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exorcxqsm · 4 months ago

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Only a fool would bargain with the leader of Onychinus

Word Count: 5,8k

tags - WARNINGS: mdni, reader isn’t the lnds!mc, explicit sexual content, first time sex (not virginity loss) alterations to the main story, dr/y humping, thigh riding, b/egging, f!receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, creampies, squirting, dirty talking, use of pet names (kitten, sweetie, baby), violence, mentions of injuries.

Notes:Some of you may have already read my fic, The Price of Desire, in which the reader’s evol is mentioned. If you have, you’ll notice that the evol is the same in this story; however, there is no connection between the two. The concept of a reader with this ability was too appealing for me to resist, and since it was briefly mentioned in the previous fic, I decided to explore it further in this one. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! All likes and reblogs are appreciated. :3

Going on missions for Sylus was nothing new to you by now. You had spent years by his side since he first found you, a wild creature desperate for survival. Sometimes, you could still recall how close you had come to killing each other back then. You had been hunted by nearly every illegal underground group, all seeking your evol, and while on the run, you stumbled upon him like a scared and feral animal.

You had instinctively tried to attack him on sight; it was all you knew how to do, having fought for your freedom for as long as you could remember. You were no stranger to the danger he represented—the bloodthirsty leader of Onychinus. If other groups sought you as a mere experiment for your power, you could only imagine what Onychinus would do if they got their hands on you.

The moment you realized the person you had fallen headfirst into was the white-haired menace himself, you had attempted to fight him with everything you had. Sylus, of course, dodged every single one of your attacks effortlessly, but he was merely toying with you, for he possessed something you were unaware of; he could not be killed.

You had always been feared for your lethal evol—one touch from your bare fingers could send someone halfway to the other world. You were an extraordinary weapon, yet Sylus was not deterred; he was intrigued, even enamored by you.

With his energy manipulation, it was impossible for you to harm him, particularly when he thrived on high levels of adrenaline and excitement.

So, even as you forced yourself to keep trying to touch him, desperate to end the chaos, he reveled in your fierce determination. He loved witnessing the fire in your eyes as you believed you could take him down. When he finally grew tired of your little game and decided to put an end to it, he was blindsided by a fact he had overlooked.

While he had learned nearly everything there was to know about your evol and your abilities, he did not realize one important thing; you were immune to his mist.

No matter how fiercely the red and black tendrils curled around you, the moment your flesh made contact with them, they vanished into thin air.

Sylus had nearly salivated when he realized the challenge you presented. It had been far too long since he had encountered someone so intriguing, and he was determined that you wouldn’t walk out of that valley without becoming his.

That’s how you found yourself in his group now. Unlike everyone else, Sylus had made a promise that night: if you went home with him willingly, he would never force you to use your abilities for his research or personal gain. He needed you to choose to be there if you were going to help him.

His condition was simple: think of aiding him, and in return, you would gain his protection, a life free from fear and the constant need to run for your freedom.

You had taken a significant risk when you decided to go with him, but the white-haired man kept his word. It took you months to contemplate helping him instead of merely enjoying the luxury of his lifestyle, but he was patient. In time, you became not only his most valuable asset but also his right hand. Whenever he was out of town for deals or missions, you handled matters back home on his behalf.

Deep down, back then you knew he wasn’t just a kind-hearted man simply looking to help a struggling girl off the street. What he truly sought to protect was your evol because he believed you would eventually come around to assist him when he needed it most. So when you finally did, it was no surprise to him. He had merely given you a subtle nod and handed you the first files.

Now, two years later, you stood beside him at one of the many auctions taking place in the N109 Zone. He was after a particularly important and valuable protocore—one he had pursued for years—and today presented his chance to possess it.

Being next to him not only amplified his chances of leaving unscathed without extensive negotiation—after all, who was crazy enough to challenge the leader of Onychinus and his lethal right-hand woman?—but it also made it easier for him to operate, as you inevitably drew attention and distraction from other bidders.

His hand curled possessively around your waist as he proudly showcased you to the crowd. The dress you wore was as red as his eyes, hugging your every curve and accentuating your figure. Your hair was styled in a simple updo, revealing your back to the admiring gazes around you.

The less fabric you wore, the more difficult it was for his mist to approach you, and that was one thing you clung to. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you—he had come to not only depend on you but to trust you as well. Still, you maintained a small resistance, a defiance that you weren’t ready to surrender, no matter how much it irritated him.

Your gloves were snugly in place, allowing you to interact with him without draining his energy, thus enabling you to warn others of the imminent danger your touch posed. One slip of fabric, and whoever you touched would be lost forever.

“Mr. Sylus, I didn’t think you’d make it tonight,” a distant voice interrupted your thoughts, drawing both of your attention. A young man addressed your boss, his tone a mix of surprise and formality.

“Not happy to see me?” Sylus replied, his voice smooth as silk and sweet as honey, the smugness evident in his expression as he arched a white brow at the man.

“Of course, sir! I’m sorry, sir. I just thought you’d be out of town—”

“Change of plans." Sylus muttered, cutting him off with a tight smile before guiding you forward, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back.

As you walked toward the room where his meeting would take place, you tilted your face up to catch a glimpse of his profile. “He’s right, you know,” you began, curiosity lacing your words. “Weren’t you supposed to return next Tuesday?”

Sylus’s smirk deepened at your question. “If I had known you’d be so disappointed by my early arrival, sweetie, I would have made sure to come back yesterday.”

You scoffed at his remark, subtly flexing your back to shake his arm off, but his grip only tightened, keeping you glued to his side. “Be good now. You know how important tonight is,” He leaned in closer, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine as it tickled your ear. “Don’t screw this up.”

You couldn’t shake the uneasiness that crawled up your spine from the subtle threat lacing his tone. Sylus had been under immense pressure lately, but you refused to let him take it out on you.

“Sylus.”

He let out an impatient huff as you halted him just outside the door of your final destination, but he turned his body to face you fully, his expression a mix of frustration and intensity.

“I’m not your enemy,” you asserted, holding his gaze with unwavering resolve. “Many people work for you, but aside from Luke and Kieran, no one stands by your side with the same loyalty I do. I know you’ve been struggling, but I’m the last person you want against you right now.”

“Oh, is that right, kitten?” His brows furrowed, drawing closer until your chests nearly touched. To an outsider, you might have appeared to be lovers, but the tension between you was palpable and lethal. “And why is that? Because you’re oh-so-dangerous?”

His provoking smirk ignited your anger, and while you couldn’t fathom what was going through his mind, you chose to avoid making a scene. Stepping away from him, you tried to regain your composure. “They’re waiting for us.”

Before you could take another step toward the door, you were abruptly lifted off the ground, hanging upside down over Sylus’s shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered-yelled, frantically scanning for prying eyes. Your surprise deepened when, from the shadows, Luke and Kieran rushed toward you, effortlessly pulling you from Sylus’s grip. “What—”

“Take her to the car and wait for me,” Sylus commanded sharply, his tone clipped and leaving no room for negotiation. As you were carried away from him and the room, you felt a pang of frustration.

“Let me down!” you practically shouted as the twins put distance between you and the auction building.

“Sorry, ma’am, no can do.”

“Yeah, ma’am, we’re sorry, but no one bypasses the boss's orders!”

Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as the events unfolded, anger and frustration boiling within you at how Sylus had treated you. It was the first time since you started working for him that he had dismissed you so callously, and you couldn’t ignore the pang of hurt that coiled deep in your stomach.

You sat in the backseat of the car while the twins chatted and bantered in the front, oblivious to your turmoil. It felt surreal, as if they were living in a different world. Maybe you were overthinking it—after all, you hadn’t expected him to disregard you like that, especially during an auction so crucial to him. You were valuable to him, weren’t you? He needed you by his side, didn’t he?

Your thoughts spiraled until they were abruptly shattered by a loud bang. Before you could process the sound, part of the building in front of you exploded in a fiery eruption. Wait—was that the floor where the auction was being held? The very floor Sylus was on?

Without a second thought, you threw open the car door, sprinting toward the burning building despite the twins’ frantic shouts urging you to stop. Your mind was consumed by one thought: Sylus. He couldn’t be hurt. He couldn’t die. Foolish girl, not even his evol could save him from an explosion of that magnitude.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat clung to your skin as you pushed your limits, charging up the stairs to the floor where you had been just forty minutes earlier. You stumbled multiple times, falling to your knees, but the thought of Sylus pushed you onward.

When you finally reached the floor, it was a scene of devastation. The area lay in ruins, engulfed in smoke and chaos, with scattered survivors struggling to breathe amidst the wreckage. You focused your eyes and ears, straining to find Sylus amidst the agonizing cries of others. Time blurred as you searched, exhaustion creeping in and threatening to overwhelm you.

Just when you thought you might pass out, you spotted it—silver locks, now dirty and disheveled, just a few feet away. Panic surged through you as you fell to your knees and crawled with the last remnants of strength you had left. When you finally reached him, your heart stopped. You had never seen Sylus so vulnerable, so exposed.

You reached out to touch his face, your irritation intensifying at the realization that you still had to keep your gloves on, unable to feel his soft, dirt-streaked skin. With the last remnants of your strength, you shook him gently, your voice coming out hoarse as you tried to call his name.

Slowly, his eyes peeled open, and you let out the breath you had been holding. Unfortunately, you had inhaled too much smoke, resulting in a violent cough that wracked your body.

Clutching your chest, you hunched over, trying to cough out the smoke while moving away from him. Just then, you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you down to him. You attempted to focus on his face, searching for any injuries, but your eyes were tearing up, and your vision was blurred from the smoke-filled atmosphere.

Just as you thought you might lose consciousness, his voice broke through, shaky and hoarse but still as sharp as a knife. “What are you doing in here, kitten?” His eyes were half-lidded, and he groaned as he struggled to sit up. “Didn’t I tell you to wait for me outside?”

You tried to help him rise, but his heavy body only dragged you down, sending you sprawling onto the floor. As he noticed your condition, his eyes sharpened with concern, and his features turned serious. He began removing his coat, which was now dirty and full of holes.

“Sylus—you need to get out of here,” you urged, trying to push him away as he attempted to cover you completely with his coat.

“Don’t talk right now, sweetie.” His movements were urgent, almost desperate, as he made sure no part of your upper body was exposed. Your hands were now firmly pinned to your torso beneath his coat. “And don’t fight me.”

His fingers came to your face, squeezing gently until your lips formed a pout and your attention was solely on him. “Stubborn little kitten,” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and affection.

Just before you slipped into unconsciousness, you felt the tendrils of his red-black mist enveloping you, pushing through your evol’s resistance and carrying you away from the chaos.

When you finally opened your eyes, it took a moment for your surroundings to come into focus. The unmistakable scent of Sylus’s mattress enveloped you, grounding you in reality. You were back at the mansion.

Your limbs felt heavy, and a dull ache throbbed in your head. Every part of your body screamed for you to stay in bed, to drift back into sleep and forget everything that had happened before you lost consciousness. But your mind was fixated on one thing: Sylus.

With a groan, you attempted to sit up, quickly glancing over your body. To your relief, you realized you were freshly cleaned and dressed in one of your nightgowns, with no significant injuries aside from a few scratches on your skin.

You took a moment to steady yourself, ensuring your vision wouldn’t fade to black before you attempted to walk across the room toward the door. Sylus’s office was just down the hallway, and as you stepped outside, you could faintly hear Luke and Kieran’s voices drifting from inside. You paused, heart pounding, and when you heard Sylus’s gruff tone, a wave of relief washed over you. He was okay.

After a brief moment, you knocked once before turning the doorknob and peeking through the small opening. Sylus’s gaze met yours immediately, and the twins turned to regard you with their rare smiles. It wasn’t often they dropped their masks, even in the mansion, but now their boyish features shone through. Their red hair was pulled back into matching messy ponytails, and a hint of blush colored their cheeks as they took in your appearance in the gown.

Sylus coughed discreetly, and the twins exchanged glances before standing up to give you two some privacy.

As they made their way to the door, Kieran paused to ruffle your hair playfully, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “You gave us a scare there, little crow.”

You regarded both twins with a small, apologetic smile before turning your full attention to the white-haired man seated behind his desk. He still wore his torn shirt, which left his muscular frame fully exposed. With a languid movement, he rolled his chair away from the desk and beckoned you with a finger.

Taking slow, deliberate steps toward him, you felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over you as his intense gaze roamed over your form. Despite the butterflies in your stomach, you approached and stood before him, his legs slightly apart, causing your knees to brush against the inside of his thighs as he looked up at you.

Your eyes fell to his toned chest, now marred with scratches and bruises—evidence the damage inflicted, perhaps a sign that he was running low on evol energy and unable to heal completely.

“Are you okay?” Your voice emerged as a barely audible whisper, still tinged with hoarseness. You clasped your hands behind your back, fidgeting awkwardly.

You weren’t quite sure what had come over you; you had never before found yourself in a situation where you needed to actively express your concern for Sylus until tonight, and you hoped he wouldn’t recall too much of what had transpired in that building.

“Worried, kitten?” he asked, a small smirk curling at the corners of his lips as his gaze swept over your body. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch you, yet he seemed equally torn, grappling with the worry that had gripped him when you had passed out in his arms.

You sniffled softly, your eyes darting anywhere but to him, your body tense and rigid as if your bones were locking into place. Instead of answering his question, you opted to redirect the conversation. “Do we know what caused the explosion?”

His expression was unreadable, and you noticed his jaw tick slightly as he processed your words. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, raising his hand to brush his knuckles gently across your arm. A shiver coursed through you at the contact, and you could see the corners of his lips curl slightly at your reaction. This time, he didn’t bother to hide himself from you.

“I did.”

“What?” Your voice came out louder than intended, earning a deep, rumbling chuckle from Sylus. He relaxed further into his chair, locking his carmine eyes onto yours with an intensity that sent your heart racing.

“What are you talking about, Sylus? When I came in there…” It was becoming increasingly difficult to mask the emotion in your voice. “When I came in, you had fainted. What would have happened to you if I hadn’t found you in time?”

Amusement danced freely in his eyes at your small outburst. You truly were exquisite in your concern. “You underestimate me too much, sweetie.”

“You’re the one underestimating your enemies, Sylus!” You raised your voice, your hands gesturing in disbelief. “Just because you’re the leader of Onychinus doesn’t mean they can’t get to you if you’re unconscious.”

“Burnt men can’t walk, kitten.”

A small gasp escaped your lips at the speed and bluntness of his response. His smugness only fueled your anger at his reckless behavior. Leaning down, you gripped the arms of his chair, effectively caging him in. You were about to respond when you suddenly realized the position you had put yourself in. It gave him a full view of your breasts, the fabric of your nightgown flowing away from your skin and leaving little to the imagination.

Your ears and cheeks burned a deep crimson as you tried to pull away just as quickly as you'd leaned down. However, Sylus’s arm had already wrapped around your waist, anchoring you in place and pulling you impossibly closer. Your breath hitched when you noticed the way his pupils had dilated, his lips parting slightly as he fixated on your slowly hardening nipples.

“Sylus…” Your voice was barely a whisper now, heat pooling in your core under his intense gaze.

Finally, Sylus’s eyes met yours, and he began to stroke your back slowly, his tone low as if he feared shattering the delicate bubble that enveloped you both. “The explosion; It was my plan all along. Why else would I want you out and away from the building, sweetie?”

A frown crossed your face at his admission. Despite your initial shock, your body grew more compliant under his gentle strokes as he pulled you in, guiding you to straddle his thigh. His red irises darkened just a bit when your pulsing core made contact with his jeans and you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks at the realization that he could probably feel just how wet you were.

Yet, he continued speaking, his voice smooth and steady. “Tonight had no other way of going. It was necessary and inevitable.”

“But why?” Your eyes had softened since you’d first entered his room, and you found yourself relaxing more beneath his touch as he explained the events of the night.

“Because, kitten, tonight’s transaction was off the table the moment it was proposed by the other side, a few days back when I was still away."

By now, confusion began to cloud your understanding of Sylus’s motives. “But…” Your gaze drifted to his desk, where numerous files lay scattered. “Is this why you came back earlier? Tonight’s transaction was for that protocore you needed, Sylus. I thought nothing could screw this up for you. Weren’t you after it for years?”

Sylus let out a small scoff, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied your face intently. “You never asked me what the price of that protocore was, kitten.”

Curiosity piqued, you looked up at him again, instinctively leaning closer. Your breasts brushed against his chest, heightening the tension between you as if his answer were a secret he needed to share. “And what was the price?”

“You.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and a dark cloud crossed his features as he spoke. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, causing you to squirm on his thigh, which elicited a low grunt from him.

Your emotions were a chaotic mess, thoughts swirling together and leaving you breathless as you tried to process what he was implying. “So what you’re saying is…”

“The deal was off the table the moment they thought you were for sale.” Sylus’s leg bounced suddenly, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips. Your hands instinctively flew out to clutch the fabric of his open shirt for stability. “I came back because I had to send a message.”

His voice dripped with malice as he continued to move his leg, sending shockwaves of sensation through your core as it ground against his thigh.

The pleasure mixed with confusion made you feel light-headed; even if you wanted to resist, your body had already betrayed you. There was no stopping your hips from chasing the friction, no way to quell the whimpers that escaped your lips. Sylus’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of your nightgown at the sound.

As you continued to grind against him, he spoke with a dark intensity. “They had to know, kitten; Nobody lives to say they tried to bargain with what belongs to me.”

“I—I don’t belong to you,” you breathed out, unsure whether you were trying to lie to him or to yourself.

“Is this why you’re drenching my thigh, sweetie?” As if to emphasize his point, he bounced his knee again, causing it to press against your sensitive nerves with a force that made you moan involuntarily, your head falling to rest on his shoulder.

“You poor thing,” he cooed in your ear, his hand sliding to your lower back, urging you to grind down against him.

“Tonight—you put yourself in danger, Sylus.” You struggled to form coherent thoughts as you chased your orgasm on his thigh, your mind slowly turning to mush. “That was so stupid, even for you.” You finished your sentence with a moan, and Sylus groaned, instinctively moving his hips upward, his own hard-on seeking friction.

“Were you worried about me, kitten?” He dipped his head to your neck, his lips leaving open-mouthed kisses as he awaited your response, which never came. Sensing your hesitation to voice your concern, his hand slipped between your bodies, his fingertip pressing onto your throbbing clit, making you cry out. “Answer me.”

“I—yes. Yes, I was s'worried.” Your head fell back in bliss, granting him access to suck and nibble on your throat as your hips moved faster and harder. The tight coil in your belly was only a few movements away from bursting. “I thought I’d—”

“Go on.” Sylus urged, his fingers dancing over your clit as he bounced his knee in sync with your movements, relishing the way you were making a mess on him, your whole body heating under his touch.

“I thought I’d lost you.” The words escaped your lips just as your orgasm washed over you, making your vision go black and your entire body shake with its intensity. Sylus’s arms wrapped around you, caging you against his chest as he let you ride it out, offering the small comfort you sought after your confession.

When you finally came down from your high, you were breathless, panting, and a few tears had escaped your eyes. But he was there, holding you gently and running his fingers through your hair. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, sweetie.”

You pushed your head off his chest, your eyes meeting his soft red ones. Without thinking clearly, you reached out to cradle his face. The moment your fingertips made contact with his skin, his whole body visibly flinched, and just like his heartbeat, it felt like time had stopped.

Horrified and regretful, you realized you had let your emotions get the best of you and forgotten about your evol. You stood up from his lap, pressing your hands tightly against your chest, the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Just a few seconds. Just a few seconds, and he’ll wake up, like he always does, right? Doubts gnawed at you; he was so weak after tonight, but his evol would heal him. It had to.

Just when you were about to scream for help, Sylus’s chest began to rise and fall again. His eyes fluttered open, and relief flooded your entire being. Your shoulders slumped, and your body shook, even though he was alright. How could you have been so careless?

“Sweetie.” His voice was soft as he stood from his chair, towering over you. “Look at me.”

You tilted your head up hesitantly, your regrets gnawing at you for what you had just done. You tried to open your mouth to apologize, but no words came out; instead, his lips found yours, silencing any sound you might have made. He threaded his fingers through your hair, pulling gently to angle your head to the side and deepen the kiss until you thought you might faint from lack of breath.

This time, you made sure to keep your hands glued to your sides, not daring to touch him again. When he finally pulled away, you were both panting. He rested his forehead against yours and moved his hand to the back pocket of his pants, retrieving something.

