#laugh from the gut. begin with a chuckle or a chortle but let it escape heaving from the throat -- snorts + guffaws. holler if you must.

[zhongli-lover-69]

no pressure tags! @rabbitmotifs @corvids-corner @seafoamwolf @theautistichalflinghole

Not me having some kinda type... Who shall I tag? I think I wanna tagggggg... @mybugsmybugsmybugs @mexicangela @lunar-years @biscuitboxpink but no pressure!! I just thought it would be fun!

[fvrxdrm]

City of the Living Dead

Chapter 6

"September 28, 2:30 am... It's down to just me and 3 others. No weapons...no ammo...and too many skirmishes have drained us mentally and physically. We're not gonna make it... Officer Phillips once suggested we escape through the sewers. Apparently, there's a secret tunnel under this place left over from its museum days. I brushed her idea off before, but now, it's not sounding all that bad. Yeah, there's no proof there's even a tunnel or that the sewers aren't infested with zombies, but I don't wanna sit here and wait to die, either. It's a long shot, but I'm gonna try to find out what I can about that tunnel... Elliot Edward," you read, "Shit. Rest in peace, buddy." You placed the transcript back to where you found it and proceeded in scanning the room you and Leon were in.

It was an office of some sort with mahogany desks occupying the center, swivel chairs pointing towards every direction, some paperworks piled in a stack and some (or rather most) cluttered all over the tables and floor. It looked like a hurricane together with an earthquake and a tsunami clashed and crashed in the area.

"Leon, w-" your head twisted and turned as you looked for best friend and even called out to him when you found him just staring at something on the ceiling, his trembling lips pinned in between pearly-white teeth, eyebrows furrowed upwards, and eyes looking like a dam was about to breakdown because of too much pressure. You went towards where he was standing and followed his gaze. You gasped. He was looking at stringed triangle banners with letters printed out on each of them

WEL COME LEON

Your face began to mirror Leon's but a pained smile differentiated yours from his as a sudden rush of memory enlightened your brain. "Hey, look, the design's the same as the banner I surprised you with when we were 15," you said, raising an arm to point at the triangular flags.

Leon chuckled softly at what you said and nodded while a sneaky tear flowed down his cheek in a tiny stream. "Yeah."

"Come on, Leon! I worked hard for this." You hauled on your friend's wrist and led him towards his room with a strain as Leon's languor held him back.

"This better be good, Y/N. You fucking woke me up and I'm really close to fucking strangling you." His voice was a little hoarse from having just woken up right before you pulled him off of the couch and he was still lowkey tired because of the three-hour rest he had last night, but as much as he wanted to throw you out of his house and fall into a well-deserved slumber again, he was into surprises and was curious as to what you had in store. So, he went along with it even though he was pretty much a sloth still.

"I promise you'll love it." You chortled.

Leon sighed in defeat before loosening up and letting you pull him towards where you wanted to take him for this so-called surprise with a rub of his crusty eyes.

When a familiar door came into view in front of you, you covered Leon's eyes with one of your hands and twisted the door knob, revealing a bedroom with a banner hovering over Leon's messy bed, before lightly pushing him inside.

"All right, here we are," you spoke as you removed your hand from your face, moving right beside him to watch Leon's face as it shifted from being enraptured to crestfallen real quick. You guffawed in a boisterous way at his reaction and plummeted down to the ground whilst clutching your stomach in a joyful pain.

YOU SUCK LEON

"Really, Y/N? This-this is what you wanted to show me?"

"It's true though, you actually suck!"

"Come on, you know you only won in Street Fighter because I let you," he whined. You stood up from being laid on the floor before clutching onto Leon's shoulder for dear life.

"For 20 times? Really?" You laughed again, "nah, you just suck, bro."

Leon narrowed his eyes at you with lips pressing tightly in a thin line and turned towards you, his feet moving slowly in tandem as he approach you with a spurious anger, his hands closing into fists.

"What?" You asked with a nervous chuckle and feet backing up in rhythm with his laggard advances.

"You think I suck?" His voice imitated a dark tone. Had you not been slightly scared - which you hated to admit - you would've busted a gut at how ridiculous it sounded.

"I mean, yeah, it's already said in the banner, dimwitt."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Well, let's see who sucks now!"

Welp, that's my cue!

You dodged Leon's attack by the skin of your teeth, stumbling on a stupid pencil for a bit, before proceeding to run around the house to avoid Leon's "spider fingers" as you call it and making a tiny bit of a mess. However, your luck has gone away and he eventually caught you when you accidentally tripped over the leg of a chair, throwing you into his bed and tickling each spot that would make you squirm and and laugh.

"I still suck, huh?"

"N-no, fine...y-you don't...s-suck," you cried in between heavy breaths and hysterics. Satisfied with your remark, Leon stopped his fingers from moving and plopped down beside you, taking a moment to catch his breath before he pulled you closer to his body and spooned you. "You still couldn't win yesterday though."

"Yeah, well, I know a million ways to win your heart though."

"Fuck off, Le-le." Leon tsked at the nickname.

"Y/N, that sounds awful as fuck."

"Whatever." You felt his lashes kiss the nape of your neck as he closed his eyes to give them another four hours of rest, your own following afterwards when you heard Leon's muffled voice vibrate against your shirt.

"Hey, you wanna be my date for homecoming?"

"I thought you already asked Lexee to be your date."

"Dante already asked her out, so..."

"Okay, fine, I'll be your date." You squeezed his hand before intertwining your fingers with his and smiling when you felt him kiss your hair.

"Thanks, Y/N. Good night."

"It's 10 in the morning, dumba-"

"Shh... Rock-a-bye baby..."

"You do suck though." You light-heartedly nudged Leon's side and wrinkled your eyes in a grin, chuckling when he returned the gesture with a titter.

"I really don't," he retorted back.

"Sure." You took his hand in yours and gently squeezed it in a comforting way to ease the two of you before placing a feather's kiss on the back of it. "Come on, we still have a job to do."

*****

Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment. Your mission is...to unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names. Input the letters in order of our desks. There are 2 locks- 1 on each side of your desk. Make sure you get them both. Basically, your first task is to remember your fellow officers' names, but you figured that much out, right? Good luck, Leon. By the way, it might take a little work to get Scott to give you a straight answer.

Lieutenant Branagh

Scrawled in a corner between drops of blood on the paper was an additional note the lieutenant had written while he and his fellow officers were isolated and trapped, and it read:

Be glad you're not here, rookie.

"Remember your fellow officers' names..."

"I think that means the initials of my supposedly co-workers' names should be the password to open these locks on my desk." Leon stood up from where he was knelt down on the floor and casted around from desk to desk, unlocking the padlocks on his table and claiming the prize after accomplishing his "first assignment" - a magazine for his beloved Matilda.

You smiled when Leon pulled out the gun he's had since the beginning of his adult years, another retention reminding you of the peaceful days you once had before you started walking right into confusion.

Matilda was a gift Leon's father had given him on his 18th birthday, a few months before he died of cancer. He was happy about it, and knowing how his family had supported his decision on him becoming a cop, his heart fluttered inside and he couldn't be more grateful about it. Leon held onto it everyday, even becoming a bit hesitant about leaving it behind whenever he went to school. And when his father passed away because of said illness, he grasped onto the weapon the same way he did when his dad was still alive, if not more.

"Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, happy birthday... Happy birthday, Leon... HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LEON!"

Leon's cheeks stretched in an almost painful way as everyone erupted into cheers and confetti fell from the ceiling. Each person was wearing cone-shaped hats and the living room was decorated with different ornaments colored in his favorite hues. His family was there and so were his friends, and oh, how could he almost forget...

It was his 18th birthday!

"So, what do you think?" You spoke from behind him. He turned around to see you smiling like an idiot and tugging on the string of a party you picked up from the floor.

"This," he began. "This is amazing! Wh-"

"Well, son, the candle's almost melting. Wanna make a wish?" Leon's dad emerged from behind the small crowd with a three-layered cake balanced on top of his palms. The icing of the pastry was blue, edible police-related finishing touches garnished it with such perfection he almost didn't want to eat it for the sake of admiring and staring at the cake, and a single candle formed into the number 18 as an emphasis to his recent age was placed on top with a tiny flame dancing around in the air. Leon closed his eyes and wished for the best before blowing the candle, watching as the fire disappeared into a swirling smoke. Everyone rejoiced once again.

