of the water. As you sink into the bath, a sense of relief washes over you, momentarily easing the tension in your body. A much-needed respite.

You feel Satoru trail his fingers around your collarbone, rising to feel your pulse. The rhythm seems to calm him as he soothes his palm over your shoulders and back. His touch is less urgent than it usually is. 

He squeezes shampoo in your hair and threads his fingers through it, scratching your scalp gently, untangling the mess of you. He saturates a washcloth with soap, rubbing small circles over your limbs, lifting you like you’re a doll. It was funny—he had never had to take care of anyone other than himself before, but at the moment, he’s indulged in the small hums of pleasure you make, reveling in your comfort. Your trust.

He likes taking care of you. It makes him feel like he has a sense of control. He doesn’t want to indulge too far into it, knowing it’ll smolder a nasty part of him in some way. But the steam of the hot water makes his cheeks ruddy, and when you open your eyes at the feeling of his hand on your jaw, he can’t help but want to keep you. 

Satoru turns your face toward him, cupping your chin as he leans in to kiss you. Your mouth opens like a flower blooming, ready for him like always. He tries not to be rough despite the moan you tease out of him. Your skin is soft after he bathes you. His hands know carnage, but they also know you.

You break apart, looking at each other for a few seconds before he kisses you again. He pecks your mouth, nose, and cheeks, leaving you to scrunch your nose by the end. Laughing, he rinses your hair.

“Feel better?” he asks lightly. You nod. 

“C’mon, baby. You’re gonna get all pruney in there.”

You’re perfectly capable of drying yourself off and putting on clothes, but Satoru seems eager to do it for you, so you stay limp in his arms. He’s being oddly affectionate as he babies you, which he never does. It’s usually the other way around.

With his hands on your waist, a dangerous thought flits through Satoru’s mind, but it dissipates when he fixes your hair to see you fresh-faced. You look young, innocent. Untouched by violence like he had known you before. 

He takes you to the bed, where, despite the size of it, he manages to slot his body next to yours so he can curl into you. Head on your chest to listen to the murmur of your heartbeat. 

You stay like this for a while, listening to each others’ breaths. You’re on the brink of sleep when you think you feel tears on your chest. Dampness on your cotton shirt, but only a little. Satoru exhales heavily, squeezing the meat of your side. You’re feeling a little too warm from the proximity but don’t have the heart to untangle yourself. You close your eyes.

“I love you.”

You aren’t sure if it’s a whisper in your dreams or not.

June, 2002

You both had matching bruises. Green and yellowish like snot.

The summer was changing you and Satoru in a way that held gravity. Satoru’s body was growing more and more, handsome like the beautiful child he’d been when you first met him, and you were a purgatory. Something girlish. Something ghostly.

Your mother had reprimanded you last week for coming back with a bloody knee, scolding you for rough play. The expiration on your youth seemed to be ticking from the way she chastised you about your shared misbehavior with Satoru – you were meant to grow into something polite and womanly.

Satoru had scoffed at the notion when you told him. He liked that you weren’t obsequious to him like everyone else in his life who treated him like a little prince. 

Unfortunately, you’d pave the road of your abjection all by yourself later on.

He still thought of you as the only person who understood him. He was your first friend, your only friend for a while, and you were his. You’d count stars with him. Catch fireflies and make wishes on them. Wear each other’s clothes before his growth spurt.

You’d clung to each other for years—it was difficult to tell which one of you was the parasite. Despite this, sometimes you think Satoru hates you. Sometimes he makes you cry, especially with how apathetic he can be. You blame his stoicism on his upbringing, but there are times that you feel like an afterthought, only exacerbated as he grows older and into something of worth.

At age twelve, it’s difficult for you to believe that you could be anything similar.

Your young ferocity gets minimized to meekness at school. There’s hair-pulling, harder than Satoru’s ever done to you. Stolen lunches. Spitballs to your back. Your face kissing pavement.

“What happened to you?” Satoru asks, narrowing his eyes at the sight of your split lip.

“I fell.”

He’s forceful when he drags you to him. He’s too tall for his age, towering over you with cold blue eyes staring down at you. You flinch when he touches your cheek with his hand.

“You’re lying,” he frowns.

“It’s fine,” you mumble.

He doesn’t pry after that, but he does force you to clean the cut with hydrogen peroxide, which is ironic considering how little he cares about his own cuts and bruises from his private training.

On the playground the next day, you’re targeted again, reaching desperately for your backpack that’s stolen straight from your hands. A kick to the shins has you scraping your palms when you try to ground yourself. Your hands sting as they bleed. You gasp when you feel another kick to the stomach, a cruel round of laughs taunting you.