You tilted your head to watch him unfold two pieces of leather gloves. He carefully took your wrist, drawing it toward him before placing the glove on your hand, then moved to the other to do the same. It was a temporary solution, one that frustrated you to no end, but you wouldn’t jeopardize his life just for a touch of his soft skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your thoughts crashing over you like a tsunami of negativity at the prospect of harming him. Your frustration only fueled your desperation, and you found yourself clawing at the remnants of his shirt, trying to pull him closer. “I need you, please, Sylus, ’m so sorry.”

Sylus groaned as he felt you tugging him nearer, his own hands finding refuge on your body, touching and caressing anywhere he could reach. “Are you sure, kitten? Once we start, I don’t know if I can hold back.” His voice was low and controlled, while your legs trembled with desire and need.

“Then don’t hold back. Give me everything you have. I can take it, Sylus.” You pressed kisses all over his exposed chest, making him gasp and thin his patience. In one swift motion, you found yourself lifted off the floor, your body cradled in one of his arms as he carried you toward his desk.

“You really know how to bring a man to his knees, sweetie.” He placed you gently on top of the desk, taking his position between your legs. Your lips connected again as his hands deftly worked to rid you of your clothes.

Once you were bare before him, he stepped back, his gaze roaming over your body like a starving man taking in a feast. “Breathtaking.”

He fell to his knees in front of you, throwing your legs over his shoulders with a force that sent you backward, your elbows bracing against the desk for balance. He was too impatient to tease; he dived right in, his tongue lapping at your folds with urgent fervor.

Your back arched immediately, moans and whimpers spilling from your lips as he worked his mouth on your cunt, devouring you as if you were his last meal. Your legs tightened around his head, the pleasure overwhelming, which only made him groan and feast on you harder.

His tongue plunged into your tight hole, sending shockwaves of sensation coursing through your body. You thought you could hold on a little longer, but when his large hand spread across your tummy, pressing down, you exploded in his mouth. Your vision went white as you drenched him, your thighs shaking violently around his head.

The realization of what you had done hit you when he pulled away, his chin and exposed chest glistening with droplets of your release. You shot your gloved hand to cover your mouth, your legs instinctively closing in embarrassment.

Yet, he looked even more exhilarated, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them apart as he positioned himself between them, his lips finding yours once more. “You’re going to do this again. And this time, you’re going to do it on my cock.”

He pushed you back, a firm hand on your chest as you lay spread out on top of his desk. Your eyes focused on his hands as they deftly undid his pants, pushing them down along with his briefs. The moment you saw his girthy cock—veiny and the tip angry and red for you—your mouth went dry.

You craved to satisfy him as he had satisfied you, but when you tried to sit up, his hand pressed you back down against the desk.

“Not tonight, sweetie. Right now, I just need to be inside you.”

Even though he spoke, he made no move to get on you, waiting for your consent first. You nodded, your eyes clouded with lust.

“Use your words, kitten. I need to hear you.” He was pumping his cock with his hand, his fingers barely wrapping around it. Standing before you in all his naked glory, he resembled a Greek statue, and your chest tightened at how wickedly beautiful he looked.

“Yes. Please, Sy, need you inside me.” Your voice came out breathless, and that was all the confirmation he needed. He wrapped an arm around your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the desk and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder to spread you open exactly as he desired.

He pushed the tip in at first, making you clench around him instinctively, as if trying to suck him deeper. An unsteady breath escaped him, and his body stuttered momentarily. You were killing him in the sweetest way. “So goddamn tight.”

Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as he pushed further inside you, his grip on your thigh tightening the moment he was fully buried in you, his pelvis pressing against yours. You could feel him all the way up into your stomach, and your legs began to shake, even though he remained still.

His breathing had turned erratic, and the moment your hips squirmed forward, his other hand came down to keep you in place. “Shit, baby, don’t move. Give me a moment.”

You were a whimpering mess, sweat beading on your forehead from the anticipation. But the instant he started moving, your whole body unlocked, turning to pudding under his thrusts. He began with a slow, deliberate pace, his lips parting as small grunts escaped him, each thrust igniting the fire building within you.

The more you clenched down on his cock, the faster he moved, until the desk scraped against the marble floor. “Fuck, kitten. You’re squeezing me so tightly.” His voice was thick with lust, and the sound of skin slapping against skin only intensified the fire burning deep in your core. “Do you love my cock that much?”

Your mind had turned to mush, thoughts consumed by how he stretched you and filled you to the brim. You nodded uncontrollably, crying out every time his cock brushed against your sweet spot. “Yes! I love it so much, Sy.”

“Good girl.” Sylus’s thrusts quickened as he heard your pretty sounds, the way your walls sucked him in making his thighs tremble slightly as he felt his release drawing near. “Such a good girl, so cock-hungry for me.”

“Ah— fuck.” Stars began to form behind your eyelids, your whole body rocking on the desk. If it weren’t for Sylus’s hands gripping your thighs, you would have slid right off and ended up on the floor from his relentless force. The desk shook violently from his pounding, and you were certain the whole house could hear you.

Sylus’s hand reached for your face, his thumb brushing against your lower lip before slipping past it to press down on your tongue, making you clench around his cock instinctively. “That’s it, sweetie,” he breathed, his eyes closing and his head tilting back in pleasure as your cunt hugged him tightly. “Give it to me; I can feel how close you are.”

You were indeed on the brink, your whole body burning and trembling under Sylus’s powerful thrusts. But what sent you over the edge was a sudden knock on the door, followed by Luke’s voice calling out to see if everything was alright.

The moment you realized you had been caught, and Luke could turn the doorknob at any second to find you spread for Sylus, his cock pressing against your cervix, you exploded. Your loud moans were partly muffled by the white-haired man's finger in your mouth. The pressure you applied around his cock as you climaxed made Sylus falter, his own orgasm crashing over him with a force he hadn’t anticipated.

His hot seed coated your walls, filling you to the brim and spilling out of you, trickling down your thighs as he continued to thrust, ensuring every last drop found its way inside. You were a crying, spent mess on his desk, while he tried to catch his breath, slowly lowering your leg back down from his shoulder.

Luke was long gone from outside the door, having heard enough to realize what was happening between you and Sylus.

You could only look up at him with a small shared chuckle before he leaned down to kiss your lips, his newfound gentleness contrasting sharply with the intensity of the moment. “I believe they received a lesson about eavesdropping now,” he murmured, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

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waywardmaslow · 2 months ago

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The Epic Codependency of Sam and Dean Winchester

• Dean went and got Sam from Stanford not because he needed Sam’s help finding John but simply because he wanted Sam with him 1.01

• Dean threw himself off a bridge just because that’s what Sam appeared to be doing 1.01

• Sam knew immediately when Dean was really a shifter 1.06

• “We accept homeowners of any race, religion, color… or sexuality.” -Larry and Lynda @ Sam & Dean 1.08

• Sam felt no guilt over someone having to die in order for Dean’s life to be saved 1.12

• “A king or two queens?” -Michael “Two queens.” -Dean “Yeah, I’ll bet.” -Michael 1.18

• Dean no longer wanted to hunt down the thing that killed Mary if it meant Sam dying 1.21

• Dean wasted one of the 3 remaining bullets for the colt on a low-level demon who was attacking Sam 1.22

• Sam blindly trusts Dean when he says John is possessed 1.22

• Sam and Dean coming up with identical cover stories and coming to the same conclusion re: “Dana Schulps” clue while separated during a hunt 2.07

• Dean gave Baby to a stranger and locked himself in with a Croatoan-infected Sam, ready to kill Sam then himself once Sam went rabid(or let rabid!Sam infect him too so they’d be monsters together) 2.09

• “So, uh, ..king-sized bed?” -Susan “No no, we’re uh.. 2 singles. We’re just brothers.” -Sam 2.11

• “Bonny to your Clyde” -Hendrickson @ Dean about Sam 2.12

• Dean was willing to cover up a murder Sam may have committed 2.14

• “You two are bickering like an old married couple.” -Bobby @ Sam & Dean 2.15

• Dean’s current relationship with Sam was more important to him than the normal life he could’ve had if Mary never died 2.20

• Dean cared more about Sam going to law school and marrying Jess than he did about any of what he had purely for himself(his job and gf) in his Djinn fantasy 2.20

• When Lily opened up to Sam about accidentally killing her girlfriend, Sam empathized with her by bringing up how Dean might be dead(for all he knew) instead of bringing up Jessica’s death(which he canonically blamed himself for) 2.21

• “Something big’s going down, Dean. End-of-the-world big.” -Bobby “Well then, let it end!” -Dean after Sam died 2.22

• Dean sold his soul to bring Sam back from the dead (which lead to him breaking the first seal kicking off the apocalypse) 2.22

• Ruby used Sam’s fear of losing Dean then grief after his death to manipulate him 3.02/3.16/4.09

• Sam was willing to bleed an innocent human dry in order to summon the trickster to bring Dean back 3.11

• Sam was willing to become an organ-harvesting immortal to keep Dean from dying and going to hell 3.15

• “Whatever the magic pill is, I’ll take it too!” -Sam “What is this, Sid and Nancy?” -Dean 3.15

• “Sammy, all I’m saying is you’re my weak spot. You are. And I’m yours.” -Dean 3.16

• Sam tried to open the gate to hell (risking letting more demons into the world) to save Dean 4.01

• Sam tried to sell his soul multiple times to get Dean back from hell 4.01/4.09

• “Are you two like…together?” -Ruby 4.01

• “You don’t need me. You and Ruby go hunt demons.” -Dean being more jealous of Ruby than suspicious 4.04

• Dean willingly handed Anna over to the angels who wanted to kill her because they threatened to send Sam to hell if he didn’t 4.10

• Dean’s siren was an idealized version of Sam 4.14

• Sam consumed more demon blood than normal to kill Alistair and save Dean (it’s likely that this was the turning point when Sam became addicted) 4.16

• Dean knows Sam’s habits so well that he’s able to track him down even when Sam’s trying to do the opposite of what he thinks Dean would expect him to do 4.21

• Sam hunted down Lilith to avenge Dean (which lead to breaking the final seal releasing Lucifer) 4.09/4.22

• “Whatever we have between us, love, family, whatever it is..” -Dean to Sam 5.04

• future!Dean was willing to sacrifice all his friends (including Cass) to avenge Sam 5.04

• Dean prevented the endverse future simply by reconnecting with Sam 5.04

• “We’re all we’ve got. More than that, we keep each other human.” -Dean to Sam 5.04

• “The relationship that you have with your brother seems dangerously codependent.” -Dr. Fuller to Dean 5.11

• Sam and Dean are soulmates with a shared heaven 5.16

• “Sam and Dean are psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other” -Zachariah 5.18

• Dean decided against saying yes to Michael because he didn’t want to let Sam down 5.18

• Dean prioritized helping Sam over Adam in the beautiful room and it led to Michael taking Adam as his vessel 5.18

• Dean was ready to die with Sam/let Lucifer beat him to death if Sam couldn’t regain control of his body 5.22

• Sam’s love for Dean gave him the strength to overcome Lucifer 5.22

• “Dean didn't want Cas to save him. Every part of him, every fiber he's got, wants to die, or find a way to bring Sam back.” -Chuck voiceover 5.22

• Having a normal apple-pie life means nothing to Dean if Sam isn’t alive to be part of it. -> “I wanted my brother! Alive!” -Dean / “Had I shown up, Dean, you would have just run off(away from Lisa and Ben).” -Sam 6.01

• “That woman and that kid; I only went to them because you asked me too!” & “I showed up on their doorstep half out of my head with grief. God knows why they even let me in. I drank too much. I had nightmares. I looked everywhere. I collected hundreds of books, trying to find anything to bust you out.” -Dean to Sam 6.01

• Dean chose hunting full-time with Sam over staying with Lisa and Ben 6.02

• “The minute Sam walked through that door, I knew. It was over. You two have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, crazy thing I’ve ever seen.” -Lisa about Dean and Sam 6.06

• “Mallory to your Micky” -Veritas to Sam about Dean 6.06

• Dean died to make a deal with Death to save Sam’s soul from the cage and in doing so chose Sam over Adam 6.11

• Sam took on his cage memories so Dean wouldn’t be left alone 6.22

• Dean became Sam’s stone number 1 when he was having trouble telling what was real 7.02

• Sam and Dean each quickly recognized each others leviathan doppelgängers 7.06

• Sam’s grief over losing Dean is paralleled to Amelia’s grief over losing her husband, both believe their loved one is dead, both get their loved one back. s8 Flashbacks

• “Is it just me or are you getting a workplace-romance vibe from those two?” -Michael & “Dude, they just sat and talked about how they have been apart for a year. You were probably right about that whole office-romance thing.” -Brian about Sam and Dean 8.04

• Sam chooses Dean over Amelia 8.10

• Dean chooses to take on the 3 trials mainly because he doesn’t want Sam to do it and risk his life, he wants Sam to reap the benefits of a demon free world 8.14

• Dean’s perfect ending is simply for Sam to get out of hunting and lead a normal apple-pie life till he’s old and grey 8.14

• “Cass, you got your ears on? Listen, you know I am not one for praying, 'cause in my book it's... it's the same as begging. But this is about Sam, so I need you to hear me.” -Dean 8.16

• Dean killed Benny so Sam could be saved from Purgatory 8.19

• “You two fight like an old married couple.” Charlie to Sam & Dean 8.20

• Dean chose a world with demons over a demon-free world without Sam 8.23

• “You know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It’s how many times I’ve let you down. I can’t do that again.” -Sam to Dean 8.23

• “Don’t you dare think that there’s anything past or present that I would put in front of you.” -Dean to Sam 8.23

• Dean violated Sam’s trust and autonomy via tricking him into an Angel possession to save his life 9.01

• “There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you!” -Dean to Sam 9.01

• Dean kicked human!Cass -who was being hunted by angels- out of the bunker rendering him homeless so his mere presence wouldn’t drive away the Angel keeping Sam alive 9.03

• Young!Dean gave up a chance at a normal life so he could continue being there for Sam 9.07

• Dean gave Crowley permission to use one of the brothers’ code words to warn Sam about Gadreel 9.10

• Dean didn’t regret letting an Angel into Sam, even though it had resulted in Kevin being killed 9.13

• Sam could break through the MOC hold on Dean like Collette was able to do for Cain 9.16/9.21/10.23

• “You’re lying to Sam like he’s your wife.” - Crowley 9.17

• Sam tricked a man into selling his soul so he could torture the demon for info on where demon!Dean was 10.02/10.03

• “Right now I’m doing all I can not to come over there and rip your throat out…with my teeth.” -Demon!Dean to Sam 10.02

• “What did Sam say? He wanna divorce?” -Dean 10.03

• “I tried to kill him, Cass.” -Dean “It would take a lot more than trying to kill your brother with a hammer to make Sam want to walk away.” -Cass 10.03

• “Homosexual murderers!” -Bev “Like Leopold and Loeb!” -Hetty 10.06

• “Then would come the murder you'd never survive, the one that would finally turn you into as much of a savage as it did me. Your brother, Sam.” -Cain to Dean 10.14

• Sam was willing to bleed himself to death to unlock the Werther Box to get the codex so a cure for Dean could be found in the Book of the Damned 10.19

• Death wanted Sam to be killed because he knew Sam would never stop looking for a way to free Dean from the MOC regardless of the consequences 10.23

• Sam was willing to let Dean kill him so Death would send Dean somewhere he wouldn’t be a danger to anyone due to the MOC 10.23

• Dean killed Death because he couldn’t go through with killing Sam and Death had threatened to do it if he couldn’t 10.23

• Sam’s efforts to get the MOC off Dean result in the Darkness being released 10.23

• “I unleashed a force on this world that could destroy it to save you. And I’d do it again, in a second I’d do it again.” -Sam to Dean 11.01

• Dean: “Where’s Sam?” Crowley: “Don’t worry about Sam.” Dean: “I’m sorry; have you met me?” 11.10

• Dean chose comforting/looking after Sam over helping Cass fight Lucifer in the cage 11.10

• Dean saw a manifestation of dead!Sam(part of his soul in distress) in the soul-eater’s nest 11.16

• Dean killed himself so he could bargain with a reaper to bring Sam back from the dead 11.17

• Because Dean thought Sam was dead, he was ready to let himself (and the couple they were trying to save) be killed by the werewolf pack they’d been hunting 11.17

• Michelle: “I just watched the man I love die; there’s no normal after that.” Dean: *thinking about how he’s just experienced the same thing with Sam except with a different outcome* 11.17

• “You fight like brothers; you’re almost as bad as [me and Sam].” -Dean “Actually, it’s more like an old married couple.” -Caesar 11.19

• Sam got infected by the Darkness fog and Dean abandoned the people they were trying to protect and instead tried to infect himself so he could die with Sam 11.20

• Dean used his relationship with Sam to relate to Amara and get her to reconcile with Chuck 11.23

• Amara in 11.09: *kisses Dean* -> Dean in 11.23 to Amara: “You simply need your brother. I mean, hell, maybe that’s why you wanted me. But deep down, you didn’t really want me…cuz I’m not him.”

• Sam and Mary: *trapped in Asa’s house by a demon* -> Dean: *stuck outside* “Sam! Sammy! Hey!” *after breaking in* “Where’s my brother?” 12.06

• “We’re like the American Oasis.” -Dean comparing himself & Sam to Liam & Noel Gallagher 12.07

• Sam and Dean were each willing to die so the other could escape the federal prison and live on 12.09

• “You know, sometimes me and Sam have got so much going on that…we forget about everyone else.” -Dean to Cass 12.23

• Dean began to warm up to Jack because he saved Sam’s life 13.04

• Sam and Dean were unfazed by being stuck in the Bad Place because they had each other 13.10

• “I don’t care what happens to me. I never really have. But I do care about what happens to my brother.” -Dean 13.20

• “And if we die? We’ll do that together too.” -Sam to Dean 13.20

• Dean went mute after Sam was killed and later set off on a suicide mission to retrieve Sam’s body or die trying 13.21

• Dean said yes to AU!Michael to save Sam from Lucifer 13.23

• Dean knows Bert and Ernie are gay 5.03 and suggests he and Sam dress as them for Halloween 14.04

• Though Dean was unable to take back control or cast Michael out, his resistance due to his attachment to Sam made him enough of a nuisance to Michael that he willingly let Dean go(temporarily) 14.09

• Sam was able to figure out where Michael had Dean trapped in his mind via knowing how Dean could be best subdued/distracted 14.10

• Sam broke through Michael’s hold on Dean with just one word: “Poughkeepsie” 14.10

• Sam was the only one who could talk Dean out of locking himself in the Ma’lak box with Michael for all eternity at the bottom of the ocean 14.12

• The thought of letting Dean down broke Sam free of Chip Harrington’s mind control 14.15

• “We have lost way, way too much. And it’s hard not to feel like just… cashing out. I felt like that. After Chuck, back at the crypt. But you know what brought me back? You did. By sayin’ that what we do still matters.” -Dean to Sam 15.04

• Dean was willing to abandon Cass in Purgatory, so he could get back home before the portal closed and save Sam from Chuck (that’s the only reason he sent up that prayer to Cass) 15.09

• Dean was willing to sacrifice Jack so he and Sam could have a life free of Chuck’s influence/control 15.17

• Dean was willing to trade everyone(who’d be collateral damage if Billie became the new god) except Sam for a shot at getting rid of Chuck 15.17

• Sam broke through Dean’s desperation to be rid of Chuck no matter what the cost, thwarting not just Billie’s plan but also Chuck’s brother-kills-brother endgame 15.17

• Dean stood outside Sam’s Stanford dorm for hours because he was so afraid of Sam possibly rejecting him, he didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have Sam 15.20

• “It’s always been you… and me.” “I love you so much..my baby brother.” -Dean to Sam 15.20

• Dean wouldn’t let go till Sam told him it was ok, he wanted to be sure Sam would be ok without him 15.20

• Sam spent the rest of his life mourning Dean and honoring his memory, named his son after him 15.20

• Dean’s heaven was not perfect till Sam got there 15.20

#sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #samdean #barniversary

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deadsetobsessions · 11 months ago

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Jason cursed. This is on par for most of his evenings, as it was rare that he ever got a peaceful night. However, this? This takes the goddamn cake and smashes it on his face.

Red Hood stood, with a portable wet vacuum in his halo bed hands, cursing everything in the world as he cleaned and followed the small puddles of Lazarus water. The people in the streets give him a wide berth, having long learned the intricacies of Red101: if the Red Hood is doing weird shit but there’s no gun in his hand, you make sure you’re not the reason he’ll have a gun in his hand.

“O, you there?”

“Copy.”

“Mark this priority, would you?” His voice is tense, pissed. “Some bastard’s dripping Lazarus water all over my territory.”