When voices had began dying down one by one, Leon's father called his name and picked up a box from underneath the table after placing the cake down where it wouldn't fall down.

"Leon, you're going to be attending the police academy soon and in the next few years you'll be the cop you always wanted. So, as a gift, I give you this gun." He opened the rectangular cardboard box where a gun laid and presented it to his child, Leon's eyes sparkling in delight at his very own weapon. "I know you'll be taking good care of Matilda."

"Matilda?" Leon asked in confusion.

"You know, like, Mathilda from Leon: The Professional," his dad replied. Leon chuckled in response before he carefully took the gun out of its container, still a bit iffy about touching it.

"I'll be taking good care of this, dad."

"I know you will."

"You still have that gun?" You spoke as you gestured towards his firearm.

"Yep, she still looks good as new. I didn't want to break my promise," Leon responded. He turned his gun around to show you just how much he kept it safe like a mother would to a child. Your E/C orbs twinkled in admiration, a feeling in your heart you had kept for a very long time flittering in a joyous manner for the first time since you last saw him.

"Nothing's really changed, huh?"

"I don't want to change anything for now...especially now that you're back here with me."

*****

So, I found this image on google and an idea suddenly popped into my head lmao.

Anyway, WE'RE BACK! I was busy in school blah blah blah. I think yall know that already.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Love; Lost

John Wick x reader (A/n- flashbacks indicated with italics.) (A/n2- I have ideas for this to be turned into a thing, maybe a couple other parts, but I’m not really sure about it yet. Maybe. We’ll see.)

Warnings- Angst.

Sniffling, Y/n straightened her back, swiping at her eyes. In the foyer, the last of her packed bags awaited her. She couldn’t believe it; it was really over. The past five years reduced to nothing, they were parting ways, and neither of them could believe it.

“You don’t have to go,” John managed, sounding defeated, like he couldn’t even believe his own words. Maybe it was because he knew that they weren’t true; he and Y/n were from vastly different worlds. Being a killer, a hunter was all he knew, it was in his nature. But Y/n, she wasn’t like that, she was a free spirt, the woman who wanted to travel the world without death and danger looming at every corner.

John had stifled her, that’s what he had done At least, that’s what she had told him. He had spent so long trying to protect her, shielding her from the worst parts of his life that he had forgotten to love her. Or let her love him. 

“Yes I do,” Y/n nodded stiffly, fighting emotion, not wanting to break down again. If she did, he might hold her, and if he held her, Y/n wouldn’t leave. It had already taken every bit of will she had to pack up her stuff. John wasn’t even supposed to be back until after she had left, but he had gotten in early, all in an attempt to surprise her. 

1 Hour Earlier  Most of it was in her car already, though, the last of her bags had yet to be taken out. On the center of the made California king was the handwritten note she was going to leave him. It wasn’t the way to bring an end to such a long, committed relationship, but Y/n didn’t think there was any other way she’d go through with it. One look at John while trying to tell him that she couldn’t stay might have her changing her mind. Y/n didn’t want to leave, but she knew she had to. 

Things had been changing between them, and for a while, Y/n had been feeling more like John’s charge than his girlfriend. Lately, he had been treating Y/n more like a damsel in need of protecting, and while before, she didn’t mind, she could no longer find the love in his gestures. She didn’t want to be an obligation, or the girl he worried about while they were apart, Y/n wanted to be an equal in their relationship. 

They had been drifting for a while by then; John was gone more often than not, and even when he was there, he was so focused on keeping her safe, reminding her of what they couldn’t do, that being with him felt like being with a bodyguard. No parks because there were too many unchecked spaces, no double dates with her friends because he didn’t want to put them in danger and no meeting his friends because they were too dangerous. 

There was so much between them; secrets, sometimes continents and always a barrier that kept John from truly letting her in. He and Y/n had lived together for the  past three years, and still, she had barely any clue of how entrenched he was in the criminal underworld. Sure, she knew that he was an assassin, and that he’d worked for a Russian mob in the past, but that was about it. He’d leave and never tell her where he was going, only to come back weeks later bruised and broody. 

The more and more Y/n thought about it, the more her mind insisted that it was time to leave. She’d always love John, with everything she had in her, but she wasn’t willing to be with someone who couldn’t be as open as she was. Their relationship felt one sided, broken somehow.

As she packed up the last of her things, Y/n gave the bedroom one final glace, saddened at how it now looked; half of it’s personality gone. Her things no longer sat comfortably next to his; none of her clothes mixing with John’s in the hamper, her beauty products no longer lingered next to his after shave in the bathroom and her nightstand was bare, save for a lamp that matched the one on John’s. Pictures were still littered around the room though, in frames on the surfaces and hanging on the walls, just like they were around the rest of the house. Y/n loved pictures; the best memories saved for eternity, it was why she had become a photographer. It was how she had met John. 

Looking at the little moments saved in time stung her heart and tears prickled at her eyes, prompting her to gather her bags and leave the room, though, her plans were interrupted, the note on the bed made mute.

“You’re leaving?” John asked, his brows knitted with confusion, his tired features further pulled by hurt.

“I.......” Y/n licked her lips nervously, her heart thumping anxiously against her chest. She hadn’t accounted for the possibility of having to face him; she didn’t want confrontation, or to see the look of hurt on his face, or being given the opportunity to stay. “I am,” looking away, Y/n tried to contain her emotions, how could doing what was best feel like a knife to the gut? 

Watching her stand at the door, their door, was starting to become too much for John. Y/n couldn’t leave; didn’t she know that she was everything to him? The glue holding his sanity together, the only person he’d ever felt real love from, the only person he had ever loved. And now she was leaving. Because of him. Because he had failed her.

“You don’t love me,” Y/n breathed, eyes shining with tears, that otherwise, he’d have wiped away, “At least, it doesn’t feel like it.”

“No, Y/n,” John’s voice caught somewhere in his throat. All he wanted was for things to be fixed, for everything to be okay, “I love you, I’ve always loved you,” since the day they had met probably.

“Yeah?” Y/n chuckled humorlessly, “It doesn’t feel like that,” sighing heavily, she sniffled, “It feels like you’re suffocating me sometimes, I can barely leave this house without you worrying, we never go out anymore, you don’t even call when you leave. How’s that love?”

John shook his head slowly. He hadn’t meant to have Y/n think that he didn’t love her, he just thought that these things were best for her. Then again, maybe it wasn’t his place to decide that. “I only wanted to protect you, because I love you. I love you,” he repeated, a new firmness in the words, “And if something happened to you......if I couldn’t keep you safe....”

“I didn’t need your protection!” Her voice rose without warning, making them both jump; the sight was alarming; seeing the Boogeyman's shoulders shake in surprise, “I never needed....” It was a fight to contain a nearly escaped sob, and when Y/n cast her head down, she had to squeeze her eyes shut, “I never needed you to protect me, I just needed you to love me,” Y/n voice broke, and John felt his heart break even more, “And let me love you back.”

The whole thing kept going on, over and over, in John’s head, like a broken record meant to shatter his glass heart. “Please,” taking a step towards Y/n, John felt like his soul was being ripped apart when she evaded his touch. “Please just stay, I’ll be better,” he bargained, knowing that he’d change everything about his life if it would mean that he could spend the rest of it with her, “You want me to leave? I’ll get out, leave that behind. You want space, freedom? Then I’ll give it to you. We’ll go somewhere where no one knows us, and we’ll be safe, you can open a gallery, like you always wanted to, and I’ll find work, and we can-”

“No,” Y/n determined firmly, tears now running down her cheeks freely. She had never seen John like that; so frazzled, grasping for straws, eyes wide with worry and so desperate. That wasn’t the John she knew, no, her John was confident and calculated, a man who didn’t say much and who never let his fears interrupt his hardened exterior. Seeing him like that all but literally killed Y/n. There he was, begging her to stay, willing to give up the life he’d known for almost twenty years for the woman he loved. And still, she couldn’t accept it. “It’s too late John, I’m so sorry,” she met his eyes one last time, his own pain matching her, “But I have to go.”