But then, you hear them gasp. The sound of knuckles hitting bone. 

“Touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Satoru lifts you up by the hand and holds you by the shoulders. He picks the debris out of your hair.

“C’mon, let’s go home,” he sighs. He ignores the tears on your cheeks. He’ll wipe them away later along with the dried blood in your palms.

You’ll shower in his bathroom, mind blank under the hot water. He’ll see your silhouette through the peek in the door, and his stomach will lurch in a new way. He won’t be able to look at you for a week after. 

June, 2009

He comes to you at night a little drunk. You’re surprised Satoru didn’t warp this time – you’re used to seeing him in the blink of an eye right before you go to sleep just because he doesn’t want to sleep in his own room. Sleep is hardly a thing for him anyway – his insomnia has gotten a bit worse over the years, so he prefers to play on his Nintendo DS quietly as he strokes your hair. 

“You actually knocked?” 

He shrugs as he moves past you to flop his long body onto your twin bed. You look at him in question. He doesn’t answer, only gesturing for you. 

“Come over here,” he slurs.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not–” he hiccups, “at all.”

“Satoru,” you berate.

“Okay, maybe I went a little crazy with the Dirty Shirleys. Needed a drink after the stupid fucking mission Yaga sent us on.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking this much. It’s a weekday.”

He mocks you and settles a hand over your waist. You notice the calluses on his hands, ironic considering he can never let anything touch him. But you can.

He sits you on his lap, rubbing your shoulders carefully. “How’s your night been?”

“Shoko made me watch Audition,” you frown.

“Oh. I love that one.”

“Of course you do,” you sigh, “Nothing scares you.”

You aren’t wrong. After assassination attempts and countless wretched curses thrown Satoru’s way, nothing could make him flinch anymore. 

“You scare me,” he pouts, undressing himself. Always staking his claim on you in this way – he wouldn’t leave if you asked, and you know that you won’t.

“I highly doubt that.”

“You should yell at me more. It’s kind of a turn-on when you’re mad.”

You roll your eyes as you turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness if not for the light of the moon and the annoying brilliance of Satoru’s eyes. Even his hair seems to glow in the dark, head dipped in starlight. 

As you lay on your side, you feel Satoru’s palm undulating your bare thigh, tickling you under the hem of your t-shirt. He breathes in the scent of your neck.

“You have goosebumps,” he mumbles against your hair. “Gonna get nightmares from the movie?”

“No.”

“I’ll protect you,” he giggles boyishly, body overheating with want.

He sucks on your neck, hand parting the plushness of your thighs. You keen at the feeling of his teeth and tongue, gasping at his large fingers sliding your panties to the side to prod your cunt.

“This is all I could think about today.”

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice rough. “Kept thinking about all those sounds you make. Kept thinking about your face.”

“You shouldn’t—ah—let yourself get so distracted on your missions.”

He laughs. “Whatever. Killed all those fuckers in less than ten minutes anyway.”

Satoru keeps you pressed to his chest, his other hand grasping your breast. You feel his dick hardening behind you as he plays with your cunt, fingers knuckle-deep inside you. It didn’t take him long to find your spot the way he had you memorized. Your eyes shut tightly as you moan. Stars knock around your head.

He turns your face toward his and licks at the seam of your lips, tongue roughly licking the inside of your mouth. Your body tingles at the sound of his groans. He holds you by the chin, hand slipping around your throat to hold you in place so he can take in every detail of your face. 

You flush under his gaze, how his blown-out pupils outweighed the ocean blue. His pink mouth is parted and breathing out, zephyrs of maraschino cherry tickling your face.

You cry out when he pins you down, sinks his cock into your wetness. A wounded sound. It makes him shiver, makes him think about you on that dingy cot a month ago in the infirmary. Satoru was about ready to avenge you in any way he could, back then, even when you weren’t even half-dead. He’d reshape mountains. Drown the whole city of Tokyo with his bare hands.

In the way he holds you with bruising force, rutting into you like a devoted dog, he decides that he will be the only person to hurt you. The only one who should, knowing that even with his regrets and jagged ways of caring, no one else should lay a finger on you except him. He’d never hurt you in a violent way, unless his passion had counted. If devouring you counted, which it probably did, he would be content with his selfishness if it meant you were safe.

He needed to learn how to stop being so goddamn obsessive. He’d work on it later, maybe. He’d try not to speak curses into existence from the way he felt about you.

At the moment, he wants to make this good for you. Something like love.

“Made for me,” he whispers. “You were fucking made for me.”

“Yes,” you gasp.

He splits you open, spearing into your gut as he mumbles praises lowly into your ear. Your cunt pulses at the sound of his voice. He thrusts into you harshly, making blood rush to your head.