A pause.

Oracle’s calm voice flowed through his helmet, “Then we’ll have to watch out for League influence. I’ll let the others know. Red Robin?”

Red Robin chimed in, “Yeah, already on it. It’s weird though, Ra’s isn’t supposed to be here for another two and a half weeks.”

“And how would you know about my grandfather’s movements?”

“Careful, Robin, I might become your grandma!” Red Robin chirped sadistically, before clicking off his comms, snickering at Robin’s spluttering.

“Jesus fuck. I’ll try to hunt down the bastard from the ground. O?”

“Can’t help you. The cameras around your area has been scrambled for the last half an hour.”

“Shit.” Red Hood tensed, one hand going for his pistol as the street’s current inhabitants wisely vacated the area.

“Hood. Don’t go in alone. It could be a trap.”

“Whatever, B, you’re not the boss of me.”

“Give me three minutes. I’m close by. Do not go in without back up, little wing.” Nightwing piped in, and Red Hood could hear the faint whooshing noises of a quiet grapple.

“Cass and I are close by as well. Staking out a place but we could be on standby if needed.”

Two taps. Cass’ tacit agreement.

“Got it.”

When Nightwing gets there, they follow the trail into a dead end with no sign of any scaling of the wall or secret passages.

“Fuck! What the fuck are we chasing, a ghost?”

“Don’t even joke like that-” Nightwing said. “You’ll set Red off again.”

Jason kicked at the wall.

“Fuck!”

——

On the other side of the wall, thirty minutes earlier:

“Life is like a hurricane, here in Duckberg…” Danny mumbled as he stumbled away. He’d saved his alley kids from a pretty serious mugging that ended with a stabbing that Danny foolishly allowed to touch him because he wanted to keep the wicked looking knife. Normally, he’d be able to brush this off, but with his recent injuries, mental stress, and the lack of food that is the hallmark of a homeless teenager, Danny barely kept himself conscious as he stumbled into a particularly dense in ectoplasm dead end.

“Napping place… napping place…” Danny mumbled before eyeing the brick wall. Yeah, okay, he’s slept in weirder places. He could sleep in the dumpster, but… he’d smell and Danny could not handle an infection. So, he went intangible, invisible, and pulled the knife out of his body. As he settled in (quite literally into) the stone wall for his nap, Danny manages to mold his ectoplasm to hold his cut up stomach together.

Danny allows sleep to take him, blissfully unaware of the glowing green puddles of ghost blood he’d left behind.

——

Jason, terrified: he’s in the walls!! He’s in the fucking walls!

Danny, quoting vines and tiktoks while napping in walls for that back support option: thanks for checking in! I’m still a piece of GaRBaGe.

#batman #danny phantom #dc x dp #bruce wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #red hood #nightwing #bamf danny phantom #spoiler #cassandra cain #black bat #Stephanie brown #Oracle #barbara gordon #ghost blood=cleaner Lazarus pit water #red hood looking like a single mother as he walks down the street with a vacuum.

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allpiesforourown · 4 months ago

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OKAY SO I have way too many WIPs to write a role reversal fic and I meant to just yap about my au and ended up writing 2k words about it if you want to read it below...

oblivious shizun luo binghe / oblivious disciple shen yuan

First of all i've been reading a lot of role reversal fics lately but big shout out to ao3 user anqlbean for this fic because it really gave me "fuckboy shizun binghe, hiding that he's a demon lord" brain rot

Okay so anyway. In fair cang qiong sect where we lay our scene-

Luo Binghe is the Qing Jing peak lord. He’s also the heavenly emperor of the demon realm. No one knows both of his identities except for mobei jun and a handful of other people from his inner circle. It’s risky for a demon to hide as one of the cultivation world’s most prominent figures, but he likes having the best of both worlds!

Enter Shen Yuan: Shen Yuan's cultivation history is somewhat similar to Shen Jiu's in that he started cultivating late and joined Qing Jing well into his teens. He’s about 16 when he becomes Binghe’s student, but the thing is… Luo Binghe is kind of just the peak lord in name.

He spends his free time getting laid in the next town or going on an adventure with some hot demoness instead of giving classes. He’ll go on cultivation missions and take requests from villages and whatnot, but he doesn't bother teaching his disciples, just gives them a cultivation manual and tells them to figure it out. Half the time when students greet him on the peak he just nods because he doesnt even remember the disciple’s name. It’s fine though, once every few months he’ll take a break from all the one night stands and actually take a student along with him on a mission, just to keep the sect leader from complaining. “See, I teach my kids! Last month I took what’s-his-name on a night hunt!”

By the time Luo Binghe bothers to take Shen Yuan along for a mission, Shen Yuan is already 20 and has been on the peak for 4 years. Luo Binghe barely knows he exists, and he justs wants to collect this herb he was tasked with retrieving, send Shen Yuan back with it, and then get nasty with the woman back in the village who gave them directions to the cave that grows it.

Unfortunately for Binghe, the cave is also home to one of the few flowers that can affect a demon lord. Binghe can’t move as he falls to the ground and hears his student yell “Shizun!” and run over.

They can hear monsters nearby so Shen Yuan’s two options are to 1) heal his shizun by taking advantage of Binghe's body or 2) abandon him to die and leave by himself. Binghe has experienced both multiple times, and is ready for either one. He's not ready for Shen Yuan to choose a third option that no one has ever chosen before: heaving Luo Binghe onto his back, transferring him qi, and using every bit of strength to carry him to safety.

By the time they return to the cave’s entrance, Shen Yuan only has enough energy to use a talisman signalling the sect for help before they both pass out.

When Luo Binghe wakes up, the Qian Cao peak lord is asking him how he feels while his head disciple is yelling at a sheepish Shen Yuan for doing something reckless again! Apparently this is not the first time Shen Yuan has exhausted himself for the sake of another person.

Over the next few days, he can’t think of anything other than his student.

(Also, he secretly feels kind of… angry??? Was his body so unappealing to Shen Yuan that he'd rather half-die than dual cultivate with him?? He's not sure why he's so pissed off by the idea, it's not like he's ever wanted to dual cultivate with a man before, but still…)

Finally he decides he has every right to be curious about shen yuan, that’s his disciple! Unfortunately while Binghe was ignoring Shen Yuan's existence for the past few years, his disciple has managed to build up… a reputation at Cang Qiong.

Oh Shen Yuan selflessly saved Luo Binghe? Big deal, saving people is an average Tuesday for Shen Yuan, apparently! “He stopped my qi deviation” this, “he threw me out of a poisonous demon's way” that.

For the first time ever, Luo Binghe is not special. If anything, he has less pull with Shen Yuan than anyone else at Cang Qiong, because everyone else knows Shen Yuan better. Luo Binghe doesn’t know Shen Yuan’s birthday, but the rest of his students make sure to throw Shen Yuan a party every year to thank him for all his tutoring. Binghe is SO far behind, which is a feeling he hasn’t felt in YEARS.

About a month after the mission, he finally sees Shen Yuan sparring alone. Luo Binghe walks over, acting unbothered and nonchalant even though he's screaming internally. He greets his disciple and says, “This master has yet to properly thank Shen Yuan for his assistance at the cave… join me at the bamboo house tonight.”

Shen Yuan apologizes, says he has important plans but would love to join him another night, then spends the rest of the day off the peak with the An Ding head disciple.

Luo Binghe is flabbergasted. He's less important than an An Ding disciple???? Really??? Fucking An Ding?????

After that, Luo Binghe……. He isn’t stalking Shen Yuan, despite what Liu Mingyan (Xian Su peak lord) might say with excited eyes. He’s just keeping an eye on this interesting disciple he never knew he had! In secret.

He walks in on Qingge and Shen Yuan “sparring” and sees the exact moment Shen Yuan oversteps, loses his balance and goes tumbling on top of Liu Qingge. Binghe storms over, picks Shen Yuan up by the back of his robe like a cat, and physically separates the two of them. The two disciples gawk at how weird that was and he has no idea how to come up with an excuse for whatever the hell that just was.

Instead he asks what they’re doing.

Shen Yuan, being polite and answering the question: Liu-shidi and I are heading on a mission soon-

Luo Binghe: this master shall join you.

Shen Yuan: uh… it's a very simple request, two disciples are more than en-

Luo Binghe: this. Master. Shall. Join. You.

Liu Qingge: ???? What the hell is his problem

Shen Yuan: Okay… this disciple is grateful for shizun’s assistance…?

Their flight to the village is dead quiet.

The townspeople sigh theyre so glad they’re here, some demonic creature has been destroying their wildlife! This area makes most of their money with lumber exports, so if the creature continues to destroy their trees, it’ll result in huge losses.

When they find the demon, Shen Yuan starts yapping non stop. It’s like he’s suddenly transformed into a textbook, explaining that this little beaver-esque demon needs to chew up trees for its survival. Luo Binghe is bored out of his mind and pulls out his sword.

Shen Yuan gaps and picks up the small creature, holding it protectively against his chest. “This species isn’t even violent! We can’t kill it!”

Luo Binghe crosses his arms and says they have to complete this commission somehow. Shen Yuan argues they can simply relocate the demon somewhere else! Luo Binghe expects Liu Qingge to complain or brutishly try to kill it, but he shrugs and says he’ll follow Shen Yuan. Apparently this happens regularly…

By the time they rehome the creature somewhere it won’t be a bother, it’s too late to fly back to the sect.

The only close by inn apologizes and says they only have two rooms left, and each one is a single bed. They can have a mat sent up, but…

Binghe says he should room with Shen Yuan because they’re both from Qing Jing, and (he glares at Liu Qingge as he says this) Liu Qingge is an outsider. Liu Qingge narrows his eyes and says it would be inappropriate for a peak lord to share a room with a lowly disciple, so he should room with Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan cheerfully chimes in that he and Liu-shidi sleep together all the time! “Whenever shidi and I camp outdoors, he says he prefers sleeping on the ground. He’ll be happy to take the mat.”

Luo Binghe's smile becomes a little forced, but shen Yuan doesn't even notice the murderous intent rolling off his shizun, aimed at his friend from Bai Zhan.

In the end, Shen Yuan gets one room, and Liu Qingge gets the other. Luo Binghe insists his cultivation is high enough he doesn’t need to sleep, and had no intention to sleep tonight anyway.

This is a perfect time to go and find a brothel or a hookup. He realizes this is the longest he’s gone without sex in a long time, all because he’s been obsessed with Shen Yuan so much lately. But he’s got too much on his mind to do that tonight… He’s still thinking of the loving way Shen Yuan protected that small helpless demon, going as far as defying a peak lord for its sake.

Shen Yuan is… someone with shockingly good character. Despite being surrounded by cultivators, meeting people who are good is surprisingly rare. He doesn’t want his sweet disciple to have that lovely sense of justice stolen away from him by… gross perverts like Liu Qingge lusting after him!

(He’s not projecting!)

He’s already neglected Shen Yuan as a shizun for so many years. Now he has to step and make up for all that time! He’s decided what he has to do.

First thing in the morning, he knocks on Shen Yuan’s door. He hears a sweet ‘Come in!’ from inside and for some reason he feels… really nervous. Inside, Shen Yuan is sitting on his bed, brushing his hair, and he smiles when he looks up and sees Luo Binghe. “Good morning, shizun.”

Good morning??? How can he say something so casually, without a hint of shame, looking like that?? He’s wearing nothing but one layer that’s not even thick enough to hide his body! He can see Shen Yuan’s milky thighs and small chest!!!! What the fuck!?

(Is this how he walks around the shared dorms on Qing Jing? Do all the other disciples see the outline of his body through his thin layer every morning?? The longer he stares, the more he tells himself he’s making the right decision by doing this.)

He cuts right to the chase. “Once we return, Shen Yuan shall move his belongings into the bamboo house. This lord will teach him all there is to know about being Qing Jing’s head disciple.” He makes it clear that this is a statement, not a request – he’s not giving Shen Yuan a choice.

Shen Yuan gawks at him, and Luo Binghe says they’ll discuss things more in detail once they return to Qing Jing, but from this moment on, he represents himself as Luo Binghe’s head disciple. It takes Shen Yuan a few minutes to really comprehend what’s going on, but eventually he bows in thanks and throws on another, thicker layer. Shen Yuan moves for the door and says, “I better tell Liu-shidi-”

Luo Binghe’s hand moves before he can stop himself, and they’re both surprised by the deathly tight grip he has on Shen Yuan’s wrist.

Luo Binghe clears his throat and lets go. “You should let him be. Sometimes if you spend too much time with a person, it can become off-putting.” There, surely that will keep Shen Yuan away from that brute, right?

Shen Yuan says, “Ohhh,” and then smiles. “Don't worry shizun,” he says gently, “This disciple understands what you're saying. Once I move into the bamboo house, I'll make sure to give shizun his space.”

Then Shen Yuan walks away and closes the door behind him. Luo Binghe can hear Shen Yuan telling Liu Qingge the good news, “I don’t know if shizun is joking or not, but wouldn’t it be nice for us to do our head disciple work together?”

Luo Binghe realizes that Shen Yuan is going to RUIN him, and he’ll do it without even realizing.

#role reversal au #svsss #shen yuan #luo binghe #bingqiu #liu qingge #allpiesforourown #gonna tag it binggeyuan too bc binghe is a fuckboy until he gets domesticated by sy #binggeyuan #luo bingge

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cinematicreid · 4 months ago

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for a moment

the one where Spencer reminds reader to slow down.

wc 651

warnings + the rundown: bau!reader, fluff, soft!spencer, i love him, literally can’t live without him, what a sweetheart, mentions of reader getting shot, but nothing explicit, feelings!, yikes!

a/n: can’t beat short and sweet and cutesy. feedback always welcome, come say hi to me i think you’re all so cool!

Spencer’s eyes may as well have laser beams shooting out of them with the way his gaze is glued to you. You attempt to focus on the task at hand, securing the Kevlar vest to the upper half of your body and completely ignoring him. But this has been happening for almost two months, ever since your incident, and you can’t take it anymore.

“Give it a rest, Spencer, you’re driving me crazy.”

“I know! I’m sorry, just — will you please let me —”

You let out a huff of exasperation, giving up.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mumble, and then more loudly, “Fine.”

Your hands fall to your sides in surrender as he quickly moves toward you and reaches for the vest’s fasteners.

A child. He’s making you feel like a child.

You hear Morgan chuckle from the other end of the police precinct’s tiny conference room, as if he can read your thoughts. You’re about to shoot him a death glare when you’re interrupted by Spencer sharply tugging a strap too tight.

“Reid,” you hiss.

“Don’t start,” he interjects over your complaint.

The incident in question was, of course, an accident. It wasn’t like you had intentionally put your vest on in a rush. There just hadn’t been enough time (which was not a proper excuse, as Hotch had gently but firmly reminded you later), and the loosened straps meant the vest moved around more than it should have when you were running, and the UnSub’s bullet found your side all too easy to graze.

It was stupid, really, but it was one time and nearly two months ago.

None of this was enough to ease the seemingly permanent furrow in Spencer’s brow.

It started as small, albeit irritating, reminders to double-check your vest, which you initially laughed off. But it had now escalated to taking the task entirely off your hands.

Spencer finishes with a final tug.

“Happy?” you ask him flatly. He lifts his concentrated gaze to meet your annoyed one.

“I could do without the sass. But yes,” he says, his shoulders visibly lighter and more content.

“It’s like watching a dad get his daughter ready for Take Your Kid To Work Day,” Morgan teases, rushing out of the room before you can hit him with the closest object at your disposal and leaving just you and Spencer. He rolls his eyes at the poor joke and gently takes said object from your hand.

“I don’t think a pen is going to do much damage,” he says. He loosens a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

You regard him for a few seconds, a small part of you melting at the undeniable softness in his eyes, which are so vast and deep you could stay there forever.

You get it.

It’s the thing about this job. How it forces an eternity to become temporary. How, in 20 minutes, you’ll be hunting down the bad guy but for now, what can feel like forever if you wanted, you’re only here with Spencer.

It’s all fleeting. Your little “incident” had only served as a reminder of that.

And so, Spencer had to take care of you in this way. You both knew that.

“You don’t need to be,” you offer him. He avoids your gaze and you nudge his shoulder with your hand. “Spencer, I’m here, yeah?” That earns you a gentle nudge back and the hint of a smile.

“I know. I’m here, too.”

And here is everywhere and nowhere and, perhaps most importantly, together. A beat, or maybe a forever passes before he speaks again.

“If this were Take Your Kid To Work Day I’d be the worst father in the world.”

Just like that, he’s back and you’re back with him.

Fleeting.

“I am so getting him back for that,” you mumble, making your way to the door. Spencer’s laugh as he follows behind you is all you can hear.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #bau!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #rina writes

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inknopewetrust · 3 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. [𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] [𝐰𝐜: 𝟕𝐤]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐱. 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 [𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠], 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚+ 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧.

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

You weren’t sure when you started to feel this way.

It ate at you—the sensation. Nipping at the bits of yourself that were far too obvious in a mirror. They rushed through you like you were a lamb for slaughter. It was often you wondered if all of those creatures you sought could feel it too, this vulnerability underneath a tough skin.

And you could see it too. In the mirror, passing a reflecting door or window, in the sunglasses of a friend. Every time your image reflected back to you, a wave of self-doubt washed over you.

It was debilitating and something you never voiced aloud. The thoughts simply ate away at you as the days passed on and the world unraveled with it.

Little help came when your daily return to safety came in the form of a mismatched bunker. In it, the glamorous common sections provided a bit of beauty while the corridors were bland and the rooms much more so. There was nothing there to make you feel pretty—let alone beautiful in such an ugly world.

When the bunker was quiet, those thoughts came alive.

Everyone had gone off for the day. It was one of those strange, sitting duck kind of days where there wasn’t a story to chase or evil lurking around the corner to seize a moment. It was quiet, content with whatever lull had formed for the time being. You were alone in your room flipping through an old book on werewolves that was quickly losing your interest.

For once, you just wanted a break to be normal. To feel normal and be normal without a fear of cosmic retribution for wanting to be someone other than what you had become. This… monster-hunting sidekick chick who feels a bit down and out about the cards life dealt her.

Dean and Sam weren’t on the same wavelength as you, you had imagined. They played off their content with this life as perfectly as anyone could.

A knock at your door interrupted your thoughts abruptly. It startled you. Shaking a little jump from your skin, you approached the door with caution as your knowledge had led you to believe you were alone.

But as you cracked open the door, it was painfully obvious you weren’t.

“Dean?”

He gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I thought you’d be—“

“I told Sam to go on his own,” he clarified. Sam went down to Wichita early that morning and with the roar of Baby, you had assumed Dean had tagged along.

“Oh.”

There was something more stirring in the air around your room. The internal self-loathing was misting and Dean’s presence was billowing. For you, all it took was one glance into his green eyes to fall into an abyss of him. Dean Winchester had girls falling to their knees, praying for a miracle that he’d notice them and fall in love with them and end up with them forever.

He never did but it was too notable to ignore.

He made your heart thump louder. The blood stirring the cauldron of doom inside, building a pool of sweat in your palms and your pupils to grow wider. He was a beautiful man—it was almost embarrassing to think that he’d pay more attention to you than he did.

And there was a scorned inside for the scattered moments he did make you feel something more.

It was on days like this: when everyone was gone and fate had found you alone together when something clicked into place, drawing you together like moths to a flame and touch was a burning relief.

Having sex with Dean was an action that lit up the pitting feelings of doubt.

Every time your shirt came off—hideous.

Every time your pants came undone—ugly.

Every time he gave himself—unworthy.

And every time you let go—pathetic.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth and gnawed at it. Dean leaned against the frame but didn’t push. He never did.

“Why didn’t you go?”

He shrugged his shoulders. In his own bashful way, he looked down at his shoes.

“Didn’t want to, I guess,” he said. “Got better things to do than go see a city I’ve seen a hundred times before.”

There was more to do there. There were more girls there to choose from.

“Well it’s not anymore exciting here,” your eyes gave an unfortunate admission. “Just me.”

“You’re plenty exciting,” Dean lifted his head with a scoff. “I figured if you stayed behind then at least it be worth staying behind for.”

When he said phrases like that, it was so casual. It made you roll your eyes in a shallow disbelief he was flagrant with saying your worth anything. Wichita had more than you could ever offer.

You rested the side of your body on the door and clung to the doorknob on the other side tightly.

“I’m afraid you might be wrong on that one.”

Dean’s eyes flinched in curiosity. They searched your face unabashedly for answers it was unwilling to give.

“Why?” He asked. “We never get any time to ourselves. It’s… nice for a change, yeah?”