Exhaling quietly, his shoulders slumped, and John glanced at a picture in a little silver frame, sitting on a long table against the wall, it was surrounded by several others, along with other little trinkets, but somehow, that one stuck out.....

2 Years Ago “What are you doing?” John laughed, still trying to fit the last of their things into the trunk of his Mustang. He was beginning to think that they were leaving the little rented cabin in upstate New York with more than they had taken with them; he simply couldn’t make everything fit.

From the side, definitely not helping the situation, Y/n giggled, professional camera still held up to her face as she continued snapping pictures that he could only hope she would delete on the drive back; she couldn’t have gotten any good ones. The humid summer air was making some of John’s hair stick to his face and neck and he highly doubted that his frustrated expression was even remotely photogenic. “I’m taking pictures,” she laughed, explaining as if it were completely obvious, “You’re like; a fucking male model,” Y/n teased.

“Yeah, whatever,” John tried to sound annoyed, but couldn’t help but smile. “You know that’s not helping, right? I mean, these are your bags, and you’re just standing there, taking pictures,” he teased. With an exasperated sigh, John stopped for a minute, straightening up and looking at Y/n, amusement still twinkling in his eyes, though years of practice giving him an opportunity to hide it everywhere else. “Y/n,” her warmed, only semi-sternly, “I’m serious, this stuff isn’t gonna fit, and I look like shit.”

Rolling her eyes and lowering the camera, Y/n still smiled, slowly approaching him, “Relax,” she eased, removing the thick fabric strap from around her neck, resting the device on top of a bag in the open trunk, “We’ll just stuff the rest of it in the back seat. Also,” she chortled, wrapping her delicate arms around his neck, leaning into John’s strong chest, “You look pretty sexy all sweaty and annoyed like that,” standing on the tips of her toes, Y/n pressed a kiss to John’s lips. Readily, he reciprocated, his arms snaking around her, his fingers slipping under the hem of her loose t-shirt; calloused fingers sending electricity up her spine. 

“I love you,” John mumbled against Y/n’s lips. He was typically very guarded with the words, though Y/n didn’t need to hear it often to remember how he felt; it was in everything else, his touch, the habit he’d made of waking up extra early when she slept over, just to make her coffee and how he’d press his forehead to hers after a lingering kiss. John was a man of action, and when he was with Y/n, his actions were always enough to remind her that there wasn’t a man that could love her more than John Wick. 

Smiling tenderly, Y/n’s fingers toyed with the ends of John’s dark locks, “I love you too.” Turning, he leaned on the back of the car, nearly as tall as the open trunk, and Y/n was sunken into his front. For a while, they exchanged long, sweet kisses, each one filled with more love than they last. “They said that we need to clear out by noon,” Y/n reminded John, pulling away reluctantly.

Groaning, John let his hands skim her back one last time before letting Y/n go, “I remember.” Slowly, they finished up the packing, and when the last of it was in the car, John closed down the back, “Ready?”

For a moment, Y/n thought on his question, before her eyes widened with realization, “No!” She frowned, “We haven’t taken any pictures.”

“If I remember correctly,” John teased, strolling towards her, his large hands landing on her hips, “You took quite a few earlier.”

“No,” Y/n sighed, “I mean we haven’t taken any together, and it’s so beautiful out here.”

“Well, we were pretty busy,” John kissed the side of Y/n’s head and she caught his bicep as he tickled her sides. The memories of the week gone by were still fresh in both their minds; they had planned so much, a picnic near the lake, a day spent in the small town and a hike on a secluded nature trail, though it had all gone out the window the minute they unlocked the cabin doors and the only exploring Y/n and John did was of each other. 

When they settled, Y/n gently pushed away from John, “Well, we have to take at least one, please?” She offered him her best puppy eyes, knowing full and well that John always had a hard time saying to ‘no’ to her. Throw in big doe eyes and he was definitely a goner. 

“Fine, but with your phone, we already packed up your camera,” John ducked into the passenger seat, getting out Y/n’s large tote bag, handing it over.

Scoffing playfully, she hastily took the bag, “I will do no such thing! We’ll use this,” and from her bag, she produced polaroid camera. John knew it well; it had been his gift to her on their first anniversary and Y/n had grown quite attached to it. Though, he didn’t have the slightest clue that she’d brought it along on their little getaway. Quickly, she set it up on the roof of his car, setting the timer, giving them a couple minute to get organized. 

They stood a few feet in front of it, John hugging Y/n from behind, her hands grasping his arms. The flash was just a couple seconds from going off, when at the very last minute, John lifted her off the ground, planting his lips on Y/n’s neck. Throwing her head back, Y/n laughed wildly, her eyes screwed shut with sheer joy. 

When John set her down, Y/n playfully swatted at his shoulder, “That picture is probably ruined,” she pouted. Though, by the time she was at the camera, the picture had already cleared up and was drying; and as it turned out, it was one of the best pictures they’d ever take together.

“Okay,” John swallowed tightly. He wanted, more than anything, to work things out with Y/n. She was the love of his life, his dawn at the end after the darkest night, his harbor in the storm. And he wanted so badly, to be that for her too. In fact, up until the moment he got home to her car parked in the driveway and the last of Y/n’s packed bags in the hallway, John had thought he was that. But John loved her more than he wanted to be her knight in shining armor, he always would, so if loving Y/n meant that he’d have to accept that he wasn’t what she wanted, what was best for her, then he’d painfully learn to accept it, even if it felt like it would be the death of him. 

With tear stained cheeks and red eyes, Y/n nodded, “Okay,” Picking up the last of her things, she turned the knob of the door and John swore that it felt like a dagger was turning in his chest. No longer able to contain her quiet sobs, Y/n managed, “Goodbye John.”

He tried to say it back, John really, really tried, but the words wouldn’t come. And dragging himself behind her, moving to lean on the door frame was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He watched her go, wishing that he could just reach out and take Y/n into his arms, promise to never, ever make the same mistakes again, but he couldn’t. So, feeling the hole in his heart grow with each step she took, John tried to offer up the next best thing, three little words that he hardly ever said, but a fact that he needed her to remember, even if it wouldn’t change a thing, “I love you Y/n.” Quiet tears fell from his eyes and John ran hand though his hair, trying to slow his breaths.

Stopping in her tracks, Y/n turned back to John, offering him one last, broken look, “I love you too John.” After a couple seconds, Y/n turned away, walking towards the car, tossing the bags into the back seat. Even as Y/n got into the car, turning the key in the ignition, sobs racked her frame and every cell in her body screamed that she was making the biggest mistake of her life, that she should go back and mend things with John. But at that point, Y/n dismissed the matter as her heart trying to overrule her mind, and for once, Y/n didn’t listen to it as she pulled the door closed and backed out of the drive way, putting her life with John in the rearview. 

John watched Y/n’s car disappear with distance, his world crumbling. Just like that, it was over, they were over. It took a while, but eventually, John was blindly making his way to what used to be their shared bedroom, only making it there by way of muscle memory. When he closed the door behind him, it didn’t take much to notice just how excruciatingly empty the room felt, how much of a hollowed shell it seemed. Sure, some mocking pictures remained, but suddenly, it was like John didn’t know the people in them and just a simple glance their way was like a punch in the gut. 

Sinking onto the bed, John thought it felt colder that it ever had; a lot changed when you grew accustomed to the warmth brought on by someone you loved. And when that warmth was gone, as John was quickly realizing, the feeling easily paled the coldest winter nights. Swallowing tightly, he finally picked up the handwritten note that Y/n had left between their pillows, though, he couldn’t yet bring himself to read it. So instead, he just stared at her cursive on the stark white paper, his thumb tracing it, lingering over the botches where her tears had presumably fallen as she wrote. 

John wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, the river from his eyes probably wearing tracks into his face, but at some point, the room dimmed significantly and he could no longer take the burning in his left pocket. Transferring the still unread letter to his right hand, John dung through his pants, eventually getting out a little, black, velvet box. It was why he had returned early, why he had called ahead to reserve a private room at her favorite restaurant. It was supposed to be the surprise that would change their lives, but there on the bed they once shared, in the house that might never feel like a home again, the glamourous diamond ring wedged comfortably between two dark cushions could only mock him; remind John that despite his best efforts to keep Y/n, he had lost her.

The glitter of the rock reflected in the low light, and feeling like there was no more love left to his name, John flipped the box closed, shutting his eyes as he laid back onto the bed, holding Y/n’s note to his chest, praying to a god that he barely believed in, begging that the last few hours would turn out a dream. Though, if it wasn’t, John hoped that he’d never wake up. 

********

tagging- @harrisongslimited​

[thehuggamugcafe]

Day 3: Crows

Is it any surprise that once a sadistic gremlin, always a sadistic gremlin?

No? Then you, dear reader, should be well aware of what you’re getting into.

Blessings be to the marvellous Rae, for giggling with yours truly and sparking the muse to get this bad boy served.

Do enjoy, my dears! 

“Are you trying to escape me?” The voice is calling to you, beckoning you closer, despite you trying your damn best to wrestle free of the hold it has on you. You struggle, you kick, you scream bloody murder, you plead for release, you beg for this presence to let you go; all your fruitless efforts earn you is a laugh, a mocking laugh but a laugh all the same, and the feeling of ghost-like hands wrapping around you. “You know I’d never allow that to happen. We’re bound, you and I.” You think you holler “no!” but, honestly, you can no longer distinguish the difference between the waking world and the land of slumber. You think you’re dreaming, but are you really? You can’t tell. Even with the feeling of the earth beneath you, the mud that is wet and heavy, staining the front of your nightclothes, and besmirching the gentle colour with a hue of brown that’s almost black, you aren’t sure. Even when your fingers, your nails claw at the damp grass, prying loose rock and bits of dirt cake to your hands, you aren’t sure. Even when sweat breaks out across your forehead and your skin crawls with the chilling sensation of gooseflesh, you aren’t sure. Even when you scream to be released and the hands, as if they find your misery to be comedy gold, simply hold onto your shaking form a bit tighter, you aren’t sure. It’s with a sting of bitterness, you note, that while they’re treating you like you’re a glass figurine, the hands—nor their owner—clearly have no intentions to let you go. “Don’t you want to spend an eternity with me?” That gets you to stop struggling, albeit momentarily. You freeze, remaining where you are; you’re as still as a statue. It’s as though roots have burst from the earth and wrapped around your wrists, your ankles, holding you prisoner. You feel no warmth radiating off of this being, a fact that doesn’t surprise you at all. Assuming he was even human once upon a time, whatever humanity he formerly possessed has surely rotted away to nothing but dust to be blown about in the wind, long before you and he crossed paths. “I wish to spend forever with you. Doesn’t that sound nice, mon amour?” You don’t—can’t—answer him. You keep your mouth shut. Your recollection of your French classes from high school is vague, but you’re positive that this presence just called you “my love”. Why is it—no, he—calling you its love? There is no sound rhyme nor reason for it to address you with faux affection; you don’t know what it is! Aside from your unwavering attention, you don’t even know what this spirit wants from you! You quietly convince yourself that if you figure out its motives, what it’s after, perhaps you’ll be granted some shred of clemency. It’s a fool’s errand to wish for something like that, you know that to be a cold and brutal fact. One you must accept, like it or not. You know there is no bigger fool at present than you. But when you’re staring into the abyss, can you help yourself for wishing for the best, even though it may be a sweet lie you tell yourself? Eventually, you stop struggling; what point is there in delaying the inevitable, after all? You’re tired, too exhausted to put up with this spirit’s head games. So you lay where you are, breathing icy air into your lungs, awaiting the end. “Aren’t you going to kill me? Get it over with already; enough of these stupid mind games!” Your heated words must surely take it—him—aback, you know they have. You aren’t sure how you know, but with how chatty it’s been, you find it hard to believe that it—he—has fallen silent, but he has. Finally, finally, he breathes a drawling hum in your ear; you shiver out of disgust, of fear. Perhaps it’s both. You don’t know; you don’t want to know. “Kill you? Why would I do that to a beautiful treasure like you?” Damn him, he sounds almost amused. Almost. But there is something else, something other than dark pleasure in his words: curiosity. Is he curious of your logic? Or is he merely playing with you once again? You wouldn’t be surprised if that is the case, as he seems to love toying with you like you’re his doll. As if to prove you right for once, and make fun of you while doing so, he chuckles. And as though he means to rub salt in a wound, your wounded ego that is, he slowly drags a finger along the curve of your jaw. “I cherish you far too much to treat you in such a brutish way. A gentleman is supposed to show proper manners to a lady, is he not?” “As if you’re a gentleman! If you were a gentleman, you’d let me go!” Is what you want to say; it’s what you should say. Fear, however, may as well have formed a fist and punched you in the gut, robbing the ability to speak from you. For now, at the very least. The poison that’s being injected into your veins, terror, is what stops you from speaking aloud; the venom running its languid course through you, fear, is what keeps your lips sealed shut. You don’t know what this spirit is capable of doing to you, even in a dream. And far be it from you to be unfortunate enough to find out what, exactly, he is able to do while you’re dreaming. At least you think you’re dreaming; rather, you hope that this is all just a horrid dream. You’ll wake up soon, you know this. You’re praying that you’ll slip from the land of slumber and wake up in reality, returning to some semblance of normalcy. You have to wake up soon, you have to! You don’t know how much longer you can take being here, in this nightmare any longer! And just like that dread begins to take over, washing over your cold logic like acid, setting your nerves on fire. What if… What if you don’t—can’t—wake up from this terrible dream? It is possible, of course, you know that. It isn’t outside the realm of likelihood that you’re stuck, trapped here forever with this… This spirit or whatever he is. The thought alone is enough to get you to start your struggling anew. It starts as barely a wiggle, shifting your legs. You feel the bits of rock digging into the skin of your thighs, digging into your knees as you kick your feet. Then your arms begin moving, attempting to wriggle them free from the masculine embrace keeping them where they are. “Let me go!” It’s a useless demand; a pointless order. You know he won’t listen to you, but even so, your words slide off of your tongue that feels as dry as desert air. Your suspicions are confirmed when instead of doing as you ask, he simply breathes a laugh. You feel it, the laugh, as a whisper of a breeze tickles the shell of your ear. “We’ve been over this already, haven’t we? I have no intentions of letting you go; not now, not ever.” Bastard. The audacity of this entity! You are not anyone’s property, certainly not his. “You’re mine, after all.” Hearing those words, in a clear and stark contradiction to your own, only makes you struggle harder. You’re acting like a feral animal, desperately seeking freedom from the cage keeping you locked away. However, for all the good your thrashing does, or for a proper lack of blessings, it only seems to amuse him. “Now, now… Where do you think you’re going?” You say nothing. Your jaw stays clamped shut, one set of teeth grinding down on the lower half; you won’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. You still struggle, of course you do. Anything to get as far away from this… This thing will be a blessing, as laughable as that sounds to you in the here and now. But, evidently, small miracles do seem to exist. That, or he’s curious to see what you will do. This son of a bitch is intrusive enough to let you escape, temporarily, all for his own entertainment! Regardless, you feel a wrist slipping free; half of your body is quick to follow suit. A shaky hope burns in your heart, pumping true and strong in your breast. You take in air, greedily, as you jerk away from this awful mockery of a man— Only to feel a strong hand grip your wrist in a grip that, while it is gentle to an extent, it is also iron-clad, threatening to leave bruises in their wake. A gasp slips from you even as you twist and turn, frantically trying to free yourself from this spirit’s grasp. But of course you can’t have that, not even in a dream. A laugh slithers into the cavern of your ear, mocking your escape attempt with every fibre of his being. As if that isn’t bad enough, he pulls you into a slow, gentle embrace, though you still cannot feel any temperature radiating off of this being, hot or cold. He is just simply… here. What you can feel, however, is the way the damp earth cushions your back as you’re pinned in place, hands held in place on either side of your head. Again, a second chortle hits your frightened scowl as he leans in close, so close that a few inches are all that separates his lips from yours. “You truly are a poor, wistful little fool, aren’t you? How cute.” Slowly, oh so slowly, his hold on one of your wrists loosens, much to your surprise. You watch as he holds it daintily, carefully raising it to his mouth. A phantom kiss is applied to the top of the ring you’re wearing. The ring that you bought purely on a whim, laughing off the concerns of the elderly shopkepper about it being cursed. If only you had listened… If only you had heeded the warning… The golden band shimmers gently underneath the moon’s cold glare as it peeks out from behind a veil of dark cloud, but the little blood-red ruby is what’s earned the right to have the honour, the privilege of knowing the invisible press of his lips. In hindsight, so has your second knuckle. It is naught but a whisper of nonexistent air, a tender kiss of a breeze, but you feel it even though there’s no conceivable way that you should be able to. You watch, absolutely petrified, as a smile pulls at the spirit’s face, raising his eyes to leer at you. His eyes are as black as coal. “My name is Arsène… May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, chérie?”