“You make me feel insane,” he grunts. “Used to think about you like this in high school. You were so fucking stubborn, refusing to give me attention.”

“You were a brat,” you flush. “Still are.”

“Your brat.”

“Mine,” you hum.

He groans at that. He’s so deep in you, drowning in syrupy velvet. He liked it when your body made him feel like this, like he was levitating. He wasn’t Gojo with you, always Satoru, always just a boy. He’d be content in this infinite spiral, swapping spit in between tongues and fucking into you until you cried. Your body is sacred. You made him forget himself when he needed to.

You like when he carves you out like this, your cunt a shrine for him at this point. You moan at the loss of him, watching through glassy eyes as he stumbles, fixing your body in between his knees.

“Wanna see my pretty girl’s face,” he groans. He’s annoyingly rough when he enters again, but you love it. He says your name like it’s a prayer.

Your head buzzes as he thrusts into you faster this time. His hair sticks to his face, tickling your cheek as he bites into your neck. Midnight vignettes blur your vision. 

“Wish you’d let me have you earlier,” he pants.

“Fucking me for the past year wasn’t enough?”

He shakes his head. “Wish I lost it to you. I was thinking about you during it, too.”

“Satoru,” you whine.

He means it. He was already blunt as could be, but alcohol made him over-honest. He liked that his candor made you blush.

“Would you have let me fuck you?” he teases. “When we were fifteen?”

“No. You were even stupider then.”

“So mean to me,” he chuckles, rolling his hips more aggressively. He revels in watching you squirm. “I would’ve worshipped you.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” you mumble, hiding your face in his chest. Nails cross-hatching the length of his back.

“I would’ve.” I will.

He kisses you open-mouthed like it’s a promise, pulling your hair in the process. The room was starting to get hot, that June humidity unforgiving, even at night. You’d have to open a window later. His body makes yours swelter, skin melting into skin like he’s trying to fuse the both of you into one thing. Like that Greek myth about two halves of a soul.

“Fuck, ‘m so close,” he whimpers. “You feel too good. Shit, I wanted to make you beg.”

“Sounds like you’re the one begging,” you exhale.

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Want you. You’re killing me. Fuck.”

He spills inside of you at the same time you cum, the heaviness of his low groans making your brain break. He’s still drunk, head swimming with every part of you. Above you, he sports that fallen angel look again, eyes gleaming with rapture. Prodigious as he was, he worships you instead, blessed with love bruises adorning his shoulder.

Satoru always liked to fuck you like it was the last day he’d ever have you. Tonight is no different. 

He exhales at the juncture of your neck, soothed by your hands in his hair. He lifts his body up, kissing your collarbone before he descends to your belly. You tremble at the feeling of his hand cupping your cunt.

“Satoru, I can’t–”

“Please?” he pouts, his breath tickling your clit. “Wanna taste you. All mixed up with me.”

Heat rises to your face violently. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

“You made such a mess,” you grumble.

“I’ll clean it up,” he grins. 

You let him. His sharp mouth never lets up, anyway.

“Wait! Sit on my face.”

“I can’t even feel my legs,” you pout.

He whines your name. “I had such a tough mission today, baby. You don’t think I deserve it?”

“Spoiled,” you mumble as you switch positions with him. Below you, he looks feral in the eyes, over-eager. Hungry like a wolf even after fucking you hard.

You gasp when he pulls you down, slotting your thighs on each side of his head while he starts to taste you. Licking up into your cunt, moaning at the taste of himself and the sweetness of you. He grips your ass, guiding your movements like the ebb and flow of a wave. You shake above him.

“Jesus.”

You feel him laugh, the vibrations tickling your clit. 

“Annoying slut,” you call him. He seems to enjoy it, thinking of it as praise considering how loud he groans. It almost embarrasses you.

That familiar feeling twinges in your core again. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he breathes. He latches his mouth on your clit and you think you might burst. Maybe crumble and fly away in the wind like a dandelion.

He continues to suck on you as you ride out your orgasm, your thighs trembling. When he gets up for air, his eyes are blown out wide, drunken smile on his face as if he’s peaking. Chemical reactions in his blood.

“So good for me,” he grins, kissing you on the mouth. Your heart flutters.

His gaze is still searing into you. Looking at him hurts, sometimes. 

Satoru presses into you, curling into your neck again. His heartbeat reverberates throughout the room. Tenderness floods the both of you, bodies slotted together like he wants to make a nest out of you. 

You’re exhausted with heavy lids. Satoru strokes your skin until you fall asleep, careful fingers soothing the places his mouth had been. Divine wounds. Like a devotional dog with teeth too sharp and love larger than his body, Satoru will be the only one to hurt you.