“Sure,” you agreed. “I just don’t think I’m worth staying behind for.”

He let out a laugh. No smile, just an amused laugh at the suggestion. You weren’t sure if you should feel miffed or reassured.

“Spend five hours in the car with Sam on a Saturday or spend the day with you? I’d much rather be here.”

His honesty was endearing. It was far different from the man you met so many years ago. He had grown comfortable, willing, in that time and if you thought hard on it, it was generally only around you.

For Dean, being vulnerable was cracking his soul open. It was as debilitating as your inability to see yourself as valuable was. But he was comfortable here, alone, and he was content in letting it bleed from every part of him.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Is there a plan I am unaware of?”

Your day was to be spent flipping through books and taking notes of what resolutions could help you all the most.

Dean shrugged again and kicked his foot out slightly. You knew what he wanted, hell, you wanted it too but you couldn’t feel that inside of you.

“I don’t know,” he played. “That’s really up to you.”

Ball, court.

“There’s no one here,” Dean reassured you. You could be loud. You could do what you wanted. You could take your time.

“I know,” you nodded your head. You twisted the knob on the other side of the door.

“We don’t have to,” he backed up with words. The last thing Dean wanted you to feel for him is resentment for propositioning you. “It’s alright. I can… I can,” he cleared his throat, “take care of myself.”

“No,” you said quicker than you meant to. “No.”

“No?”

“You don’t have to take care of it, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded at him as the tone shifted. In your hearts, the beating anticipating was in your throats. You could feel it in the jittering movement of your fingers and toes and the insatiable appetite that manifested inside.

The door you were holding on to opened slightly to gain him entry. He took the signal, brushing past you and not feeling cautious when his hand came to rest on your side as he pushed by.

It dawned on you as he entered that you’d never had sex in your room. It was always Dean’s and the one, singular occasion he caught you in the library on a day like this one and ate you out between the bookshelves.

You shut the door behind you as he stepped into the room and took it in differently than before. He’s been in it, sure, but when the circumstances change, everything changes too.

“You remodel?” He joked, pointing around the room that looked identical to all the others. “Looks nice.”

“Thanks,” you smiled. Leaning against the door, you folded your hands behind your back. “It was a real task, you know? All the painting and laying the wood.”

He nodded with a hum. He patrolled the space before shrugging off his flannel that rested atop a t-shirt.

You weren’t sure what he wanted exactly but you were hesitant to approach him.

Sitting, facing your bed from its place on the floor was a mirror. And you’d be fucking damned if you watched yourself fuck Dean Winchester through your reflection.

It might be the death of you.

And you didn’t want to curse Dean with that memory.

He kicked off his shoes without instruction. Pieces of himself began to unshed before you. First the shirt, then the shoes. His hands went to his belt, flicking it open and unraveling itself in swift motions that your own hands had learned to do before.

Dean didn’t look at you, he didn’t ask you to join him.

His hands went to the bottom of his shirt and as he lifted it up and over his head, you weren’t shameful to ogle him. That was why he was here—for you to feel him, touch him, worship him in ways he wouldn’t get elsewhere.

There were plenty of other girls in Wichita.

He tossed his shirt to join the flannel before looking at you. Dean held out his hand to you, beckoning you.

“Come here,” he said softly. It could have been enough for you at one time, but it wasn’t today.

You shook your head.

“You come to me.”

If you knew Dean correctly, he would, and he did.

Even in your doubts, having Dean near you was comfort. His eyes drank you in. Completely encapsulated by you and only you and he felt free in that space. He was giving and grateful.

So, he stood toe to toe with you. One of his hands creeped up your slides and slotted into the space where your hands created an opening to the back of you. He silently begged for you to untangle your hands, taking one of them in his own as he allowed the position to draw himself closer.

He held on to you in two ways: against you, pressing you into the door as his nose knocked your own, and his and your intertwined hands pressing into your back. You used your free one to cup his face. You hummed in agreement. Dean tilted his head, breathing in deeply as the skin of your face grazed his own. He could play a long time. The hand you let linger on his cheek brushed along the sides of his neck, folding itself around his back and gripping onto his opposite shoulder. His skin was hot to the touch. Dean let his fingers detached from yours and he cupped at your ass to pull you closer. There was nowhere closer than him. Flush against his body, feeling everything but the blood rushing through him and he soaked in the staggered breaths of anticipation.

You tipped your head away from his to look in his eyes.

His short stubble was tough under your palm. Nothing, however, could detract you from the way his eyes bore into you. He had lovely lashes, fluttering and romantic compared to his outward appearance of “tough man.” They complimented the way his eyes changed from welcome to conversation to lust.

Maybe it wasn’t love, but it was enough for now.

“How’s this gonna work?” You asked him, breath fanning his face.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he mumbled. Eyes hooded, trapped on your lips as they wet themselves. “But we’ve got time. We can go slow.

You nodded like he read your mind. Slow, steady, different from other times.

“I don’t need slow,” you murmured. He gripped your ass harder than before, pushing you against him before letting go and running his hand smoothly over the rump.

“But I’ve got too many clothes on.”

“You’re damn right about that, sweetheart.”

Dean needs no true instructions.

Even in your wallowing pitiful despair of self-destruction, as long as you truly couldn’t see yourself everything would be fine. It would be fine. Dean’s hands roamed your body freely with the invitation. Hands large and free, they begged to grip and squeeze what they could but settled on unraveling the fruits of the goal. With every piece of clothes that came undone and piled themselves onto the floor at your feet, you spied Dean’s eyes grow shades of green. Each deeper than before—tantalizing from opportunity and wolfish in a hunt.

His hands met the tops of your bottoms, trading the top of it with his fingers as they grazed the skin of your stomach. You laid your head back against the door, admiring the way he had the smallest sign of a smile on his lips as he looked at you. Something glimmered, something gleamed in his eyes when he looked back. Dean leaned in, planting a light kiss on the edge of your lip but not on them before falling to his knees.

Clad yet in his beltless jeans, Dean ran his hands over the curve of your waist and down your legs. The agony of time made your heart thump. Thump, thump, thump against your ribcage and into your mind and into the place where his head was mere inches from. You loved the way Dean made you feel—you just hated how you felt on your own.

The muscles of his shoulders worked elegantly as he removed your bottoms and re-ran his hands upwards along your skin. Light goosebumps formed along his trail and he smiled, letting out the lightest laugh in admiration.

Dean’s thumbs found themselves on the edges of your underwear and he paused.

“Like I said,” he was gruff, “we’ve got all the time in the world. So, how do you want me?”

There were few men in the world who would offer themselves to a woman. Be freely tasked with whatever she wanted, not he.

But again, you hated decision making. From dinners to motels to books to people, you hated being the shot caller.

“Use your imagination.” You settled on. “I’m all yours, Dean.”

And since he was already on his knees, he supposed he’d start there.

Dean bent an index finger and rested it at the top of your underwear before dragging it downward, slowly watching your eyes and chest as he inched closer and closer to your core. He didn’t stagger as he crossed a threshold of your covered clit and continued further as he wrist turned and his palm rested against the front of you, his fingers pressing into you from above you panties.

He rubbed his hand back and forth, arching his fingers to press inwards but not moving the Fabric away but caressing it into you. Dean shifted his hand upwards and outstretched a finger on your clothed clit to massage small circles on the bundle of nerves. His opposite shoulder knocked into your leg, opening the space for him as on of your hands shot to a dresser top beside the door and the other rested on his head.

He could feel your hand falling with every ministration. He turned his head in the direction of your hand, the heat of your hand on his face pulsing as the blood was rushing.

“Are you gonna keep fingering me like a middle school boy or really make me feel something, Winchester?” You looked down at him.

He stopped moving his finger.

“Well you told me to use my imagination, sweetheart. You gotta be more specific than that.”

“I want you to eat me out,” you clarified. “I want you to use your fingers and then I want you to fuck me before everyone else comes home.”

Dean’s eyes lit up. A smirk, followed by a “yes ma’am” gave him the orders he needed.

In your imagination, you thought it’d be here by the door. He’d eat you out from the floor and then fuck you against the door but for some, god-fucking-awful reason you can’t place, Dean got up from the floor and walked toward the bed.

His reflection of his back toward the bed reminded you of what you didn’t want to see in it—you.

Dean took a second to undo his jeans and remove himself from them. He was strained already against his briefs but didn’t care to take care of himself first or make it the “problem” needing to be fixed.

And like before, he extended his hand out to you.

“Come on,” he called out and it was hard to ignore the order itself.

A wave of nerves washed over you and made you cold. The sudden realization that you were nearly nude, he too, and your brash words of sex were all that was on the table became too much of a reality. His outstretched hand remained cold.

If you hadn’t known better, you could have assumed a poltergeist had appeared in the room. The sudden chill, the bucket of water dropping on reality bursting a bubble of pretend before it was too late. You were self-conscious and it began to leak like a sieve through the floorboards and walls and all it took was for Dean to truly, really look at you to see that something had changed drastically in the minutes it took for him to move, remove his pants, and hold out his hand.

The romance, the lust, or the sex had died in the moment.

Your hand grasped the edge of the dresser tightly and you couldn’t bare to look at Dean. A shameful, whimpering dog-like mentality was embarrassing and you didn’t fathom it would take on this large of a life. It encapsulated your wants and your needs and was now preventing you from finishing a job that you’d become all too familiar with and it should have been easy.

The mirror reflected those thoughts.

“Hey,” Dean closed his hand and his brows furrowed. “Hey.”

He received no response, just a near frozen you. You shook your head no.

“W-what’s wrong?” He questioned in a state of confusion. Things had changed so quickly. You clicked your tongue, shutting your eyes tightly before opening them again and looking anywhere but him and to the left.

“It’s…” you staggered your words. “It’s, I just, I thought that… well…”

You laughed incredulously at yourself. The hand once gripping the dresser flew to your face in embarrassment and over your eyes.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

Dean could only reiterate his “hey” over and over as he approached you calmly. He shushed in reassurance as he tried to remove the hand that covered your eyes.

“No, no, Dean—I’m fine, really, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Dean said quietly. “What’s going on, hm? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you let him move the hand from your eyes yet you couldn’t look at him. “Nothings wrong I just… I just needed a second, that’s all.”

He didn’t believe you.

He never did when times like these flared up. Whether it be about what he knew or didn’t, any time where you, Sam, or anyone else had a sliver of doubt or injury or sadness, Dean would stop his world to help even if it hurt his own.

“Sweetheart, I think we both know that isn’t true.”

“I’m good. Really.”

He studied you for a time. Just looking, watching the way the muscles in your face twitched, the lack of contact you gave back to him. Dean was far from stupid even if he had his moments; he could see through the veil.

“Then come on,” he proposed. “Let’s just sit down and we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” You knew he wouldn’t force you to.

Dean made the slightest move to step backwards and your eyes flashed in the direction of the mirror.

“It’s ok!” Goddamn. How many times were you going to say it?

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him back. “It’s alright!”

Dean shook his head.

“No, it’s not.”

“We can just do it here,” you suggested. It wasn’t exactly the romantic afternoon he had planned out in his head. “Right here.”

“Against the door?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. Your gaze popped again in the direction of the mirror.

Dean caught it this time.

“The doors fine with me,” you restated assuredly. Dean nodded but didn’t make a move to finish what he started before.

Instead, he lifted one of his hands and cupped your face gently. His green eyes bore into you like lasers, prodding for answers he wasn’t sure he’d get but attempting to discover them nonetheless. There was a slice of pity, a lingering disappointment he couldn’t mask but above all else, Dean wanted you to be truthful to him.

He’d spent forever being lied to. Being told that there was only one path to getting what people needed out of life and listening to the directions of people who didn’t truly care what happened to him nor what he wanted. In a small corner of his own personal heaven, he wanted it to be nothing short of perfect even if perfection could never be attained.

And lies were always the cause of its destruction.

“What’s wrong with the bed, Sweetheart?”

You shook your head.

“This ain’t like a… monster-under-the-bed kind of situation, is it?” Dean joked. You scoffed, a smile cracking itself on your face and he could feel the way it grew underneath his hand.

“No,” you laughed. “There’s nothing in here except you and me.”

“Good,” he said lowly. “Then what’s wrong with that mirror on the wall?”

The smile on your face fell.

“Th-the mirror?”

Dean turned his body slightly to open the pathway to the mirror. Floor length and bolted into the wall sat a mirror across from the bed. It was there when you all arrived at this destination and you had never bothered to move it, only growing to hate its location when you got up, got dressed, and when you met the reflection on accident when you were halfway to self pleasure.

“You keep looking at it like it might come alive.”

“There’s nothing in the mirror.”

No real demons, at least.

“Then come to the bed,” Dean offered again. “I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

The ground was too hard even if the idea enticed him. He’d work you to your orgasm and then need help getting up—one too many throw downs with evil and the world catches up with you.

“We could always go to your room,” you suggested.

Dean’s hand caressed your face. You knew he knew you were avoiding something larger than just a room.

“What’s wrong with the mirror, baby?”

Ah shit. Baby.

“Dean—“ you started in argument against him but he wouldn’t let you. He wasn’t letting this go until it was like all other mysteries in his life and it was solved.

“No,” he argued back. “No, and you know you’re not telling the truth. What’s wrong with the mirror?”

“Nothings wrong with the mirror!”

“Yes there is,” his voice was getting tougher, rough around the edges in frustration with not you, but the thoughts swirling within you.

“No—“

“Yes!”

He let go of your face and grabbed your hand.

“Dean—“

Dean took one step toward the mirror and you broke the façade.

“Fine!” You grunted, tugging your hand out of his grasp. “Fine! It’s the fucking mirror, okay?”

“Well—“

“I don’t like it! It’s at the end of my fucking bed and I can’t stand looking in it.”

Dean’s eyes shifted again to a slight sadness and you wanted to throw a brick at the glass.

“Sw-“

You cut him off. “All I see when I look in that reflection is someone who’s… disgusting. I just… I can’t look at myself anymore and I certainly don’t want to watch myself doing something I don’t deserve to do.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dean wanted to reset the day. “You’re not disgusting, sweetheart. Why did you say that, wh—“

“You could have gone with Sam and had someone else for the day, Dean. Someone pretty and sexy and fits all the right boxes for you. I don’t know why you didn’t go.”

“I don’t want them” he said your name firmly. “I stayed because I want you. I don’t want them. They don’t know me or what I like and I chose to be here.”

“Because it’s easy or because it’s convenient?”

“Because it’s perfect.”

“It’s not perfect, Dean.”

Dean stood there aloof in his briefs. Across from him, you were the most vulnerable he’d ever seen you and you were beautiful. There was nothing that caused him to feel repulsed or rejected. He was encapsulated by a glow he’d grown fond of and wanted to be held in. You were gorgeous, underwear and all, and nothing you’d say was going to change his mind.

“To me it is.”

Dean’s head tipped to the side in observance again. “I don’t know what you see—I won’t know what you see. But to me, I see someone who checks all my boxes and it takes nothing else.”

“I can’t look at myself.”

“What if I showed you someone else?”

It didn’t sound right to you. Dean could see it on your face as the confusion fizzled the upset and he wanted to walk it back to clarify yet didn’t.

“You’re not ask-“

“No one else is here,” he shook his head as he reproached you. He grasped one of your hands and hesitantly brought you to the mirror.

“But I want to show you someone else.”

You wanted to protest against him so loudly but when he stopped you in front of the mirror and stood behind you, the words died on your lips. You saw the same person.

The vision in front of you was lumpy and frumpy and the choice of underwear was quickly becoming something to regret.

“Who do you see?” Dean asked you. One of his hands rested on your shoulder, digging into the spot where your neck and shoulder met. The other held onto your own and intertwined your fingers gently.

“I have a feeling you won’t like what I say.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I see… an unfortunate woman. She’s not a supermodel and she’s not a celebrity. So… she’s not the standard of beauty. Her hair’s not done and her makeup is well… not ready for the magazines and she chose the wrong day to wear this color bra.”

“Anything else?” Dean listened.

“The man behind her is too handsome for her. He deserve someone who matches what he gives and that’s not the person in the mirror.”

Dean let that sit in the air for a moment. The seconds felt heavy and you wanted to look away from yourself and crawl under the covers and never see the light of day again.

“Can I tell you what I see?” Dean asked you and you shrugged.

“I can’t imagine it’d be any different than me.”

Dean cleared his throat and from his reflection, his eyes crawled along every inch of you that was exposed to him. You were under a microscope and he the scientist.

“I see my best friend,” he started and you knew you were quickly sinking. “I see a woman who is so strong and capable and caring and good. I see pretty hair and pretty eyes and maybe… maybe…the best lips in this bunker. But I may have to take that back when I look at myself.”

You squeezed his hand.

“I see a woman who has the most beautiful body.” He took the hand from your shoulder and slowly ran the backs of his fingers along your spine. “Every part of her distracts me. I catch myself starting at her when she’s not looking and I have to look away before she notices. Every color looks good on her and she looks the prettiest like this.”

“Anything else?” You said quietly.

Dean looked you in the eyes from the reflection. There were a million things he could say.

“How long do we have?” He laughed. The sound bounced off you; his chest vibrating against your back.

“I haven’t always been the best… anything… when it comes to women. But goddamn do you make me want to be someone else, sweetheart. Like maybe I could be a rock star and you can be the most devoted groupie or… or maybe I could be a firefighter and you can be a school teacher who can’t wait for me to get home.”

“I think you’re projecting, Dean,” you chuckled and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you tight against his bare chest.

“The woman I see in this mirror is perfect to me.”

“I wish she could see that for herself,” you said dejectedly.

“Then let me show her how,” he prompted. His mouth at the base of your ear, his breath was hot on the side of your face. “Let me show you how.”

“I do—“

He said your name strongly. “If you don’t face it, you won’t overcome it.”

A half a second you thought he might have read that from his Dad’s journal back in the day. Perhaps it was a statement he had grown up with but no matter that root, he sought the end to the cause.

“What were you thinking?”

“Nothing different from what you had said before,” Dean’s hands began to shift. They curved over your back and to the front of your body. You watched in the mirror was they traced along your sides and over your hips. The slow agony of his glide caught the fabric of your underwear and begged for them to be pulled away, but he let them remain.

“I’m going to eat you out, like you asked,” you caught his eyes in the mirror and blood rushed to your face. Cheeks hot and flustered, you can’t believe how blatant you had been before. “And then I’m going to fuck you like it’s our last night on this fucking earth, alright?”

“And what of the mirror?”

“You’re gonna watch yourself, us, through it from the bed.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Dean.”

You panicked a little inside. But his hands kept roaming and his eyes were changing their shades again, and in it all, all you could feel was him. His hard body, his rough hands, the breath on your face, and words he spoke overtook the insecurities that plagued you.

“You can,” he assured. His long fingers played at the strap of your bra, inching it away from your shoulder and letting it slip down your arm.

“I know you can because you always listen to me,” he whispered in your ear. “So? What do you say?”

The same fingers that let the strap fall moved under your arm and around to the nearly exposed breast. His hand snaked around your body and up to cup the one breast before squeezing the flesh tightly. You shuddered a breath and he knew he had you.

Dean took your earlobe between his teeth and let go with a small ‘pop.’ His hand squeezed and soothed, the other sitting patiently at your hip. Fingers tugged at the exposed nipple and you watched it harden like magic in the mirror.

“I’m not doing anything until you tell me, baby.”

You met his eyes again.

“Fuck me, Dean.”

And he smiled into your neck.

There was something unexpectedly titillating watching Dean go down on you.

It was daunting at first. Dean had led you to the bed, sitting you on the end and crept up onto the mattress behind you. Your reflection stared back hauntingly—dreading yet curious as to what it may appear as in front of you. It was strange, watching Dean and feeling his touch but not truly looking into his eyes. His hands caressed your body and the seriousness of his need to prove your mind wrong was enough to challenge yourself.

He wanted to prove you wrong. Dean wanted to show you how beautiful you were in the throes of ultimate vulnerability and passion.

“Look,” he positioned your head to look in the mirror across the bed.

“I want you to keep looking, alright? Even when we move or I move you, I need you to keep looking.”

“What if I wa—“ You turned your head to the side to look at him but he took his hand and repositioned your head.

“What if I want to look at you?”

“I’m right here,” Dean looked at himself in the mirror. He puffed out his chest slightly, you biting your lip in his boyish confidence that never seemed to leave him.

You knew, however, how much Dean gave to everyone else. One day, you promised, you’d give Dean something he needed too.

“Now,” he rubbed the sides of your arms before moving out of the way and off the bed. “Lay down.”