You awake with a jolt. More specifically, you awake with a scream dying on your lips that’s followed by a squeak of pain as you quickly, gracelessly tumble out of bed. You hit the floor of your room, hitting your hand off of the end table as your descent to the bare tiles is polished off with a low, weary groan. It takes you a few moments to realize that you’re not dreaming. It takes you twice as long, almost a full minute, before it dawns on you that you’re sitting on the floor of your room, your small and shaded sanctuary, with a throbbing hand and a mind that matches the racing of your heart. Still, the fact that you’re safe doesn’t stop you from letting your eyes dart around your bedroom, wide-eyed and wild. You leer at everything: the dark outlines of furniture and random knick-knacks; the pale glare of the moon shining in through the window, giving a silver-y gleam to the wall on your right; the clock tick-toking on your dresser, showing the time as 3 in the morning in red numbers; the small vanity shoved against the left-hand side of your room, reflecting the ghostly image of the full moon lurking in the gloomy sky. Is he here? The thought alone is enough to get your heart to flutter anew, pounding in your breast like a songbird in flight. You swallow; the gulp is thick. You feel it, the gulp, sticking at the back of your throat as it slithers down your esophagus, down to your belly and once there, it flip-flops in silent anxiety. You twist and turn in the sheets that have cocooned your legs. Your cold palms, your clammy fingers reach for the covers, pulling at them until your legs and feet have been freed of the cotton restraints. No, you think, shaking your head as you do. There’s no way he can be here; that was just a dream, wasn’t it? A bittersweet comfort, but you’ll take what you can get right now. You take in air slowly, exhaling it as carefully as you can. You aren’t in the mood to acknowledge how shaky the breath is; you don’t care enough to take note of how much you’re trembling. To calm yourself, you begin to practice your deep breathing. Slowly, as though not to disturb some godforsaken force that’s taken up residence in your home, you step away from the mangled pile of covers and quilts. You raise a hand, wiping away the icy sweat that’s gathered on your brow as you do. A breath leaves you in a winded whoosh, and you feel as though you’ve just participated in the world’s longest marathon. I’m safe here… That’s what you think as you draw closer to your bedroom door, reaching for the round knob. You grip it in your palm, in your fingers, turning it as a wave of relief washes over you. The low, droning creak of the door’s hinges goes largely ignored by you as you step out into the hallway. It has never occurred to you just how sorely welcomed light is, until right this very moment. The ghostly illumination from the light on the stairs, just outside your bathroom door that’s been left open, pours into the small restroom as you take a sharp right, stepping inside and shutting the door. I’m safe here… You take a few moments to fumble for the light switch and a fresh, stronger wave of relaxation washes over you. You blink, allowing your eyes to adjust as the light above the mirror blinks a few times before it stays on, burning brightly like lights in a dark forest. I’m safe here… The sound of the running faucet grates on your hearing like nails dragging over a chalkboard, slowly, but you ignore it as you cup cold water in your hands. The hit of icy liquid as it splashes on your face is just what you needed to wake you up, make you more alert. Your fingers, dripping with brisk water, grips the cold faucet; it squeaks as it’s shut off, the water slowing to a steady drip. I’m safe here… You reach for the small towel hanging off of the rack on your right, drying your hands before you reach for another, smaller towel. The cotton fabric is soft as you press it to your face, gently wiping away the chilled droplets that trail down your face. You lower the towel, peering into the mirror out of habit than, say, out of curiosity about how dishevelled you must look. I’m safe here— And just like that, time crawls to a full-on stop. There, as though to taunt you for fooling yourself into thinking you’re safe, he is staring back at you. You blink slowly, stupidly, eyes meeting his black leer over the edge of the fluffy cotton towel you’re holding in two, trembling fists. How is he—? You watch as his lips curl to a devilish smile as slowly, oh so slowly, lines of a hue that’s as dark as ink leak from his eyes. Perched on his left shoulder is a crow and you watch, equal parts stunned and horrified, as the small, feathered creature opens its beak, releasing a caw that goes unheard. You watch as the spirit, the being—whatever he is—raises a hand, hovering a finger close to his lips, purses them, and his mouth curves to a silent o. The gesture is silent, a laughable contrast to the static buzzing in your brain and the ringing in your ears, but the meaning behind his actions are as clear as day. “Shh.” You blink, shutting your eyes so tight that it hurts. You wait, vomit threatening to rise up from your flip-flopping belly and heart almost daring to burst out of your chest, for what seems like forever before you finally summon the courage to open your eyes. Slowly, the mirror comes into focus, and you exhale sharply as you see nothing. There is no crow silently cawing, as if it’s mourning how unfortunate you are to have caught a spirit’s attention. There is no one with eyes that are solid black; there is no malevolent being leaking inky tears staring back at you. You shake your head, dismissing the thought as you pat your face with the towel before putting it back where it belongs: on the towel rack. You breathe a hiss, raising your wrist to eye-level. Your face pales in shock when you spot light bruising, exactly where the spirit had grabbed you in the dream. In fact, you can even spot faint markings where its nails dug into your skin, gently but painfully. But that had been just a dream, a nightmare. Right? Right? The ghostly pain on your wrist, the tiny marks that mar your skin, beg to differ.

[nympsycho-ao3]

Dimessa Temporaneamente

Want to read on AO3? Click here! (please heed the tags!)

Three years after your escape from Cioccolata's enslavement, you've finally gotten used to the taste of freedom.

Unfortunately for you, Cioccolata knows better than to let you run free, and he's more vicious and vindictive than ever before. He has so much to show you, revealing his newfound pet and talents in the most visceral, repulsive way possible. After all, three years of disobedience can't go uncompensated.

Please heed the tags. Contains graphic depictions of torture, sexual, physical, and mental abuse, drug abuse/use, and major character death.

A sequel to "Mia Piccola Cagnolina", though it is not necessary to read before this one.

A commission fic.

 Escaping Cioccolata’s bondage was a formidable challenge, but just one lucky break was all you needed. You’d memorized his work schedule, his meal times, the sound of his heavy footsteps above you to map his routines. It all paid off; freedom is sweet, the smell of morning dew dotted with earth from last night’s rain.

 “Calm down, Rynke,” you murmur to yourself, sliding open the door for the plucky pug that toddles out onto the porch. He’s been attached to you at the hip since the day you picked him up from the shelter.

 You swear you can still hear       his     laugh, sadistic and deep.

 Luckily, the calls of birds drown it out, your eyes closing to enjoy the distraction. You bring the  mug of coffee to your lips and take a sip, a bit too hot to enjoy. Luckily, that’s just how you like it.

 His chuckle returns to your from the depths of your psyche, souring the coffee in the bottom of your mouth. You choke down bitterness as your brows furrow, your lip curling with disgust. Your wound pain is truly psychosomatic, flaring up every time you remember what was done to you.

 You’ve healed more than you thought you would in three years, though it definitely wasn’t easy.

 Rynke settles, plopping down onto the porch. It’s unusual for him to be quiet, but it’s even more unusual for him to growl as harshly as he does now. Your eyes open, only to be greeted by the serenity of nature as it always was, looking out for moose or lynx that might have alarmed him.