“But—“

“I’ll tell you how to do it,” he dismissed.

You shimmed up the bed slightly and leaned back. Your back hit the mattress with the thud and you weren’t sure what to do with your hands, so you just folded them across your stomach. Dean scoffed and looked down at you to which your brows furrowed.

“What?” You questioned.

“You’re acting like you’ve never done this before.”

“Well,” you countered. “In a way I haven’t.”

“Yeah but we’ve done this before,” he made a gesture between the two of you with his finger. “Relax.”

You nodded your head and breathed in deeply. You had done this before. You had. He’s done it a hundred times and if you were counting, he actually liked doing it so it was more than a hundred times over the last few years.

Dean knocked his knee against yours, tipping his head in silent order to open them which you complied obediently with. Now, spread before him, your heart was racing.

“Sit up on your elbows.”

You did.

“When I get down,” Dean warned. “You’re gonna see yourself. And if you get too overwhelmed, you tell me and we stop.”

God, you loved him. You really did.

“Okay,” you said in a quiet nod.

Before you could back down, before he went down, he leaned across to you and kissed you gently on the lips.

“I mean it, yeah?”

You agreed. “Yeah.”

Dean hummed and kneeled on the floor against his better judgement. His hands that rested on your thighs went to your hips, catching the fabric between his palms and slowly, he pulled down your panties and helped remove them from your legs. Above his head, you could see yourself in the mirror—the most private part of you wholly covered by Dean’s head and the expanse of his back took up the rest of the space.

He lifted on your legs off the bed and onto his shoulder. He peppered a few scattered kisses on the inside of your thighs as he repositioned himself for the taking. You were right there, waiting. Dean’s own want was growing by the second and all he wanted to do was taste you.

He hooked his arm around your leg and brought his hand to your core, thumb pressing into you with a jolt. And then he pulled his head inwards. Painting a stripe with his tongue, that was all it took to let the fear escape your body.

Dean was at the alter of you; the reflection emboldened your acceptance of yourself and his actions that formed a deeper well within you. He kept going. His head moving, bobbing for every motion he made. His fingers pulled you open as his tongue painted pictures inside of you.

Each stoke of his tongue, of his fingers along the sides and his thumb pressing into your clit made the blood rush down. You throbbed, burning for something more as you watched nothing but the back of his head and the muscles of his back constrict with his ambition.

Dean watched you watch yourself. He was proud of you—how you didn’t truly watch him or fall to your back instead. You mewled, gasping with a jolt as he prompted himself to use his fingers more. He took it as a sign. Instead of palming himself on the outset of his briefs, he took his other hand and brought it to your pussy that beckoned it.

“You good baby?”

He moved the hand that was already there to your thigh and groped it. You split for a moment from the mirror to look at him. His cheeks were flush, chest laboring with a breathlessness he welcomed.

“Perfect. I’m perfect.”

He ran his tongue over his lips as he smiled and your heart skipped a beat.

“Damn right,” he encouraged.

You anticipated him to continue on with his mouth but he sat back on his knees on the floor. Straining in his briefs, Dean just looked at you before rising with a grunt and kneeling next to you on the bed.

“Sit up,” he pointed to the end of the bed and you did as told again.

“Wha-“

“Shh,” he hushed. He sat sideways next to you with one of his legs tucked under him. Dean’s hand reached out and rested on the space between your stomach and cunt and when you looked up, he clicked his tongue at you.

“Mirror,” he redirect you and suddenly, his fingers were inching lower and lower until they were meeting the wet remnants of his mouths product.

Your mouth fell open in the slightest; a rewarding breath escaped your lips as his finger, then two breeched you and met your warmth in an eager welcome. As he pumped his fingers in and out of you and gathered the wetness that built quickly, Dean’s forehead fell onto the top of your head and his body leaned into you.

With every staggered breath he was more rewarded. His fingers relished the sounds your pussy made as he sped up his wrist faster.

“Oh,” you barely mumbled out. “Fuck, Dean.”

Dean hummed and the rumble went through you. He kept his pace and you wanted to close your eyes, stall the feelings building inside of you but didn’t. You didn’t disobey his wants and efforts of helping you get over this self deprecation that was sealing fate before there was a chance to solve it.

“Dean,” you said again but not worried. He didn’t stop at his name.

His fingers curled inside of you, hitting the spot you ached for him to find without cause. The muscle in your leg jolted and your hand went to his arm, tightly holding on as the other dug into the sheets of your bed and formed new wrinkles in its wake.

The heat was fast in its approach. Screeching from an abyss of darkness to only be awakened by the light of him, your end was near. It was greedy to want it all the time yet Dean was more than willing to give forever if it meant he’d feel this way.

“Come on,” he egged you on as you clenched the two fingers. “Baby come on, I’ve got you.”

“F-fuck, Dean, I-Christ,” you writhed in pleasure. He was leaning against you and his eyes closed let the reflection before you come alive in more ways than one. He was all yours—not a single word or person or thing could change it. Completely and utterly devoted to you and for once, when you looked in the mirror, you felt beautiful.

Your breath hitched in your throat and there was little else you could say as the room was filled with nothing but your heavy breaths and the sick sounds of your pleasure.

Those sounds, the mirror, and Dean’s words were all it would take to send you over a ledge. The burning, bright light of relief was striking. It was blistering in its blaze and entirely too much to send words tumbling out of your lips. All you could do was dig your fingertips into his arm and watch your body twitch at the intensity.

It shook your legs; shoulders twitching with the muscles in your stomach convulsing. Dean slowed his fingers to a stop. He held them inside of you for a second before removing them as carefully as he could and he rested the hand above your knee. Your finish on his fingers wet your skin and brought a coolness that hadn’t been there before.

Dean pushed his head against yours. He opened his eyes and met yours face to face, not in the mirror.

As he hoped, there was something inside of yours that changed. There was no regret and the cruelty of your mind was the past for now—even if the evil crept in the shadows around the gleam that surrounded you now.

You were beautiful. You were perfect.

And if you couldn’t vocalize those words yourself, at least he knew you could see them.

“Did you see what I see?” He asked lowly. He wasn’t done with you yet.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I see it.”

“Good.”

“But I don’t want to look at me anymore.” Your eyes weren’t tortured. “I just want to look at you.”

When he fucked you into the mattress, you did. You took in him and only him and when everyone returned when the sun had long gone down, you felt anew when Dean glanced at you from across the table and that glow of renewal hadn’t left you.

As always, comments and reblogs encourage writers the most! I thank you for reading and I am so thankful you took the time out of your day to read what I’ve put out here. Thank you!

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #supernatural #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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guardianlegends64 · 8 months ago

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[Closed RP] Hazbin Hotel Alternate Love Story “The last Hunter becomes the Lover”

In the most Dangerous and Violent and Deadly World that’s called “Hell” There was a Big Tower That’s Called “Hazbin Hotel” the Hazbin Hotel is A Place where Demons Can Try to Get Redemption and To Rehabilitate themselves and To Gain a chance towards Heaven…

The Hotel belongs To Charlie Morningstar and the One with many Friends and Family who believe in Her Dreams and who she also deeply cares about as they do too…

As she has a Special Ally who always Smiles and has a Radio Like Voice and Has a Special Red Suit and even has Antlers and his very own Red Staff it’s Alastor The Radio Demon…

Alastor Is The Demonic overlord Who is the main Radio Host of Hell and Of Course Who Helps Charlie Morningstar with the Hotel and also Protects the Hotel with His Very own Powerful demonic Powers and abilities..

Until that one Day where Alastor was Taking a Stroll down the Very streets of Hell and every demon that he comes across to flees immediately as they’re all too Afraid and too terrified of the Radio Demon..

“ Ah hehehe… such a pleasant day for a walk… though a little long overdue for a walk”

Then until He Encountered someone from afar who he has Never Seen Before in his entire demonic life in Hell that someone with Fox Ears and many Fox Tails…

“Hm? Well whom might you Be..?”

Alastor Says in his Demonic Radio voice and in which he Gets a Small Flashback of when he was Still alive and in Making a Deal with Someone before he died “Hunt Her Down…” as the Flashback ended…

“What the… fock..?”

It’s been almost a Decade in Hell and Alastor never had a Flashback in His Very own Demonic Life… as his Smile almost Slightly lowered but shakes it off as he Observes the one with the Fox Ears and many Tails in which is a Lady who Alastor has never met before but he never Backs down on a deal…

“Heheh! Hunting you down will be fairly easy and Quick”

Alastor Uses his Quick Traveling ability in which he stands right 6 Steps behind the Fox Lady but quickly notices some other demon is going for the attack first as Alastor Swiftly takes the demon down but also gets Noticed by the Fox Lady as Alastor is still smiling

“Not Going To Happen..not in a million years you disgusting little Focking Brat!”

Alastor Says Angered as he turns to his Attention to the fox lady as he was about to talk her since the little sinner Demon ruined his Plan as the Fox Lady Spoke first…

#hazbin hotel #Alternative #alternate story #alastor #romance

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hidtired · 7 months ago

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sooo what i you do a Daryl x reader where the reader and Daryl had a relationship before the whole outbreak but when the world went to shit, they got separated and they didn't find each other again until Daryl and Aaron are out looking for people and they find the reader in some sort of abandoned building and it's just a sweet reunion. Btw I love your reading and I have no idea what you mean by GRAMMER MISTAKES- LIKE WHERE- but I love ur work <3

That makes my dyslexic ass very happy. I reread my stuff so much and always find mistakes so I try!

Miles Away

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

“Things are never lost to you; you are lost to them. If ever in need of something that has lost you, simply stop hiding from it.”

6.2k words

Description: A last minute trip leaves you separated from your fiancé when the world ends. Years of travel inevitably returns you to him. But years out in the world causes change.

Your POV

An unlikely relationship to have happened between two individuals, but happened all the same. It was a shock to the small town at the time. Even years later the announcement of your engagement causing some ruffled feathers. You the sweet town girl and a rugged Dixon. You were often discouraged from people about Daryl. You had dated the man for around 7 years now. Even so, the people around you told you it was a mistake to go through with a marriage. How could you not do it? He proposed, something you thought he would never do because his parents. He put it simply, “I already see you as my wife. Guess it was bout time I actually made you that rightfully.” So you told everyone to respectfully mind their business.

Then the world ended. You were thousands of miles in the air at the start. Daryl having dropped you off at the airport. You sulked with leaving, becoming mushy about going to New Hampshire to see your dementia ridden mother for the most likely last time. She was getting bad and some family had gathered and deciding to pull the plug. You still remember the last thing you said to him. Tears in your eyes as he held you outside TSA. “I’ll be back in a few days. Then I’m turning that title of fiancé into husband the next I see you.” You felt him chuckle into you, “Yes Ma’am you will.” Expressing I love you’s and the last kiss before you had to catch your flight. This isn’t the first time you had gone to check on your mom. Daryl insisted on coming but he had a hunting trip with his brother and you didn’t want to ruin that. So you had told him no. Why did you tell him no.

The first community you were apart of was the airport you landed at. It lasted a few months, food was plenty for the time and there were weapons from security. It was the people who ended up getting everyone killed. Few disagreements here and there caused a split, factions of sorts. One group kidnapped a pilot to try and fly a plane back to their loved ones. The plane they took hadn’t been run or properly check since everything fell. So it crashed into the fence destroying a good part of the airport with it. The crash attracted a horde and quickly over ran the place. You had a few survivors with you from the airport until you had either lost or seen them all killed.

You headed south, back to Daryl. Miles and miles of land keeping you from Georgia. It was 2 years going on 3 now. You would come across community’s, some still going some gone. Finding less than great people on the road. So that leads you to now. Two wannabe cowboys trying to lasso you like cattle. A scar carved into there for heads the only odd thing about them. They spit out concerning threats and comments, “You can have my seconds when I’m done Bill!” A rope had caught tight to your ankle leading you unable to run. You almost tripped but held your ground. Before this encounter you’d been having it tough for a few weeks. You had barely made any distance in the time you had traveled. The frustration and despair and shit luck wore you thin. You had a gun, only one in the chamber. Leaving one for you if you needed it. About the only ‘cure’ there is nowadays.

You thrashed around trying to fight off the men. You were already covered in grime. They were trying to capture you, not kill. That changed when the gun came out. This alone helpless woman became not so helpless. You fired your only shot at the bigger guy. The smaller one still had the rope and tugged making you miss killing the other. It hit him in the shoulder sending him crying in pain to the forest floor. It was moments like these that made you zone out. Violence wasn’t something you had in you. But now something learned, you had been out in the world too long. Taking a life becoming a norm. You used to care, then you remembered why they were all dead.

The steadiness you felt inside didn’t translate to the out. You scream and yell promises of death. You had managed to grab the rope from your ankle and used it to strangle the man who tied it to you. You broke a few ribs of his while he slowly chocked to death. You had your legs around him while you pulled back at his throat, you had heard and felt a few cracks. The man you had shot watching in horror has he struggled to decide, fight or flight? He choose froze, big scary man having his power taken from him and he becomes a coward. Your incessant screams and yells stopped when he stilled. You focus back to the injured. He rambled apologies to you at your approach. It fell on deaf ears, spotting a large rock near him. You didn’t kill him with speed. You broke his leg with the rock, slowly moving up his body. He was long dead when you were done swinging. Blood splattered and dripping down you.

A frustrated and adrenaline filled scream released out of you. All your noise attracted the infected near you. You ran still with a rope tied to you. You found a small home that was overgrown and slid into it. The knife you didn’t realized you pulled out while running tremble in your hand. You slide down the old wall in the building. The regret to your brutality flowing over you. Killing was normal for survival now, but what you did was cruel. You took your time and did it in brutal ways.

You were twirling the ring on your finger as a nervous habit. Often times doing it for a sense of safety from the man who had given it to you. You thought about him most days. Either when you do something he himself had taught you. That time spent with him in the woods had you picking up little things from him in time. It is why you’re alive for as long as you were. But come closer to night time when you just want to roll into his arms and let the world cease to exist. To just talk to him and hear his voice. But you were no longer the person he knew, and that broke your heart more. The blood covering you, the mans and yours was a very big indication of that fact.

The dead must have saw you run off and tried to follow. The sound of a leaf crunching told you only one must have stumbled correctly in your direction. The quiet movement and lack of undead moans told you all you needed to know.

‘They must have had friends.’

Daryl POV

He was devastated knowing you were far from his reach. Blame for not going with you. It was your mother dying how could he have just let you tell him it was fine? That, “We will go to the funeral when that comes.” He was bitter and angry in the beginning. Then it was hope when he got to the prison with people he now considered family. Maybe one day he would find you again. Then the prison fell and reality seemed to hit him.

Acceptance came when he finally confessed to Rick of your existence. It was when they sat against that car after the night with the claimers. He broke when he told him he was his brother. A mention of Beth stirring the thought of you with it. He looked away from Rick taking a shaky breath, “I lost her like how… how I lost m’ wife.” Rick’s eyes widened taking in the information. Tears build in Daryl’s eyes before he steels himself, “Completely out of my control and yet… somehow was.” Rick understands the feeling, it turns out Daryl knew just that to. When he lost Lori, it was Daryl that helped hold things together. That sudden understanding knocked into him. Rick cautiously asked, “Are they both dead…?” Daryl looked out to the forest. He slowly shook his head, “Just gone.”

When Beth died it also felt like you died with her. The hope he always had that you were out there seemingly dying inside him. He knew the kind of person you were. He would kill squirrels and you would feed them. He knew you were far too nice for your own good. You had spent hours in the rain trying to lure a kitten from under the neighbors shed. Catching a cold so bad it stuck with you for a week. You were his fragile thing in the world he promised to protect. To not just keep you alive but keep your innocence. Whether you were dead or not you would have had killed something in you to live in today’s world. To not be able to protect you from anything felt like he failed you.

He still held a hope you went down peacefully. It had to be meaningful because your life had to be for something. He tried to do the same by giving his life for others. Most recently that person being Aaron. In truth he was ok with dying knowing there was a slim chance of seeing you once again. Things that reminded him that maybe it was better for you to have not suffered. With the horde and assholes he tried to help and others assholes destroying Alexandria’s walls. So now that leading them, him and Aaron tracking the few Wolves who fled. They knew Rick said not to go recruiting people. The distance yells and screams caught there interest. They still need to try despite Rick being jumpy and “taking no chances”. If they could only just make sure whoever was well then that was enough.

When they got closer to a woman’s scream, which sounded in between scared and angry, the dead also seemed to take interest into the noise. The yelling had stopped near when the shot went off, so finding exactly where this person was in the woods became harder. The sight they found was not what they expected. Aaron had held a hand to his mouth, “What the-“ The sight was gruesome, two body’s laid in the dirt. One unrecognizable due to being beaten to a pulp. The other had a walker chewing on its leg. The neck of the man purple. Daryl looked on at the sight with a scowl and went to put the near walker down. He took notice of the W carved into the dead mans head, “Well shit.” Aaron perked up as he watched Daryl crouch down to the man who was choked. Daryl turning gesturing with his head to the body, “These the assholes who fled.” Aaron walked and peeked to see a W carved into there forehead. These two were the last known of the group and they had seemed to died gruesomely, but not by the dead. Aaron turned to Daryl as a realization hit him, “Where the girl who was screaming?”

A unwelcome chill and uneasiness drifted in the air. A thick cloud of a sad thought, “M’ guess they must have attacked her and she shot big fella over there. Then ran from the walkers.” Daryl nibbled at his lip, his eyes roamed the surrounding, maybe a clue confirming the theory. Some blood caught his attention, then he noticed further that in a direction something was dragged through the forest floor. He pointed in the direction making Aaron turn. Aaron looked to have some kind of resolve, “Let’s make sure she is ok.” Daryl nodded while walking forward to track, “If there comes back with us I’ll try and talk Rick into letting them stay. Hell best we can offer is at least some meds, she did use a favor with those dick bags.” Aaron eyebrows scrunched, “Maybe that would help their case. I don’t like not being about to recruit people anymore.”

The trail Daryl followed lead him to a very overgrown building. It was clear the place may have been abandoned even before the fall. Daryl walked quietly, he gestured he would go around back and that Aaron should go in the front. Aaron crouched and made his way closer to the building while Daryl went to the back. The slow creak of the wooden door making it obvious he was there, Aaron had no stealth in him. So he knows if someone was in this place they knew he was here, he might as well make himself known. He gulped seeing a hand print of blood on the wall closed to the door, “I don’t want to hurt you. Just heard you screaming and saw the bodies of those men. Your not hurt are you?” His weight making the wood underneath him bend with every step. The place was silent, but he knew that someone was here if the blood trail wasn’t any indication.

It was sudden, almost like a flow of wind whipping behind him. A cold knife pressed to his neck. You had drifted out of the dark from somewhere stunning him in shock. He nervously brought his hands up in surrender, “Woah! There’s no need for that.” He tried to stay calm but an obvious tremor to his voice giving away his nerves. The quick movement and tone had alerted the archer to his danger though. Daryl saw a grimy and bloody figure stand to Aaron’s side. Daryl lifted and clicked his crossbow of safety and pointed to the potential threat.

It was clear by the way the person froze they knew they were now out numbered. It was also evident that this person was trembling. They were in a fight mode from just being attacked and he didn’t blame them for being on edge. By the looks of it they had been out in the world for to long, something he was familiar with. This person seemed to be thinking of anyway to run and Daryl decided he should speak stopping those thoughts from getting to how you got away from the other guys.

“Put the knife down, we just were wantin to see if yeah are ok.”

The slow turn of the persons head seemed almost confused. But the soon flicker of eye contact between them revealed all. His grip on his crossbow slowly slipping. His heart pumped in his ears. You. Maybe he was dreaming? You? The building feeling dropped in him. Some way somehow he was staring at you, the women he would burn the world for. He watched as the knife was moved from Aaron and saw it fall to the floor. The sound of you crashing back to the wall behind you giving him a clear view of you. You were covered in dirt and blood. Hair was much shorter then the last he saw you. It was choppy like you did it with a dull blade. It was also tinted darker from being unwashed. Holes throughout your clothes and the collar loose. He slowly stepped closer ignoring Aaron. Then he saw it, a flicker of a sparkle coming from your finger.

The ring he gave you…

Your POV

The clumsy man sloppily creeped up into the house. A voice calmly spoke as they realized they were less than quiet entering, “I don’t want to hurt you. Just heard you screaming and saw the bodies of those men. Your not hurt are you?” The hatred still buzzed in you from your near death experience. This man claimed to ‘not want to hurt you’ but never said they weren’t going to hurt you. The man walked with heavy feet. You were in a dark room hugging the wall near the door. If he was truthful about just overhearing everything you didn’t want to kill him. It was hard to remember that not everyone was out to get you. Even so you quickly rushed to pull your knife to his neck.