 There’s nothing but the rustling of the trees.

 Until suddenly, there’s      nothing    .

 And then there’s everything.

 Rynke barks ceaselessly as your vision is obstructed by what feels like a suffocating vice around your face. The fabric of it sucks into the gape of your mouth as you try to take in air, fear forcing air into your lungs with a gasp.

 Your coffee splashes from the mug and onto your chest with a sickening scorch before the ceramic shatters at your feet. You cry out, the noise muffled by the sudden clamping around your trachea. The stranglehold forces you into action, flailing your arms out desperately, only for them to be caught by something, or some      one    , stonelike and strong.

 You tremble profoundly as your arms are bent behind your back, fighting the pressure of a fist finding your hair through the sack around your head. Your entire being becomes dedicated to the surge of adrenaline that burns in your blood until another fist cracks against your cheekbone with a wicked punch, shutting you up and making you bite your tongue.

 You whimper pathetically, blood dripping from somewhere in your mouth and sloughing onto your chin, as your head is tilted back and to the side. Fear paralyzes you as someone heavy straddles your thighs, keeping you pinned in place; you can hear their breathing, the sound all too familiar and gut-wrenchingly disgusting.

 “My little escape artist…” his voice burns deep in your skull.

 “No…” you manage to whimper. “You son of a fucking…”

 You wince at the sensation of a long needle penetrating the vessels of your neck. You try to jerk yourself away to no avail, the richness of his chuckle masked by what sounds like a rabid beast’s breathing behind you.

 “I figured you’d be more of a cat person,” he continues, something cold stinging your vein as he plunges a syringe. It’s a feeling you’re come to know just from the bite of medicine, one that sickens you to the bone and nauseates you. “Dogs are so… needy.”

 The thing behind you, gripping your arms and hair too tightly for any semblance of mercy, barks a laugh.

 It’s the last thing you hear before the light shining through the meshed threads of the bag darkens into nothing.

--

 You awake to sniveling.

 Aside from the strange dribble of water that drips rhythmically onto the concrete floor, the pitiful noises of sniffling are all that you hear. You’re unable to verbalize yourself, still dazed from drugs and confusion.

 You manage to open your eyes just enough to spot the figure of what must be a young man, somehow suspended above you from the ceiling. Your vision unfogs slowly, catching brief details of the boy’s black hair adorned with what looks to be a strange, orange headband.

 Then, you notice that he’s staring right at you.

 He trembles, breathing heavily through his nose since his mouth is gagged and secured with duct tape. He’s heavily battered, his chest flailing with each breath, terrified and whimpering.

 “Long time no see, my pet.”

 Your eyes widen with the greeting, wondering if this was just another nightmare that Rynke would wake you up from any moment now. Your hope is squandered quickly with a sharp pain searing deep in your thigh, your neck rolling as you try to identify the source.

 You try to move something, anything, but you can only manage a languid roll of your hips. You turn your head to assess the macabre restraints securing your wrists and ankles to a grossly cold stainless steel operating table, digging into your skin.

 A feral, goblin-like chortle echoes from behind you; you’re not sure if the source is far away, or if your ears are still cotton-filled from sedation. Either way, the noise disgusts you, but it’s nothing compared to the slimy hand that snakes its way onto your abdomen.

 His fingers are slicked with blood, its origin horrifically unknown. You follow the trail that shiny, black-gloved fingers make along your stomach, your peripheral vision slowly returning with each hurried blink.

 “Much has changed,” he drawls, speaking just loudly enough to overcome the whines from above. “But I’ve always known you’d come back to me.”

 Your mouth is too dry to succeed in a swallow, your saliva soaked by the bite block stuffed between your teeth. You try to push it out with your tongue, only to find that it doesn’t budge, securely tied behind your head. Panic wracks your body, his voice spurring deep-seeded fear to root among your viscera.

 “Relax,” he insists, his entirety finally coming into view as if he were teasing you. His hair is longer, more erratic and messily styled into dreads. He maintains his signature psychopathy painted clearly on his features, taking in the fear that he obviously induces in you simply with his presence. He’s traded his navy blue scrubs for an eccentric outfit, his chest and abdomen exposed as he leans over you, framed with a cross-like visage and pointed with a wide lapel. Your eyes linger on what you figure must be the waist-strap of a thong that frames the crest of his hip, your brows furrowing at the ridiculousness of it.

 “You’ll have your turn,” he continues, snapping you out of disoriented thought.

 Your attention is returned to the wriggling mass above you, able to truly see the pain and terror in his eyes as Cioccolata looks up at him curiously. He cries, his tears dropping down onto you with sparse plops. The figure that’s haunted you every night for three years moves slowly as he crawls onto the table, returning his ardent gaze onto you. You eye the white shorts he wears, making way for the black, latex stockings that stretch up to his thighs.

 He straddles your hips, looking down at you with pinpoint pupils despite the dim lighting of the room. The weight of his body sickens you, the way he looks at you like a piece of meat nauseating. The green of his eyes returns you to a place you never thought you’d have to endure again, the nubs of your amputated fingers starting to ache; you’re not sure if it’s from the lack of circulation, or traumatic stress manifesting somatically.

 He trails your bare chest, marred with a second-degree burn from your coffee, with steady fingers as if he’s admiring an antique, the latex of his gloves catching on your sweat and squeaking horribly. He sighs, the wind of his breath trembling with excitement, before raising a fist and pounding it into your gut quicker than you can recoil from. You cough, the wind knocked from your lungs painfully, tears already flowing down your face from fear of what you know is waiting for you.

 Cioccolata leans in close to your face, the scent of expensive lipstick on his breath. He runs his tongue along the river of your tears, your cheek sliming with his spit. He pauses and appreciates the bouquet of your suffering like a fine wine, chuckling darkly to himself before rearing up and looking down at you victoriously.

 He climbs off of you, taking his time, and approaches the head of the table. The ogreish huffing noise continues, somehow less disturbing than Cioccolata’s hands on your shoulders. Suddenly, with a skull-wracking clap, your face is encased in two hands other than your captor’s. They feel gooey like mud, keeping your head in place and forcing you to look up at the blubbering mess of a boy above you.

 “After your… departure,” Cioccolata begins, crocodile-heartbreak saturating his tone, “I had no choice but to find another pet. I’ve also become acquainted with some interesting… new talents.”

 Your brows furrow as you watch the young man writhe against his restraints, his eyes following what must be Cioccolata’s path. A feral laugh, dotted with the sound of nasally spit, echoes behind you.

 Then, you see it.

 It hovers over your face with its own, back hunched with setting-sun eyes. You’re paralyized under its gaze, only its eyes exposed as the rest hides behind what looks to be a mask. The covering of its face sloughs with mud and dirt, and as it moves to reveal its mouth like some sort of living creature, dribbles of mess scatter onto your face.

 The dirt is much less disgusting than the gluey slobber that drips onto your forehead and cheeks, seeping from its horrible smile. You shiver, writhing against your restraints to no avail as it drips like exudate along the side of your face.

 “Relax, Secco,” Cioccolata drawls. “Soon.”

 You realize this thing must be named Secco. Not that it mattered.

 The boy above you starts to panic entirely, his eyes locked on something out of your view.

 “You’ve yet to witness the full scale of my power,” Cioccolata says softly, almost inaudible over the boy’s muffled screams. “Though, you cannot possibly comprehend it.”

 With the noise of a clattering chain, the boy suddenly plunges towards you. You flinch, expecting him to collide with you, but he’s merely suspended a few feet above you, violet eyes locked on yours before they start to roll into the back of his head.

 You’re utterly confused, left with no frame of reference that could possibly explain what you see next.

 The boy’s skin makes way for a gurgling, broiling sick that froths from deep inside his body, as if it were under pressure and suddenly released. Bubbles form under his skin, only to burst horrifically and empty fuzzy, green exudate onto your bare skin. He cries out until his throat is filled with what smells and looks like mold, seeping from the duct tape and flowing from his nose. With a final, excruciating buildup of pressure, his skull fractures and spills an amalgamation of brain matter and mold onto your face. His eyeballs dangle from what used to be his sockets, finally silenced and limp as the mold takes what’s left of his body.