The man seemed schooled while raising his hands in surrender. A good move that eased his threat level to you. You took notice of his clean appearance, something that seemed a little strange at first. He looked to you with ought moving his head. Eyes glancing down to you, “Woah! There’s no need for that.” It was clear to you this guy was not involved with the others you just killed. Before you could ask anything a click from across the hall stunned you into a sense of danger overflowing from you again. You didn’t move your sight from the man in front of you. It was clear some kind of weapon was pointed at you. You hadn’t heard the other person at all? Maybe the first guy was so loud you didn’t even think he had another person with him. Should you run? Maybe kill the guy at your knife point and use him as a shield for the other-

“Put the knife down, we just were wantin to see if yeah are ok.”

It was as if a ghost whispered in your ear. The unexpected voice from the dark pulling at your heart and memories. Maybe you were losing it, becoming crazy? All this time out in the world had gotten to you. Your eyes while scared to drift to the darkness and see nothing quickly glanced over to confirm if you lost it. Blue eyes is what you saw. His baby blue eyes that you used to joke would be the color of your children’s. Daryl, crossbow slowly lowering revealing more of himself. The knife slipped from your hand. The man near you back away after it fell. You didn’t even notice while crashing backwards. Eyes still locked with a seeming allusion of your lover. A overwhelming mess of feeling all at once made you numb. You were in Virginia… still miles from Georgia.

He stepped closer, hair longer and clothes seemed worn but still clean. You struggled to suck air in to your lungs, starting to hyper ventilate. You slid down the wall still looking at him. He crouched down to your level eyes glassy and a look of pain in his eyes.

“Darlin’…”

Both POV

Your lips wobbled as tears flood your vision. A sudden rush of air finally hitting your lungs. He almost reached out to touch you but froze halfway not wanting to scare you. The first sound of a cry released from you. You sent yourself flying up at him, encircling him into your arms. He caught you but stumbled back landing on his ass. He felt your body shake with your cry’s. A tightness stuck in his throat as he held you. A moment neither thought would have again.

"Uh, Daryl what just happened?"

Daryl looked over your shoulder and up to a very confused Aaron. A long sigh released from him, "M' Wife." He leaned his head down onto yours. You pulling back to look to him. Tears still in your eyes blurring your vision slightly. Not enough to not take notice of how he changed, for as long as you've known him he's never looked more mature. You sniffle, "I thought I'd never see you again." The clear strain to the admission broke his heart. He knew though, despite that you had been trying to get back, you wouldn't be in front of him now if you hadn't. He wiped at your tears still not fully processing. He noticed Aaron move and sigh, "I'll give you a moment, keep in mind we have to get back before dark." He walked out the door and it creaked and slowly swung closed. It had seemed you had only just noticed and remembered he was there. But you had also remembered that the world was still shit. You looked to Daryl and you notice he was looking at you already.

"Shit. Are you hurt? I saw those assholes bodies-" He seemed to realized it to. The world was different, therefore so were you. He might still have lost you. "-you killed those pricks?" His innocent little thing? He looked to the blood that covered you. Then he remembered the way those bodies looked. You looked away from his eyes seemingly ashamed, "Yes." It was a slightly cold reply. Squeezed fists, nails digging into your palm. "They cornered me so I killed them." It wasn't even a second when Daryl replied with a grumble in his voice, "Good." Your eyes spring to look at his face in surprise. You saw the unwavering truth in that moment. Yes you had changed, so had he.

You smile while tears stream down your face. He was truly here. You grab his face in your hands and look deep into his eyes. He was mesmerized by the change. The love in your eyes remain the same he last saw them, in the end you were still his. He should have clocked that the moment he still say the ring on your finger. You let in a breath before speaking, “The only reason I’m still alive is because of you.” He wasn’t expecting that. He seemed to bite his tongue and look down for a second. Guilty. You forgot how soft hearted this man was, you’re glad that somehow is still with him. You never thought that maybe he would blame himself for the separation. You lift his head to look back to you, “All the times I would watch you hunt, track, and prepare kills kept me fed. All the times I should have given up or accepted death I told myself I would crawl my way to you if I had to.”

Then is when the crashing feeling dropped on him. The love he held for you that felt like a void suddenly was right in front of him. You slowly leaned into him giving a slow kiss. His hand slipped behind your head pulling you into a deeper kiss. Something both would fantasize about now becoming a reality. You wince causing Daryl to pull back. He pulled you back and took a look at you. You huffed a sigh sitting back to the forgotten rope around your foot. Daryl’s eyes round at the rope around your swollen ankle, he grabbed your leg mumbling curses. You sighed, “Shit, forgot about that.” You flinch while he carefully unwraps it. You didn’t feel the pain until now. It didn’t feel broken but the guy must have sprained it the time he pulled on it before you shot his friend. Maybe the crunching you heard while strangling the guy with the rope was your foot. Daryl grunted and had that worried pout he did, “We gotta get yeah back to get that looked at.” He stood first helping you stand. You stumbled giving him a questioning look, “Back where?” He helped you out the door, the man you didn’t recognize turning to your exit of the shack. Daryl started to explain, “We have a community, it’s a little drive away.”

You cringe at the word community. You have seen your fair share of them, either run by crazy’s with a weird motive or something natural would happen destroying the place. “Don’t have the greatest relationship with those but, if you say so.” You look to the man Daryl was with, he seemed bamboozled. He walked closer to you and helping you walk. Daryl seemed perturbed, “I got her, I’ll get her to your car.” You watched somewhat comically as the man sassed and brush’s off his statement. You expected Daryl to hurl harsh words at him because he typically hated when anyone challenged him. But by this man’s tone, “You got shot few days ago. Not the greatest idea to carry her with your shoulder.” he was friends with him. Daryl scoffed but your eyes widened and looked to Daryl in shock. Daryl’s annoyed face at Aaron changed when he saw the worried one on yours, “Geez Aaron it was a graze! You’ll scare her talkin’ like that. Y/n don’t listen to him…”

They both were helping you through the woods seemingly to a road. Aaron chuckled as he took a glance to you, “Well to be fair never knew there was a Mrs. Dixon. Be good for her to finally keep you from being reckless.” Daryl scoffed rolling his eyes, the grip on you tightened from him, “Only ever mentioned it to one person, he’ll give me hell for her when we get back.” Daryl also can’t imagine all the rest of his family finding out you even existed. He looked down seeing you slightly amused at how he was acting. He knows he has changed, for the better he thinks. He was finally confident in saying you were right about his true nature all that time ago. He was just a big softie that denied it and put on a sour façade. He looked to Aaron then back to you, “You’ll be in the car with Aaron. Your to injured for my bike.”

You looked to this Aaron guy giving him an unsure look. He smiled to you shyly, “Best we don’t freak out the rest of are people. Those assholes you killed gave us hell and damaged are community.” That surprised you, looking as a road appeared through the trees, you hopped along, “You were out here for them?” You reached the car and Aaron left your side to open the passenger door. Daryl turning to explain, “They carved W in their head calling themselves wolves. Bunch of crazy’s.” He sighed looking past you, “Those two were the last of em. We didn’t want them doing anything else to anyone.” He rubbed your arm before helping you walk to car, “We were a little late for that I guess.” He helped you sit down noticing it was getting a little too dark for his liking. He moved down looking at Aaron in the drivers seat, “We gotta go before we worry people, I’ll lead the way.”

You sat there staring at Daryl as his headlight lit the road. Everything felt like it was moving really fast. The news of those people you killed were worse than you thought gave some justification for your brutality. Who were you kidding you had lost control. Aaron broke the silence in the humming car, “So, Y/n is it?” You glance over to Aaron just giving a hum in reply. He takes your awkward silence just as well as he takes Daryl. He heard you shuffle in your seat before asking, “How long have you known Daryl?” Aaron clocked the really meaning to the question, ‘how trustworthy are you’. Aaron chuckled, “A few months now.” Not long enough in your opinion. Yet Daryl seems so friendly with him? In such a short time? You decide to just ask another thing bothering you.

“What did he mean by he’ll get hell about me?”

Aaron sighed as he looked on to Daryl driving ahead, “Are leader will be a little pissed with bring you back. He is not big on newcomers right now after the recent incident, but you’re Daryl’s wife so not really new know are you.” This leader sounds to have the right idea about people. You fiddle with the ring on your hand, “So me staying is going to take some convincing?” Aaron smiled and nodded while he drove, “Well if anyone could convince him it would be his brother.” His brother is the leader of this place? That can’t be good. Merle was anything but a leader. This community is probably small and on its lasts legs, he did say it was just attacked and very damaged… guess you’ll be back out on the road sooner then you thought.

You looked out the window for the remainder of your ride. Aaron only speaking again when closer to the destination, “So we’re almost there. You should just stay in the car until we can give a heads up of your arrival?” You tilt your head in confusion, “I’m going in the community? Thought you said your leader wasn’t a people person right now?” You had thought you would have to stay behind considering so. Having to wait for some kind of approval. Aaron laughed a little, “Daryl has a fair amount of say. His family trusts him enough to make a call.” You sat there confused again, ‘Family?’ Just his brother? But he said it like there is a fair bit of people in this, ‘Family’. Your contemplating was interrupted when Aaron rolled to a stop. You looked around into the dark not realizing when Aaron turned off the headlights.

Then while Aaron filcked the lights on and off in a pattern you caught glimpses of a huge wall. You sat up in your seat leaning forward as you watched it slide open. Daryl rolled in first then Aaron slowly drove in. The first thing you notice was houses with a few lights on. Electricity? This place was huge… But your eyes were pealed back to Daryl. A group of people seemingly gathering around him seeming worried. Aaron unlocked the door and before getting out mumbled a quick, “Stay here.”

Daryl POV

There orders were to be back way before dark. So when they hadn’t come back it sent everyone in a panic. Not to mention they were already struggling with replacing broken parts of the wall and moving bodies. Rick had become a singled minded man again with Carl almost dying. So he wasn’t surprised when he came marching up to him unhappy about his tardiness, “Where the hell have you both been! We damn near sent people after you.” Daryl brought his hands to his hips, “Assholes are dead, but there is something else-“

“Stay here.”

Rick turned to see Aaron getting out of the car but he also noticed a figure in the passenger seat nodding. Anger flared in him, “I said no more recruiting! Damnit Daryl- put them in the cell!” Daryl was not about to be yelled at. Specially for something as important as this. “Hold the hell up-“ Rick shook his head in annoyance cutting Daryl off, “This is not negotiable!” Before Daryl could blurt out anything a running figure came screaming for Rick. It was Denise, “It’s Carl he is awake and freaking out!” Daryl felt his stomach drop. Rick hesitated in place before pointing to Glenn, “Go put them in the cell!” Then he ran off back to his son. Daryl turned to Glenn, “Nah man! You don’t get it!” Glenn looked to the people next to him before sighing and walking to the car. “Hey! Wait!” Abraham stepped in front of him blocking his path.

He huffed knowing he would have tackled Abraham if he wasn’t trying to be calm about this. “Get the hell out my way.” Then he heard your voice call out, “Uh… Daryl?” Very clear of your anxiety and how you might lash out if you feel in danger. Daryl needed to just had to suck it up, “ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT! FINE!” He stepped to the side looking to Glenn, “Your throwing me in with her. Let’s go…” Glenn paused giving him a wide eye expression. Glenn looked back and forth conflicted but sighed and lead you to the cell Morgan just made. Glenn question Daryl on the walk, “Why are you doing this Daryl?” Daryl was walking slightly ahead with you right behind him. You answered for him, “I’m his wife.” A choked cough released from Glenn, “Woah!” Glenn paused looking to him the to you. “What the hell dude! Never said you were married!” Daryl saw they were getting closer to the building and ignored Glenn’s surprise. Glenn sighed, “Well damn now I don’t wanna lock you up.” Glenn walked past you both going down a small incline. He unlocked a door and rubbed at his next, “But Rick said. I’m sure once everything with Carl calms down he will let you out.” Glenn turned to you, “Sorry about this, newcomers is a sensitive thing at the moment.”

Much to Daryl’s dismay you half heartedly chuckled while walking into the room, “To be fair best I be in a cage. I did just brutally murder two men.” Glenn mouth was agape, “uh- what? She’s joking right?” Daryl just shrugged and followed you into the cell. Daryl even closed the door and stuck his arms through the bars before answering. While it was still a new thing to hear you be so… brutal… maybe just badass, he trusted you. “Don’t tell Rick why I’m in here with her. Want to rub it in his face for pissing me off and not listening to me.” Glenn chuckled and shrugged moving to lock the cell door, “If you say so.” You while just being a bystander to this conversation spoke up, “I thought Aaron said your brother was the leader, not this Rick guy?” Glenn started to laugh, “What you thought people would follow a dumbass like Merle?” Daryl squinted his eyes at Glenn… but he wasn’t wrong. Glenn smiled to him, “No offense.” Daryl just rolled his eyes putting his attention to you, “Rick is like a brother to me.”

Your face told him you were bewildered by that statement. Granted he knows back then Merle always through around ‘blood is the only thing we got’ when you both started dating. Maybe you thought he saw it that way to. Glenn was about to go out the door, “Aw, Daryl cares for us!” Before the door closed Daryl shouted back, “Get your head out of your ass ‘walker bait’!” A nickname sure to piss him off. You only looked to me pleased with the reaction. Awe struck in your eyes drew him closer to you. Alone at last, and it seemed you both had some catch up to do.

It was a lot of talking. Sitting against a wall with your hands intertwined. He told you about Merle’s death. How he came to be so friendly with all these people. You started crying and leaned into him. At first he thought you were sad but you were smiling proudly at him. You share your own story’s. Mentioning friends you’ve lost, mostly them all dying, how a few were just gone with you having no clue to how. “Told you I’d make you my husband the next time I saw you…” He felt his throat tightened, he grieved you to the point of acceptance. So having you here and now felt like another type of grieving. To what could have been. But before he could get into it farther an angry Rick stormed down into the cellar. Hand on hip with a baby Judith slumped over his shoulder. A stature of a man trying to show leadership, “What the hell are you doing here Daryl.” Rick’s eyes only glancing over to you for a second. Daryl sat there for a second prolonging the silence. While he couldn’t exactly blame Rick for having to run off before they could talk he should have known damn well he had say. So he glared daggers to Rick.

Rick moved from foot to foot shaking his head again, “Look we can’t go bring anyone in after the shit that happened-“ Daryl stood up waving his hands, “You think I’m stupid? Like I would go and bring someone back if it didn’t mean something?” Daryl stood straight closing in closer to the bars, “Now please go ahead and tell my WIFE! That she isn’t welcome here.” Ricks mouth gapped open, air releasing from his lungs, “T-that’s her!” Rick’s hand moved to his chest while turning to look at you. Daryl also turned around just seeing you nonchalantly resting on the floor.

“You two really do argue like brothers.”

Your eyes not staring at Rick but the baby girl he carried. Daryl’s heart filled with you pushing aside the anger of the situation, because this was supposed to be a happy moment. Daryl turned back to Rick seeming to have calmed down, “Now… you gonna let us out?” Rick started to laugh, Judith perking up to her father’s laughter. “Goddamn dude, I’m happy for ya.” Rick moved for the key in his pocket. Daryl reached out a hand to help you up, a visible limp still present. While walking here you tried to appear un injured, most likely trying not to look like easy pray. You truly were out there for a long time, his group knows what that could do to your mind.

The creaky bared door swings open leaving the little girl to finally met eyes with her uncle. Daryl sighed when he gained the little girls attention. Judith happily giggled while reaching for him. Though he found really hold her if he wanted to help you walk. That’s what drew his attention back to your face. He wasn’t expecting you to be looking at Judith like she was a puppy. Then you sniffled, “She’s so cute.” Rick looked to you while juggling his daughter. The know that sometimes things like Judith keep you going in hard times. But in your hard time you had nothing. So seeing something in this broken world like Judith was definitely pulling something inside you. Daryl though could help but smugly smile up to Rick with a, ‘Just look at m’ girl~.’ Showing off the one he loved at the start to the family he now has.

But damn if it didn’t feel good.

Feedback welcome and requests open! Maybe spin off if this does well and people want more.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl x female reader #daryl x reader #twd daryl #norman reedus #daryl imagines #angst #fluff

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bitter-me · 7 months ago

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Hello ! Can I ask Savanaclaw with a first year student (platonic) that is like LingYang from Wuthering waves pls ? Ignore it if you don't want to write it !!!

Have a good day !

Another Lion?

Savanaclaw | M. Reader as Lingyang [Wuthering Waves] (Platonic)

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"It's like a mini you!"

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The day [Name] arrived at Savanaclaw is the day where Leona get's another headache. Such an energetic guy.. honestly where did he got all that energy from? It's annoying. Like a child who's still learning the world around him, believing how being kind and sincere is a good thing. Meanwhile Jack and Ruggie is incredibly happy. [Name] is just such a nice guy, always willing to help, it's a nice change from how many rotten eggs are in Savanaclaw, believing that they're the "strongest."

It's even more interesting how [Name] appears to also be a lion like Leona but turned out way different. Ruggie would always joke how [Name] is the version of Leona if he was kinder. Which earned him quite the death glare. When [Name] offered a private lion dance performance. Boy is it a sight. Watching someone showing their culture and traditions are always a nice experience and seeing him go from pillar to pillar with such swift motions is quite mesmerizing. [Name] is more than happy to teach them lion dancing if they asked.

With how swift he is, [Name] instantly made his way on to the Magical Shift/Spelldrive team in Savanclaw. He's just so agile, perhaps being a lion dancer makes him quite nimble.

Leona still finds him annoying though but after some interactions, [Name] makes a wonderful sleeping buddy. How? Well somehow he always without fail found the nicest and seclusive spots for naps. [Name]'s senses are surprisingly sharper than his, which throw Leona off the loop for a moment, and just like that [Name] had officially become Savanclaw's younger brother, who ever dare lay a single finger on him will answer to the Housewarden.

Ruggie and [Name] bonded like brothers, playing pranks here and there, enjoying life. Jack is like the more responsible older brother. Ready to help, and tries to get the two of them out of trouble, he may seem mean, but he's a big softie.

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Spoilers to those who haven't done Lingyang's companion quest

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Leona, Ruggie, Jack, and [Name] were at the Savanaclaw's dorm, Leona is napping like always, while Ruggie and Jack told stories of from their hometown as [Name] listens eagerly, happy to learn new things. "Oh? So it's like a folklore? Jinzhou also had one. It's called the Jingle Beast." [Name] says casually, looking out at the horizon with a faint smile, remembering it well how people use to fear such a "beast."

"They say that there's a beast somewhere out there and that when it hunts, you could hear the sound of a bell jingle. It's as simple as that really." He explains casually with a chuckle in the end. Such a silly rumor.

"Kishishishi! Really now? A Jingle Beast?" Ruggie can't help but laugh at such an interesting folklore. "Some say it's just a Suan'ni. A mystical creature that has amazing abilities. Some were skeptical though, since Suan'ni's are practically extinct now." [Name] added, looking down at the ground where they sat. This caught their attention, even Leona as he opens one eye and glance over to the three of them.

Ruggie thought about it for a moment before nodding in response, his face became more serious. "I don’t blame them. In ancient times, the world used to be a very brutal world. Suan‘nies were hunted and killed by humans for their own profit and desires. It was cruel and not fair."

[Name] remain silent for a moment, thinking back on those times. "In my own option…" He began slowly.

"The last Suan'ni might have yearn to become a human… it yanked out all of its fur, filled down its claws, twisted its bones, and learn how to stand upright." [Name] explains in a soft and melancholy tone, his gaze never leaving the ground, his ears occasionally twitched as he says those words.

"Anyway…" He paused, adding with hesitant in his voice. "It.. never really became a human in the end.."

Pure silence. Nothing but pure silence follows after that.

Ruggie and Jack look at [Name] with widened eyes, heck, even Leona had gotten up, sitting upright and looking at the other with a dumbfounded expression. They immediately picked up on what the other is implying.

Of course the Suan'ni never became a human in the end... because at the end of the day.. it is still a Suan'ni.

Through out the centuries... animals evolved and that's how they could now stand on two feet, talk, and etc etc.

But what about those who are older? Before such evolution could even be achieve? Suppose...

[Name] had answer that question.