 You’re rendered absolutely noiseless, shivering with fear and disgust, his eye dangling disturbingly close to yours.

 “Isn’t it beautiful?” Cioccolata laughs behind you. “I doubt you’d like to suffer the same fate as Mr. Ghirga, though.”

 You don’t recognize the name, but considering his sinew drips onto your body stinking of rot, it feels like you know him rather intimately. Cioccolata’s threat looms heavily over you, knowing that the stakes were even higher than before.

 The boy’s corpse is raised back towards the ceiling, its remnants still dripping as the mold consumes his bones.

 Cioccolata makes himself known to you once again with a flat palm against your cheek as he circles back towards your feet. He trails down your body and settles on the crook of your thigh, not dancing around his intentions. Secco releases your head as it follows him, almost out of view as it appears to crawl on all fours. You spot what looks to be a bolt sticking out of the back of its cranium, the suit meshing around its insertion.

 “You’re one troublesome puppy,” Cioccolata remarks as he adjusts something under the table, his other hand gripping your ankle with a squeak of his glove.

 You cry out pitifully as you’re moved into lithotomy position, the steel of the table rising to bite into stirrups behind the back of your knees painfully. He glares down at you as a wide smile grows across his face, his hand trailing onto your pussy without hesitation. Secco works to secure the restraints tighter, leather buckled straps insidiously tough.

 Secco huffs, obviously intrigued, his tongue lapping from between his lips to drape over his chin. You squirm and fight the position of your legs, grating the head of your femur within its joint painfully.

 “Stop squirming, pig,” Cioccolata spits before slapping the inside of your thigh. It burns as if every ounce of his vitriol embedded in your skin. He digs his fingers into it, pinning you into stillness.

 “Secco,” he starts, catching the animal’s attention. “Get the camera.”

 The camera?

 His assistant chortles as it does as it’s told with the sprawling of its limbs. Cioccolata’s unoccupied hand searches along a stainless steel tray by his side, prepped with a blue sterile dressing long before you woke up.

 “Unfortunately, three years of disobedience doesn’t afford you much in terms of choice,” Cioccolata growls, selecting a lead-fillet mallet from the side table. “But, here’s one. Right or left?”

 You look down at him with wide eyes, screaming noiselessly in confusion. He taps the head of the mallet against each of your toes as he waits for you to somehow answer with a gag stuffed in your mouth.

 “Hm, she’s indecisive. What do you think, Secco?”

 Secco holds the camera steadily at your feet, crouched atop the table for the perfect angle. Your eyes lock on to the rhythmic blinking of red light, frightening you deep to your core as you remember a similar one from your confinement.

 “Left! Left!” it barks, its chest heaving with excitement.

 “Hm,” Cioccolata ponders, twirling the mallet between his fingers. “Right it is, then.”

 You had no idea what he was talking about until you become horribly, lucidly aware.

 He puts all of his weight behind a swing of the mallet, throwing it onto your femur with a sickening pound. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you clench them shut, screaming from the pit of your throat at the incredible, mindblowing pain you hardly stay conscious to experience. You can feel the shards of your bone slosh around the movement of your muscles as it stays put in the restraint, though the portion most proximal to your hip sways with your movement. With two, three more swings, your femur is nearly obliterated into mush under your skin.

 “Stay still,” Cioccolata commands, dropping the mallet onto the table haphazardly as he snaps his hand onto your hip. “You’ll tear the blood vessels.”

 You can hardly hear him over the ringing in your ears, watching a gruesome hematoma form around the assured crumbles of your bone.

 “Well, more than you already have,” Cioccolata mentions casually, instigating the wound with his thumb. “That should keep you in your place, no?”

 You feel consciousness slipping away from you, only to be brought back with a swift capture of your throat into Secco’s hand. It squeezes hard as it sticks the camera in your face, its visible eye closed to view you through the lens.

 “My apologies for my assistant,” Cioccolata hums, rising unseen, “he has his fixations.”

 Secco pokes its thumb against your larynx before withdrawing, snarling a chuckle as it watches you cough from the crushing pressure. It claws at your breast instead, drooling onto your chest, its fingers feeling like sandpaper along the scalded skin.

 Secco becomes the least of your worries as Cioccolata pries his thumb inside your pussy, assessing the boundaries of it with a pull and glide along your pubis symphysis. He hums in approval, though the noise of it is drowned out by Secco’s beastly huff of breath as he eyes your chest.

 “Not yet,” Cioccolata gripes as he snaps his fingers, diverting his pet’s attention from you to await his command. “Here first.”

 You sigh with relief as he releases your breast, only to crawl towards his master. It’s as if it knows exactly what Cioccolata expects from it, setting the camera down to frame your vulva with its hands. It spreads you apart too quickly for comfort, its face hovering over your stomach to assess what it has to work with.

 It plunges both index fingers into you, grating against the tight, moistureless confines of your walls. The discomfort hardly compares to the aching of your broken leg, though the shame you feel wracks your mind in waves. Secco sloughs saliva from its bottom lip onto its fingers, making them slippery enough to jam its middle fingers inside as well. It snorts as its knuckles bottom out inside you, under Cioccolata’s scrutinizing approval.

 “Open.”

 Secco licks its lips as it abducts its hands, disregarding your boundaries completely and gaping your entrance open for Cioccolata’s analytical stare. You roll your hips as much as you can manage, Secco’s fingers scissoring you to stretch your muscle viciously.

 Cioccolata wordlessly commands his underling, nodding approvingly as Secco sends a glob of saliva from the tip of its tongue inside you. It concludes with a harsh spit, spattering drops in its wake that make you shiver.

 Cioccolata takes it upon himself to fill the void with three fingers, slicking your walls with Secco’s spit before jamming their fingers together inside you. You bite the guard between your teeth at the coldness of latex and the sudden invasion, closing your eye after a clump of mold falls onto it.

 “Good,” Cioccolata praises as he pats his accomplice’s head. It takes it as an invitation to withdraw, rearing up onto its knees to watch Cioccolata drive his fingers into the newfound tightness. Soon, that apparently bores it, finding your breasts again with a slurp of its tongue. Its suit shrinks under its chin, looking up at you to expose its teeth in a malicious grin.

 They’re metal.

 Your brows furrow at the sheen of them, textured and with exaggerated, elongated anatomy. Its inhuman tongue captures your attention away from the short bursts of Cioccolata’s fingers digging deep. It wriggles along the roundness of your breast before settling on your nipple.

 Cioccolata picks up the camera with his spare hand, chuckling darkly at whatever information he must know that you don’t. He points it directly at your face as Secco drives its canines into your breast, followed by its incisors, pinning you down onto the table with its weight. You scream, earning a grin from both of them.

 Secco laps at the blood at seeps from the bite, slapping your other breast with the flat of its fingers. Cioccolata curls his fingers inside you, pulling out just enough to force his pinkie in as well. Four fingers work to stretch and explore you, watching your expression of despair and pain through the camera’s lens.

 “Do you see how good he is?” Cioccolata murmurs, fighting the resistance that you give him. “He listens to everything I say.”

 Secco practically wags its tail at the praise, releasing its teeth from your tissue with a snap. Blood leaks from the punctures, dripping down your chest in stripes. With another wordless command, Secco swipes its fingers along the wounds, squeezing your breast to squelch more blood from it. It slaps its bloodied fingers adjacent to Cioccolata’s, lubing them up further. He nods, dismissing his servant and continuing to slam his fingers into you.

 “Hopefully I don’t have to take out half of your brain like him, though…”

 Secco takes the camera and shuffles towards your head, eyeing you hungrily. It kneels down to your level, taking your hair into its fist and forcing your chin down towards your chest. The leather strap keeping your bite block in place loosens, and soon it tugs and wriggles it from between your teeth. You fill your lungs with fetid air, tasting mold and blood as you take a deep breath.