#x male reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #twst #twst x reader #twst x male reader #savanaclaw #twst savanaclaw #leona kingscholar #twst leona #jack howl #twst jack #ruggie bucchi #twst ruggie #lingyang #wuthering waves #wuwa lingyang #platonic

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 8 months ago

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If you are doing requests can you do a platonic yandere diasomnia x Malleus’s adopted sister. Here’s my idea so the reader is a dragon fae like malleus and one day Lilia and silver was walking in the forest and came across the readers egg and brought it back to the palace and malleus who has already hatched and become immediately attached so his grandmother takes in the reader. Thank you for reading and have a good day/night.

Thanks for Asking! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

A Little Egg | Yandere Platonic Diasomnia

It’s nice if it’s a forest

But even better if it’s some other place across the world

That has a small group of researchers just curious about what you could be

Even though things are calming down now

He and Maleficent are certain that this egg belongs in their care

Of course this is made purely out of grief on both their ends

Your little egg reminds them of Malleus so much

And even across a magic mirror he’s just so so so interested in you

So by any means necessary their nabbing your little egg

Already malnourished because of the severe lack of magical prowess from the human who found you (You’re honestly just a small egg)

It isn’t long before you do hatch

Revealing yourself to be an anomaly

Your not a dragon fae

But your not another kind of fae either

In their expert opinion your in a class of your own (Read as: They have no idea what you are)

Rivaling Malleus’ power as you both get older

Not as recognized as your adopted brother you’re a lot freer and you’re just naturally friendlier

Which makes for an interesting time when SIlver and Sebek dedicate themselves to protecting you both

Having to split off when Malleus is learning

Or there all on the hunt when you both just run off to goof around

You’ll probably be allowed to go into Night Raven maybe along with Sebek as a first year

Where keeping you safe doesn’t get any easier

Only now does Malleus truly begin to realize what Lilia and Sebek go through when they freak out about where you’ve gone

He too is gritting his teeth when he thinks of you trying to run off to another dorm to hang out with your human/mermaid/beastman friends

Malleus doesn’t feel great trying to contain you

He actually struggles to despite your gap in age

You’re a pretty even match

But he won’t admit it

It’ll hurt your brother’s pride if you do

So he’ll do his best to convince you to stay near him or at least close by

And when you don’t obey he’ll have to get creative

Like making a necklace that he can hear you from

Or forcing you to help him befriend your friends so he can come by whenever you happen to be around

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere platonic x reader #yandere platonic #yandere platonic diasomnia #yandere platonic malleus draconia #yandere platonic liliia vanrouge #yandere platonic sebek zigvolt #yandere platonic silver #yanderes x child reader

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mystic-writings · 22 days ago

Text

forgiven

PAIRING — ex!dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY — two years after you broke up, dean convinces you to let him help you with a hunt.

WARNINGS — angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, torture, reader and dean ‘hate’ each other

WORD COUNT — 6,610

SONG — my tears ricochet - taylor swift

NOTES — writing this fic almost killed me. why does dean winchester turn me into an anguished poet.

masterlist | taglist

Regret.

Dean was a man with a long list of them, but as he stood in a field, watching the pyre burn alongside his brother and Bobby, he found himself placing you at the very top. You were the biggest regret of his life, and he hasn’t even made it to his thirties. He regretted shutting you out. He regretted letting you walk away. He regretted not looking for you when he finally came to his senses. He regretted not being fast enough.

He regretted letting you die.

Sam and Bobby had told him one too many times that it wasn’t his fault, but wasn’t it always? Wasn’t it always him making the hard choices, only for them to be wrong, in the end? Wasn’t it always him who had the blood of innocent people staining his hands? Wasn’t it always him that isn’t fast enough, isn’t strong enough, isn’t good enough?

Wasn’t it him that got you killed?

He’d heard things from other hunters after you broke things off with him. How bloodthirsty you’d become, always working alone, working efficiently, working ruthlessly. He’d hated it, deep down. How you dug yourself deeper into the hunting world when all either of you ever wanted was to get out. It killed him inside, knowing you were still in the business, even if a larger part of him carried hatred for you, albeit misplaced. Dean would never admit it aloud to anyone, though. Sam was often on the receiving end of his outward projections and rants at how much he hated you, and so was Bobby, on the rare occasion he saw the Winchesters. But the inward reflection of his soul was full of hurt; pain and grief and regret buried deep, dug up when Sam was asleep in the Impala and Dean waited for you to start some kind of weird conversation — only to remember you weren’t there anymore.

It came back to him every once in a while, the memories Dean never wanted to relive. They were too domestic (at least, as domestic as they could get in their line of work), too happy. But they were always hidden, waiting for Dean to be at his weakest. In an old mixtape, in a certain Zeppelin song that would play on the radio, in the crappy diner meals he would eat late into the night, in the glint of light off the silver ring you gifted him on his last birthday with you.

He wanted to hate you. He wanted nothing more than to hate you. But all you wanted to do was help him. His dad just died, of course all you wanted to do was help him. Dean was just too busy spiralling and drowning in his own grief to see it. That’s what he liked to tell himself. It was the grief that pushed you away. Just another thing his father wouldn’t let him keep to himself, to enjoy and cherish. He put the blame on his father, because why wouldn’t he? John Winchester was responsible for just about every other bad thing in his life thus far, why wouldn’t he be responsible for pushing you away, too?

So, like you, Dean hardened himself, diving headfirst into the very next case Sam was able to find. He ignored the pain, closed himself off, and got back to doing what he did best — hunting.

It was easy enough most days. In fact, it made him just that much better at what he did. It should’ve been concerning, at the very least, but Sam knew better than to step in Dean’s path. So, he watched silently as his brother, slowly but surely, crumbled beneath the weight of his own steeled emotions. But it didn’t show; not really, not beyond the occasional breakdown or bender, not until Sam and Dean arrived in Chicago.

The case itself was mostly cut and dry, they could see that before they even reached the city. Bobby had offered it over to them, a suspected shapeshifter that enjoyed preying upon people by taking on the faces of their ex-boyfriends and torturing them to death. It was gruesome, to say the least, but it wasn’t anything the Winchesters hadn’t seen before. In fact, it practically solved itself, save for the fact that the locations didn’t quite line up with the sewer system, and therefore, they had to take their time in locating the shapeshifter’s lair.

Their first clue that something was wrong was when they interviewed the first victim’s best friend.

“And you’re sure Katie was fine when you left?” Sam asked.

“Yes! Katie doesn’t— didn’t drink. She hated the stuff. We thought Matt was already gone, I mean, he said it himself. He was about to move to Boston.” The girl — Ashley, Dean thought her name might’ve been — reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “Why are you asking all this again?”

“Again?” Dean stiffened.

“Yeah, again.” She scoffed. “Another agent was here yesterday. A woman, I can’t remember her name. Mick? Something like that?”

Sam’s face dropped. “Agent Nicks?”

“Yeah, that’s her. Look, she already asked me all this stuff before, can’t you guys just leave me alone?”

Dean and Sam shared a quick glance before the latter closed his notebook. “Of course, we’ll get out of your hair.”

Neither of the brothers spoke until they were in the Impala, Sam reaching for his phone while peeling away from the curb, dialling Bobby’s number and putting him on speaker.

Bobby didn’t have the chance to breathe on the other line before Sam was speaking. “She’s here.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise we were playing a game of Guess Who.” Bobby snipped. “Who the hell are you talking about, boy?”

“Y/n. She’s in Chicago. We just talked to the first vic’s friend, she said another agent already talked to her. Agent Nicks.”

Bobby cursed under his breath. “She ain’t gonna like you two bein’ there.”

“Well that’s just too bad,” Dean piped up, practically white-knuckling the steering wheel. “We’re already here. And I’m not leaving a case behind just because little miss wants to pitch a fit about it. We’re finishing this hunt whether she likes it or not.”

“On your head,” Bobby conceded. “Just be careful, boys. She ain’t the same girl she was two years ago.”

“We will. Talk to you later, Bobby.” Sam huffed as he ended the call, eyeing his oddly silent older brother as they headed back to their motel room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your voice was sharp, laced with anger directed at a pair of haunting green eyes.

“Working the case, sweetheart,” Dean smiled condescendingly, leaning against the bar. “You know, you should try to be a little less conspicuous next time, Agent Nicks.”

Damnit.

“And which conspicuous name are you using this time?” You tilted your head, chest already filled to the brim with barely contained rage. “Johnson? Perry? Oh, maybe it’s Plant! You always did have a hard-on for Zeppelin.”

“Would you—” Dean cut himself off with a heavy sigh. “God, you’re so— You know, I don’t know how the hell I put up with you for so long.”

“I guess I was just really good in bed,” you shrugged, a coy smirk playing on your lips. If this had been some post-hunt pub night years ago, Dean would’ve kissed that smirk right off your face. But it wasn’t. It was now, in Chicago, in a hotspot for shapeshifter activity and you hadn’t seen Dean’s face in so long that the presence of it now only made your blood boil.

“Whatever. We’re both in this now, whether you like it or not.”

“Like hell,” you nearly spat, finishing off your beer. “I work alone, Winchester. Or haven’t you heard?”

“It’s funny that you think I still think about you.” Dean scoffed a laugh. “We might as well do this together. Shapeshifters, they’re tricky business.”

“For you, maybe. Besides, taking on a shapeshifter in a group practically spells trouble. Ever since I left you guys, I’ve had no trouble taking them out on my own.” You shrugged, like it was no big deal.

Dean huffed, suddenly frustrated at your vehement refusal to work together. “Look, if we don’t work together, we’re only gonna get in each other’s way. And you and I both know neither of us are just gonna give up the job. That’s not how we work.”

“Why are you so insistent that I be anywhere near you, Dean?” You asked, dropping your angry mask and giving into the slight heartache behind it. “Because if I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted me gone.”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his mind fumbling for any response that he could save face with. His green eyes flashed with hurt, only to be swept away by his tired, nearly pleading puppy dog eyes — nowhere near as convincing as Sam’s, but you were the only person he was ever able to charm with them, anyway. “Because it’s safer, and you of all people should know that I’d never hang a hunter out to dry like that. Especially—”

Dean cut himself off, his heart aching as he seemed, just for a moment, to forget what you two really were. Bitter exes with a taste for violence; proximal bombs so close to going off. If only you weren’t just that, then Dean would’ve said what was on his mind. Especially people I care about. Especially you.

You eyed the elder Winchester wearily, his words scratching at the crumbling walls around your heart. You hated to admit it, but maybe, just this once, Dean Winchester was right. These past few years had been wearing you down, stripping your resolve down to nothing more than a single, solitary wall protecting the worst thing you could think of from reaching your heart. You were tired. More so than you were when Dean first suggested getting the hell out of hunting. Back when he suggested it for the both of you, and ideas of an apartment and a dog and a normal fucking job were included in hushed conversations before bed in a crappy motel.

And then John Winchester sacrificed himself to save his son, and everything slipped out from underneath you. Because you knew the truth, long before Dean ever figured it out. John had told you himself — his final act, the only selfless thing he’d done for his boys. He begged you to get them out, told you that killing yellow eyes didn’t matter anymore. He just wanted his sons safe. And you couldn’t even do that.

With a final sigh, a too-long look into Dean’s eyes, and the echo of John Winchester’s final words to you ringing in your ears, you conceded. “Fine. But if anything happens, Winchester, so help me—”

“I know, you’ll kick my ass.”

“Actually, I’ll key your car, but that works too.”

Once you finally put all three of your heads together, it wasn’t difficult to find the shapeshifter’s central hiding spot. All of the locations it’d attacked at were no more than a 15-minute walk from an abandoned factory, which seemed to be the perfect spot. It irked you that you still didn’t know exactly how the shifter was picking and choosing its victims, but as long as it was dead before dawn broke, you would be content.

So, loaded up with silver — a knife tucked up your sleeve and some handy silver bullets loaded into your pistol, you joined the Winchesters in hunting a monster for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

Your reunion with Sam was much more pleasant than your encounter with Dean, as the younger of the brothers had always had a soft spot for you. He considered you family well before Dean had even had the guts to ask you out, and he was just glad that you’d been staying safe during the years you spent apart.

“So, what exactly are we doing?” You’d asked, leaning over the Impala’s front seat, eyeing both Winchesters like it was any other hunt. The ride up until then had been eerily quiet, no one speaking a word and no music playing, which was unusual for Dean. But that was only because the last cassette mix you’d made him was still in the player, and he refused to show any kind of weakness. To show you that he still kept some parts of you around.

“Factory’s pretty big, so we might have to split up for a bit, see what we can see.” Dean reminded you, sending you a cursory glance in the rearview mirror.

You grimaced. “I don’t like the sound of that. A shifter could do anything with that kind of vulnerability between us.”

“And it’ll take hours for us to find the damn thing and gank it if we all stick together,” Dean argued, gripping the wheel a little tighter. A sliver of moonlight glinted off a ring on his right ring finger, and you noticed absently that it was the one you’d gifted him for his birthday just before you’d broken up.

“And we won’t be able to gank it at all if it looks like one of us and then we all die, Dean!” You shot back, voice rising in volume. “I’ve done this enough to know that if we stick together, our chances are better.”

“We’re splitting up and that’s final. I don’t like it either, but it’s our best shot at finding this thing. From what I know, it’s quicker than most shifters, and that means it’s more dangerous.” Dean reasoned, and you knew better than to keep fighting him on it.

“Look,” Sam stepped in, turning to catch your gaze as you slumped back against the backseat. “It’ll be a lot quicker, but just in case something goes wrong, you shout. If you come across one of us and think it’s the shifter, pull your knife. It’s not the best, but Dean’s right, and it’s all we’ve got.”

You merely huffed, silently conceding to the brothers’ plan and ignoring the twist in your gut. Your mind was practically screaming at you, begging you to get away from the Winchester brothers and complete this hunt on your own. You would’ve made an exception for them in any other case, if it has just been any other monster. But shapeshifters relied on groups. They relied on the connection between mimic and victim. And your connection to Dean alone was too big of a risk to take just to kill one stupid monster.

But that monster had killed three people in the span of two weeks alone, and you would be damned if you let it kill anyone else.

So, you tamped down the anxiety brewing in your gut and let the lull of the Impala bring you a comfort you’d been sorely missing over the past few years. Despite what you led others to believe, hunting by yourself was lonely. There was never any backup, and you could die at any given moment, but it was all you had left. You, your weapons, and the faith that you’d get lucky enough to live another day.

You were living on luck, really. Luck and grit and hustling drunk guys at pool or poker. Always on the road, never sticking around, and never letting anyone get close. You’d tried it once with Dean, and all it got you was heartache. Hunting was the only thing left, and after all, violence was your preferred method of distraction. You remembered one of your first hunts after you and Dean had broken up — a particularly rowdy vamp nest in southern Oregon, hell bent on wreaking havoc on an entire town just to quell their bloodlust. You’d been too blinded by the idea of releasing your anger on them that you failed to see how big their nest truly was. All of them younger, more energised vampires than you were used to. They were quick, but you were far more skilled, and you’d almost had them all when one of them sideswiped you with a knife of its own, jamming between your ribs and leaving you nearly too weak to finish the rest off. But you’d done it anyway, before collapsing in the dirt outside. You thought you were going to die that night, bleeding out under a beautiful canopy of bright, white stars and a silver moon. And you would’ve gone willingly, with Dean as your last thought. Your last, heart wrenching, regretful thought. And then, with all the anger and willpower you could muster, you got back up. Because if there was one thing you would not do, it was die so young. So young and so unaccomplished and so unloved. And you would not let your last thoughts be of the man who so willingly pushed you out of his life to succumb to his grief, when all you had wanted to do was help him through it.

The cut of the engine turning off pulled you from the depths of your mind, darkness enveloping you as the headlights ceased. Turning to the window, you glanced at the distant, towering factory. It was decrepit; all shattered windows and crumbling brick. Graffiti covered almost every surface, and you could see how it was the perfect space for a shapeshifter to lay low.

Stepping outside, you re-checked all your weapons. The silver knife, still tucked in your sleeve. The gun, its magazine still loaded with silver bullets. Another knife, made of regular steel, tucked into your boot. It was an old switchblade, and had seen its fair share of kills over the years. One of the few things from Dean that you refused to part with, mostly due to how well it had served you in tight spots.

The walk into the factory, armed to the teeth with knives and flashlights, was silent. You all knew the plan, what was to be done. Nothing else needed to be said. With a few nods and nudges, Dean directed you all to different areas of the sprawling, decrepit building. The top floors were mostly gone, and you could see right through the holes in the concrete above. It was mostly a maze of heavy machinery and different rooms, and before you knew it, you were walking carefully, all on your own, toward the backend of the building. You could no longer hear either of the Winchester brothers’ footfalls, and the lack of noise within the building put you on edge. You kept your eyes and ears sharp, ignoring the chill in the room and the way your heart hammered behind your ribcage. The last thing you needed was to slip up. To let the shifter get the jump on you in some way.

Your movements were precise as you swept through each room, gun in hand and flashlight sweeping across the dark factory, searching for any clue that could lead you closer to the shifter. It felt like hours had passed until you stumbled upon a mound of flesh and liquid, gagging as your light glinted off it. It seemed fresh, too, and you briefly wondered if the shifter was off torturing someone else in the city and this plan was now a bust.

Then something scraped behind you, and you turned quickly, only to meet Dean’s squinting eyes. He was in different clothes, lacking a flashlight.

“What happened to your clothes?” You asked, tone tight.

“Covered in shifter juices. I had to change.” He huffed, already fed up.

“Your flashlight?” You asked again. “Where is it?”

“Battery died. I went looking for you when I got back inside. You were right, we should stick together.” Dean relented, and wearily, you nodded and lowered your gun, your grip on it still tight. You didn’t want to trust him, but it was Dean.

“Let’s go find Sammy and sweep back around. I think this thing’s bedroom might be nearby. If these things even have bedrooms.”

Beside you, Dean scoffed a laugh. “Doubt it.”

You eyed him again, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. “Since when are you so chipper, Winchester? I thought you hated the sight of me.”

“I don’t,” Dean shrugged simply, eyeing you quizzically when he caught your gaze. “What? I may not like you, but you’re right. Shifters ain’t fun going after alone, especially in a group.”

“I know.” You said, your voice tight. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. But you kept yourself level. “That’s why I didn’t want either of you coming with me. But you just had to be persistent, didn’t you?”

“Well, you know me,” Dean shrugged casually, turning down a hallway.

“Yeah, I do know you.” You said, walking a bit faster to stop Dean in his tracks. Your eyeline lined up perfectly with his chest, and you did your best to remain calm as you gripped your gun tighter. “And I know damn well you wouldn’t go anywhere without your necklace. Not even if you changed your clothes during a hunt.”

Dean looked down at you as though you were crazy, a hand coming up to grasp gently at your bicep. “What are you talking about? I left it in the car, I swear.”

“Yeah, right.” You snipped, glancing down and finding the ring you gave him to be missing as well. “And your ring? The one you promised me you’d never take off? Where’s that?”

Not-Dean’s grip tightened on your arm, almost unbearably strong. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Now why would I keep wearing my ex-girlfriend’s ring after not seeing her for two years, hmm? Did you really think you meant that much to me, sweetheart?”

This wasn’t Dean. You knew it wasn’t. But the look in his eye was eerily similar to the one he gave you the day he forced you out of his life, and the words he spewed twisted the knife you didn’t know was still lodged in your beating, bleeding heart.

In an instant, you raised the gun and attempted to step back, trying to aim and shoot as quickly as you could. But it got the jump on you, first, gripping the pistol’s barrel and striking your forearm, wrenching the gun from your grip and tossing it down the hall behind it. Immediately, you slid the knife out of your sleeve and into your palm, raising it to strike. The shifter blocked that movement, too, grabbing at your wrist as it began to arc downard, squeezing so hard that the knife clattered to the ground. You tried to fight back, but with its grasp on your raised arm and now the hand twisting painfully into your hair — a familiar feeling, now tainted with fear and pain and panic — made you practically useless.

“Oh, sweet thing, I am just gonna love tearing you to pieces.” Not-Dean snarled, its sadistic smile churning your gut. You inhaled sharply, about to cry out, when it tugged on the roots of your hair, forcing a whimper from you, instead. “Not so fast, darling. We’re gonna have a little fun, just ourselves, before either of your boys can join in.”

His voice was what you couldn’t comprehend. Sure, that last fight before you broke up was brutal; shouting and cursing each other out and saying things you weren’t sure either of you had meant to say, but this? Hearing him so easily speak about hurting you, like it was nothing, that was what you couldn’t bear. Even if it was the shifter.

You looked around, finding quickly that you were in a rather secluded part of the building. The far right corner, judging by the window placements. There were beams and trolleys and pieces of equipment laying everywhere, coated in rust and god knows what else. Not-Dean guided you easily to an oddly clean chair in the room, and you sat down willingly, hoping and praying that one of the brothers would stumble upon you sooner rather than later.

“Tsk, you’re such an obedient girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Not-Dean smirked.

“Don’t call me that,” you growled, watching him lean down beside you and grab a long rope.

“Right, because Dean was the only one you let use that nickname,” he nodded sarcastically. “Does it bother you? That I’m in his head, that I know what he thinks. That I have his face.”

You shook your head as he wrapped the rope tightly around your wrists, pinning them behind the chair. “No. You’re just as big of an ass as he was. But you probably know that already, don’t you?”

“I do,” not-Dean chuckled, tugging on the rope with the final knot to secure it before heading to your ankles. “In fact, I know everything he’s ever thought about you, sweetheart. And boy, you should hear some of the things he used to think about you.”

“I’m good, actually. Thanks.” You grimaced, meeting not-Dean’s eyes as he smirked. He placed both hands on your knees, the warmth spreading through your jeans as he pushed himself up and dragged a trolley over to you.

“Are you sure?” He asked, skimming over the items on the table. “He’s had some very naughty thoughts about you, Y/n. And recently, too. The things he wants to do to you…” Not-Dean tsked and shook his head, finally picking up a knife.

“Gonna cut me up with that little thing?” You smirked, watching the shifter consider it for a moment before putting the knife back down.

He smirked and walked the short distance to come and stand before you, crouching to meet your eye level as he said, “I had something a bit more… tantalizing in mind.” Reaching into your boot, the shifter pulled your switchblade from where it hid. “Now this seems like a much better weapon, don’t you think?”

You stared at the folded switchblade, your heart thumping rapidly in your chest. Even after you and Dean broke up, that knife made you feel safe, tucked away in your boot. It had seen a lot of action since then as well, effectively protecting you from both monsters and drunkards on more than one occasion.

The shifter opened the blade slowly, sliding it into its final position with an echoing click. He ran his finger across it first, examining its sharpness before turning his — Dean’s — emerald eyes to meet yours. Something sinister brewed among those sharp irises, teeming with hatred and some sick, twisted kind of pleasure.

“Dear old Dean gave you this, didn’t he?” The thing smirked. “I’m sure you know why, right?”

“To protect me.” You growled, shifting helplessly beneath the ropes. “From things like you.”

“This?” He scoffed a laugh. “No, this won’t hurt me. But I can’t wait to see what it does to you.”

Not-Dean dug the tip of the knife into the space above your collarbone, hard enough to draw blood and drag it down your chest. You struggled to bite back a scream as he worked the metal down your skin, leaving behind a stinging gash when he finally pulled it back, his eyes shining with some sick sense of pride as he stared at it, at the blood dripping down into the valley of your chest.

“I know you wanna scream, sweetheart,” Not-Dean taunted, his voice syrupy sweet and dripping with sadistic joy. He dipped his head closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. “From what I’ve seen up here in this pretty little head, you’re quite the screamer, aren’t you?”

“Go fuck yourself,” you spat, face hardening as the shifter pulled back and stood to his full height.

He wore the same, simmering rage that Dean often had before he ended things with you. The face he wore when you confronted him about his behavior, the one he wore before he punched Sam for bringing John up in the first place. It sent a strike of fear through your chest, barely concealed behind your hardened features.

You watched it turn into a smirk as he twirled the blade expertly between his fingers, lips pursing and eyes squinting as they raked over your form, as though deciding what to do with you next. Like he had all the time in the world to figure out how to hurt you the most.

“You wanna know something?” Not-Dean asked suddenly, throwing you off. “Something… secret?”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me no matter what I say?” You glared.

Not-Dean laughed. “Smart girl! Right on the money.” He smiled, resting his palms on his knees as he bent slightly to reach your eye level. “See, I know something you don’t,”

You remained quiet, hard eyes watching his every move.

“Remember all those naughty little thoughts I said Dean has about you?” He didn’t wait for a response as he sighed and straightened up. “Well… he has them all the time. In fact, he pretty much thinks about you 24/7. It’s… well, it’s pathetic.”

Not-Dean spat, his face turning hard and angry again as he sighed. “It’s like you’re on a loop in his head. Everywhere poor Dean looks, there’s something to make him think of you. Such a shame he was the one to push you away, isn’t it? I mean, you are quite the looker.”

You growled as he whistled lowly, his grip tightening on the knife as he stalked closer to you. He brought it to your cheekbone this time, smirking to himself as it dug into the flesh and sliced quickly. You hissed at the sting, feeling the blood trickle down to the corner of your mouth, the cool air of the factory soothing the cut slightly.

“It’s quite a shame that I want to ruin that pretty face of yours so much,” the shifter pouted mockingly, rearing back and landing a punch to your already injured cheek, throwing your head completely to the side. It took you entirely by surprise, a small grunt falling from your lips as you clenched your jaw and tried to hide the pain.

You swallowed hard when you hung your head and saw your blood staining his knuckles — Dean’s knuckles. And then he laughed, the way Dean used to when you’d make some corny joke that caught him off guard, and your throat went dry.

“Tired already, sweetheart?” Not-Dean chuckled, gripping tightly to the hair at the back of your scalp and pulling hard, forcing a yelp from you as he forced your gaze to meet his. “Better make this quick, then, shouldn’t we? After all, those Winchester boys can’t search this building and not find us. And I want you looking nice and broken when they do.”

You swallowed down as many of your cries as you could for the following beat down you received. Slashes with your own knife across most accessible expanses of skin, punches and hits everywhere else. Your lip was split open, tinging your spit with the never-ending taste of copper.

“If you’re gonna kill me,” you gasped, chest heaving as blood trailed down the side of your neck. “Just fucking get it over with.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Not-Dean pouted with a shrug. “Besides, it’s not just you I want to hurt.”

Hurt pulled at your chest as your eyes met his, the realization swimming behind your wide eyes. He didn’t just want to hurt you, to break you however else you could still be broken after everything else you’ve been through. The shifter wanted to hurt Dean. It wanted to break him.

“Hurting me won’t do anything to him.” I scowled despite my bruised and bloody face. “He’s the one that pushed me away, remember? You saw that, didn’t you? In his head?”

“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said?” The shifter scowled back, his voice low and rough, the way Dean usually sounded during hunts. “Dean still loves you. Hell, he never stopped, sweetheart. He’s too headstrong to admit it, but he is. And seeing you like this, all broken and bloody because he didn’t listen to you, because he just couldn’t stay away… that’ll kill him from the inside.”

“You’re wrong,” you rasped, swallowing your tears with a pained gasp. “Dean Winchester doesn’t love me anymore. And killing me sure as shit won’t do anything to hurt him.”

The shifter growled, the sound low and deep in his chest as he gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him as he inched closer. For a moment, his attention was caught by something else, and then his lips upturned in that sadistic smirk. “Looks like we’re about to find out, sweetheart.”

With swift movements, the shifter cut your ties and hauled you from the chair by your forearm, his solid, familiar chest pressed to your back and his own forearm pressing you to him by the neck. Your hands came up to claw at his arm immediately, digging in but getting nowhere as you squirmed against his tight hold.

Almost instantly, Sam and Dean charged into the room from the door you stood parallel to, guns and knives drawn, pointed at you and the shifter.

Dean’s wide eyes looked from the shifter, the spitting image of himself, then to you. He hoped you could see how sorry he was. The plea to forgive him for not listening to you, for letting you get hurt because of his stubbornness filling his beautiful green eyes to the brim.

And you did. You forgave him the moment he first pushed you away, even if you didn’t want to admit it for a very long time. You made sure to tell him that with a single nod, just as the shifter adjusted his hold on you and smirked.

“Well, well, just in time, boys,” he said, pressing his arm a little further into your neck and forcing a choked sound from your throat. “So glad you could make it for the main event of the night.”

“Let her go.” Dean barked, adjusting the hold he had on his gun and aiming it right at the shifter.

Not-Dean scoffed. “Please, Dean, put that thing down. I know you’re not gonna shoot me when I have her in my way. She’s very useful, you know. Human shield, a fun little plaything… I can see why you kept her around for so long.”

When no one spoke, not-Dean hummed approvingly. “Exactly. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with.”

Your mind didn’t process what happened until it was already over.

A small flash of steel below you, cutting into your tank top and piercing up through your ribs, digging deep into your flesh. The release of your body from the shifter’s hold, and the way your body immediately crumpled to the floor. One shout and three shots ringing out above you, the shifter falling in a heap no more than five feet from you.

You coughed, sputtering, as you lay there on the concrete. Something dug into your torso with every breath, filling your chest with pain and warmth and something you couldn’t breathe through.

Dean was at your side in an instant, one hand cupping the back of your head as he pulled you into his lap, shushing the pained groans and whimpers that fell from your lips with a shaking voice.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes flicking to the knife — the knife he gave you — wedged under your ribcage, blood already pooling out of the wound. “Hey. You’re gonna be alright, okay? We’re gonna get you some help.”

“Dean,” you choked out, breaths rasping and wheezing and taking more effort than they ever have before. Something copper coated your lips, your teeth — it was everywhere. You knew what it meant, and from the look on Dean’s face, he did, too. “I’m s— I’m sorry,”

“Hey, hey, don’t,” Dean shook his head, his beautiful emerald eyes filling with tears. “Don’t say that. This isn’t your fault. You’re gonna make it out of this.” His head snapped up for a moment, eyes catching on something you couldn’t see. “Sammy! Help us!”

“D—” you cut yourself off with another cough, blood pooling in your mouth and splattering all over your lips. Glancing down at the knife, you reached with shaking fingers to grasp at it, to press your hand over whatever part of the wound you could reach, coating your palm with blood. “Dean,”

His eyes snapped to meet yours in an instant. “Yeah? Sweetheart, what is it?”

Grunting, you moved your hand to the handle of the switchblade, Dean protesting above you as you shakily removed it with a pained sound, the metal clattering to the floor beside you. Dean’s hand covered the wound as it poured blood, the liquid coating his hand almost immediately. It stained the hem of his jacket sleeve and spilled between his fingers as they clamped over the wound, tinging his silver ring red.

“‘M gonna be okay,” you wheezed, nodding slowly as you kept your gaze on Dean.

“I know,” he nodded back, his voice tight with emotion as he locked eyes with you. “I know, sweetheart.”

“I…” you gasped, finding words harder to speak, your body harder to move. Your mind swam, and you knew your time was limited. “I love you.”

Dean made a choked sound as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, tears sliding down his cheeks, and all you wanted to do was wipe them away.

With the little strength left in you, you reached your bloody palm up to his cheek and did exactly that. The featherlight touch forced Dean’s eyes open, his body shuddering as he breathed in and you forced your hand to stay on his warm cheek.

“This isn’t…” you choked, and Dean shushed you.

“Save your energy, sweetheart. Help’s coming any minute now,” he nodded softly.

You pushed, anyway. “This isn’t… not your fault,” you shook your head, the movement jerking and slow as you practically forced breath into your lungs. Each new breath was unsteady and wheezing, harder to take in than the last.

Dean choked out a sob, leaning over your body and pressing a kiss to your forehead as your hand fell from his face. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You can let go now. You’re safe.”

“I…” you rasped, the words dying on your tongue as the last of your fight dissipated, leaving Dean on the floor of the factory to cradle your limp body close to his as he finally broke, his sobs and cries echoing around the room.

Sam arrived moments later, his shoulders deflating and his heart aching at the sight of Dean. He’d never seen his older brother so broken, so willingly displaying his emotions as he held you, your body cold and pale in his arms as he rocked you.

The shifter had, in the end, succeeded. Part of Dean died with you that night, hatred and regret filling the gaping hole within him. He knew nothing else would ever try to fill it again, and a large part of him never wanted it to be filled. He wanted to sit with the hurt for the rest of his life, because it was what he believed he deserved.

You had gone willingly in his arms, a final admission of love dying on your tongue, leaving behind an ache Dean knew would never be soothed. Because, despite everything he’d done to you, somehow, you still loved him.

If there was one thing Dean Winchester was full of, after all, it was regret.

everything taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

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#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester angst #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader

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dwaekkilinos · 10 months ago

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savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan

summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3

chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )

Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.

It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.

Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.

Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.

The apocalypse had come.

You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.

Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.

And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.

That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.

You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.

From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.

At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.

Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.

It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.

It.

Armageddon.

The Rapture.

The fucking apocalypse.

It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.

The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.

The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.

The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.

That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.

You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.

But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.

By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.

But by eighteen, you knew better.

It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .

You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.

That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)

You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.

Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.

This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.

As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.

He didn’t believe.

No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.

The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.

That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.

That was what was told, and that was what was believed.

You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.

Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.

— Revelation 6:1–2

That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.

While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.

As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.

Only by that time, it was too late.

Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.

And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.

The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.

Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.

By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.

Then . . . it all just stopped.

But your town continued to spread its lies.

The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.

They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.

Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.

But you knew better.

While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.

You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)

And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.

The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.

But you couldn't believe it.

Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.

Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.

Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.

He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.

Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.

War will come, she warned.

War will come.

But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.

And then . . . then he did.

The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.

The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.

War will come.

It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.

This was no man. This was War.

And it all became clear soon after.

While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.

The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.

The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.

That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.

Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.

(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)

Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.

War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.

From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.

But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.

There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.

Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.

The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.

And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.

(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)

While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.

The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.

That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.

It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.

The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.

It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.

It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.

When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.

— Revelation 6:7–8

Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.

Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.

She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.

You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.

Now there was no more living, just surviving.

Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.

Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.

How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?

You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.

But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.

Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.

Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.

You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.

Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.

You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.

And then you looked at him.

Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.

Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had killed someone.

This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.

(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.

(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))

That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.

The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.

And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.

(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)

But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.

You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.

And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.

It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.

And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).

Survival became all that you knew after that.

Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.

The burden became yours to bear.

This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.

Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.

And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.

Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.

If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.

So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.

Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.

Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.

Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.

When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.

You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.

In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.

But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.

You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.

So you let yourself turn into a machine.

And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.

That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.

You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.

Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.

That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.

Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.

When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.

No, killed was too vague.

Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.

The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.

You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.

But you had that night.

And now you paid the consequences.

It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.

She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.

So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.

Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?

How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?

You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.

Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.

Were you no better than the dead to her?

You swallowed hard.

Had you become a monster?

“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.

But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.

You did what you had to do.

You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.

You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.

Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.

Kind had been rare back then. It still was.

And Felix stayed kind.

When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.

You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.

But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.

That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.

He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.

But you?

Well . . .

“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”

”You’re not."

“Lix."

“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”

Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

”She’s just a kid."

“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”

A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .

”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “

”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”

You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.

His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."

His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.

But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.

However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.

You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”

”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.

”Sleep, little bird."

He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.

But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."

You swallowed hard but said nothing.

You're not too far gone.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.

A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?

But you already knew the answer.

Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .

And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.

His face was always there.

Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.

Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.

And you knew you had.

At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.

You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.

Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.

And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.

But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.

Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.

He would still be here if you hadn't—

"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.

You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.

It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.

She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.

But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.

You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.

Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .

. . . You’d still killed a man.

You’d actually taken a life.

(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.

It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And maybe you had been.

That would’ve been easier to fathom.

But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.

"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.

Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.

And you couldn’t blame them.

The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.

The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.

Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.

That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.

With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.

You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.

But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.

Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.

Had he felt like this, too?

Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?

Did he ever wonder if—

“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.

You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”

“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.

But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.

Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.

Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”

But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.

“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”

“Your father filled your head with lies.”

You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”

Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."

There were the tears now.

But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.

Twist the knife, and she did.

"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”

Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.

This was what you deserved.

Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.

But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.

Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”

She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”

Your mother remained silent.

And you knew her answer.

Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”

“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”

But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”

Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”

“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”

Once again, she remained silent.

But you knew the truth.

“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”

Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .

And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.

Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.

It happened too quickly for you to think.

Beat. Beat.

You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.

Beat.

Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.

And you knew what to do.

For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.

The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.

One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.

Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.

You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.

. . . You were getting worse.

Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”

But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.

And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.

The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.

Would they make the decision to put you down then?

Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.

If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.

But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.

Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.

According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.

So, you listened, but you did not believe.

The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.

Whatever.

(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.

Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.

He’d made sure there was nothing left.

Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.

Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.

Survival was all that mattered.

Everything else was fucked.

And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.

Survive long enough for them.

For your father.

For your sister.

For your mother.

For Felix.

For them.

By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)

But, just your luck, sleep never found you.

Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.

Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?

You didn’t want to see that day come.

It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.

With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.

You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.

Nothing was left.

Truly.

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.

But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.

You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.

The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.

Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a horde.

You swallowed hard.

Death was near.

You’d thought the undead didn’t horde unless . . .

The man.

Your eyes widened.

The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.

And his screams . . .

You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.

And . . . it was all your fault.

You exhaled a shaky breath.

Death was coming.

Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.

Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.

The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—

But then you saw it.

In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.

You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the horde up ahead.

Death was here. So close. Too close.

They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.

There was no way you could outrun the horde. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.

Fuck.

You wanted to scream.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.

“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”

You could only shake your head.

Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."

You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.

There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the horde without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.

Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.

There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.

You knew what that meant.

This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.

It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.

And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.

This was how you made things right.

You nodded at your thoughts.

Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.

Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.

This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.

So you sent one last glare at the horde up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.

Still: "Little bird," you whispered.

Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.

You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.

"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."

Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."

You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.

But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.

Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.

Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.

You knew this.

Felix did, too.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."

Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."

The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.

"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.

You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.

The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.

"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."

Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."

"You don't get to die."

"Neither do you."

"Then I guess we have a predicament."

Your eyes softened. "Lix."

His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."

And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.

He shook his head.

You swallowed hard.

The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.

You gripped his hand. "Protect them."

He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”

Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”

But it was. You both knew that.

Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”

“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.

But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.

You worked quickly. You had to. For them.

The quiet cries of the horde approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.

You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.

You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.

Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.

So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the horde to get near enough to strike.

You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.

It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.

Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.

The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.

Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.

And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.

Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.

Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.

Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.

Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.

You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.

Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.

You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.

All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.

Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.

You're not too far gone.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.

Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.

This was the only way to save them. The only way.

Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.

The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.

The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.

You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.

Fuck.

Had that been too loud?

Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.

You swallowed hard.

Death itself had seen you.

Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.

And end it you would.

You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.

Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.

And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.

There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.

“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.

With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.

And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.

The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.

But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the horde getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the horde, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.

This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.

You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.

It hit you then.

Beat.

This really was the end.

You couldn’t run.

Beat.

The horde was gaining on you.

This was the end.

Beat.

Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.

But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.

Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.

It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.

What was he doing?

But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.

“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”

You skipped a beat, not answering.

His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.

But you only blinked.

You didn’t want to be saved.

No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—

Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—

“Run,” he bit out, an order.

And it all happened so fast.

You stayed put.

He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.

Beat.

Be—

A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the horde following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—

Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the horde you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.

And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the horde was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.

Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.

And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.

As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.

And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.

What the fuck?

But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.

There it was, you realized.

Your punishment.

You were going to die.

And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.

The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.

There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.

In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—

And then . . . then the memories all faded in.

The warehouse. The man. The shots. The horde.

This was Death’s doing.

The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.

Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.

But . . . why were you still alive?

Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.

You were alive.

Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”

And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.

Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?

Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?

Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.

Him.

The man.

Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.

You clenched your jaw hard.

The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.

And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.

“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”

But you remained silent, watching.

"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”

You swallowed thickly.

There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.

"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”

And you hadn’t.

You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.

Had your mother been right about you?

Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?

The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.

"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”

You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?

Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?

Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.

And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.

Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.

(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)

And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.

Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that horde and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.

Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?

Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.

Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)

And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.

You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?

Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.

Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"

Why aren’t you fighting?

The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.

Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.

It was surely daylight by now.

Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.

By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.

So . . . where was your fight?

You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.

Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.

Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"

For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.

The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.

And you almost laughed.

Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.

It all felt a little unreal.

Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.

You swallowed hard. You’d brought that horde to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.

But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.

There it was.

This was the end you were promised.

Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.

On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.

"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.

His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”

But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?

"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.

His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."

Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.

This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.

So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?

Why—

"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"

You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.

His stare only unnerved you more.

Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.

Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."

The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”

That only unnerved you further.

Was this truly Death?

Surely he had killed before.

Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.

As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”

But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.

There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.

You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.

“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.

Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.

“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.

His brows twitched, taken back.

“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”

But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?

A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.

Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.

Then . . . you felt it.

A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.

You nearly gasped.

Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.

But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.

The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”

Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.

“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”

And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.

I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.

But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?

You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.

And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?

It all hit you then.

These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .

I won’t kill you.

But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.

These were good people. And you were their bad omen.

It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.

You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.

It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.

taglist:

@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin

(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)

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