 You’re not given much of an opportunity for a breath, your lips enclosed by Secco’s with a flash. Cioccolata lets out a hearty laugh, his lips curling over his teeth at the sight of Secco forcing its tongue down your throat. You try to cough it out, fighting the kneading of your lips, revolted by the movement of it as it explores your esophagus. Its metal teeth click against yours as it shoves itself as deep as it can go.

 “He’s taken a liking to you, it seems,” Cioccolata murmurs, lining up his thumb with your entrance. “Keep her quiet, Secco.”

 You gag on its tongue as Cioccolata drives all five of his fingers inside, stretching your limits beyond anything he’s put you through before. He grins sadistically as you’re forced to swallow Secco’s spit, his fingers curling into a fist as he forces the knob of his wrist inside. He pulls out entirely just long enough to assess his work, slapping you across your clit before drilling his fist back inside you. You writhe and cry, tears streaming down your face as the rhythm of his fisting jostles your body with each thrust.

 Secco’s tongue wriggles from your throat animatedly as it pulls back, spitting on your face with stunning accuracy. Its fingers find your mouth, prying your jaw open as you’re finally free to gasp breaths and groan with the pumping of Cioccolata’s fist deep inside you.

 “You’re actually quite like me, now that I get a good look at you…” Cioccolata murmurs as you try to form words, pushing Secco’s spit from the back of your throat. You can’t see what Cioccolata does next, but deep down, you know; the familiar sound of buttons coming undone stuns you into silence, stilled from many lessons that Cioccolata had taught you so long ago.

 “How does that make you feel?” Cioccolata asks as he lines up the tip of his cock with the stretched muscle of your entrance. Your eyes widen at the thought of his cock fitting in there with the girth of his hand and wrist, though he seems to spare you unexpectedly.

 Instead, he slides it down to your ass. He was merely slicking it in an apparent act of negligible mercy.

 Secco must’ve picked up on another wordless que, slapping your face roughly to snap you out of the traumatic haze you found yourself in.

 “I asked you a question,” Cioccolata spits, stilling his fist to focus on coercing the head of his cock inside the first ring of muscle of your ass. You squeal and grit your teeth into the fingers stuffed between them, your eyes finding Secco’s in an asinine plea.

 His words echo in your head as he drives himself in, earning an agonal cry from deep within your battered lungs. Cioccolata smiles, the true sound of pain and anguish only making him harder, driving his hips forward. You cry with the burning sting of his cock forcing its way past the unlubricated catch of your virgin hole. Through the many months of torture at his hands, he’d never hurt you this way; before, his punishments carried a lesson or experiment behind them. Now, though, he seemed to be doing anything to instigate guttural, agonizing cries from deep within your soul. He writhes his hips in the most gruesome way before pounding into you over and over again, rubbing his cock against the side of his fist through the stretched tissue between your holes.

     I asked you a question.  

 Just as he drives himself fully into you, he pulls back, plunging his hips deep and rotating his fist for better access. Your squeaky cries barely make it past your lips, holding your breath with what little conviction you have left to try and push him out of you. He finds this quite amusing, groping your thigh with his free hand. The crackles of your bone repulse you almost as much as it pains you, reminding you once more that every ounce of disassociation you’ve allowed yourself to sink into can be just as quickly rescinded.

     I asked you a question.  

 Much to Cioccolata’s curiosity, your cries hollow out into barely-there gasps, hardly enough to fill your lungs. You feel yourself losing the very essence of your consciousness, pain making way for delicious numbness. It’s enough to settle you, relax you fully into taking Cioccolata’s penetration, loosening you despite gallons of adrenaline urging you to do anything but that.

 “Hm…” Cioccolata muses, pounding his hips into you once, twice, three times in an attempt to get a rise from you. Instead, your eyes roll into the back of your head and your tongue lolls around Secco’s fingers, your wrists falling limp and your vision dimming around the periphery.

 Finally…

 There’s nothing.

 --

 The feeling of a needle messily leaving your skin is what spurs you from your haze.

 Then, it’s as if every muscle in your body is electrified, seizing uncontrollably and rousing you from shock like whiplash. Like naloxone to morphine, every sensation your body has tried to block out rushes back to you at once.

 “Ah, too much…” Cioccolata scowls as he tosses the syringe to the ground, not bothering to apply pressure to your vein to stop the bleeding from the puncture site. “No matter.”

 Secco practically hops with excitement, pointing the camera too close to your face. You’re jumping out of your skin, pain and overstimulation shooting through every nerve in your body and making you dizzy.

 “I didn’t want you to miss this,” Cioccolata seethes as you realize that he’s pounding into you; it’s like you’ve picked up where you left off from in a nightmare, the past feeling hazy and surreal compared to the horrific awareness you’re enduring right now. “It would be a shame, truly.”

 You feel every touch and thrust more potently than the last, drool seeping from your agape mouth like a rabid dog. You can hardly keep your focus on the meeting of your bodies, your irises forced into nystagmus from the overwhelming effects of the drug.

 “W-why…” you manage to utter, your blood spurred with newfound energy.

 “Why?” Cioccolata laughs, spreading his fingers inside you. You give way easily despite the trembling of your muscles, your head slamming back onto the metal table with the surge of acute stimulation that pops like bubbles through your gut.

 He keeps his fist clenched as he rends it from your pussy, exposing the black latex of his glove, covered in milky, bloody fluid. He’s strangely wordless, as if he’s knocked speechless at the sight of your opening welcoming him with pink tissue rubbed raw.

 “You really are stupider than I thought,” he retorts, grasping the base of his cock with his sullied hand as he pulls out from your ass. Secco howls deliriously, pointing the camera between your legs as it straddles your abdomen with the entirety of its weight. You shudder with the sensation of emptiness, only for two of Secco’s fingers to plunge into your pussy and stretch you open wide. “Maybe half of your brain is already gone.”

 Your eyes burn from dryness, wide and unable to blink. Cioccolata’s lips curl into a perverse smile, only needing to insert the head of his cock into your pussy before cumming in spurts. Secco keeps you still as heat and lightning surge through you, the feeling of his cum curling your toes and digging your fingernails into your palms.

 Cioccolata grunts with relief, finishing himself with a few languid strokes of his cock. “Did you get that, Secco?”

 It nods voraciously, the red light on the camera blinking incessantly as if in confirmation. Your breath is too hot; in fact, your entire body burns hot as if it’s on fire. Through it all though, you’ve come a startling, loathsome realization.

     You need more.  

 Secco crawls over you like an insect, falling to the ground at Cioccolata’s feet to shove its face between your legs. You can only watch as its tongue unfurls from between its lips to lap at your weakened entrance, spooning cum onto the hollow of it. Cioccolata rubs the top of its head, cum and slobber dripping down Secco’s chin as its eyes glaze over with appreciation.

 You lick your lips, parched and sore, as it crawls back over you and meets you face to face. It dips its lips down onto yours, swirling Cioccolata’s cum around your tongue and down your throat. The taste of it rolls your eyes into the back of your head, your hips bucking into Cioccolata’s firm grip of your thigh to the rhythm of his laugh. You hate every cell of your body for finding a modicum of pleasure in this.

 Secco pulls back with a lap of your teeth, running the tip along the upper row. You spot from behind its head an unusual sight: Cioccolata rolling down the sheath of his glove to expose his forearm, bringing a needled syringe to the crook of his elbow. His eyes gleam in a way you’ve never seen them do so before, scanning your body maliciously.

 “Secco, down.”

 His servant obeys, hopping to the ground and bracing his weight onto his knuckles. He withdraws the needle with a hiss, his eyes rolling and his balance wobbling before he quickly collects himself. You swallow the gluey cum that sloshes around your mouth, your lids heavy and your body responding viscerally from the pleasure of it.

 Cioccolata bends down close to you, unscrewing the needle from the tip of the syringe. He holds it close to your face, rolling it between his fingers as your eyes cross to look at it.

 “You’ve been given a mixture of gamma hydroxybutyrate, amphetamine, and  dextroamphetamine,” he slurs, his breathing quickening after each word as if he were exhausted. “Well,      we     have.”

 Your brows furrow, not knowing what that sting of words meant.

 You’d learn soon enough.

 Cioccolata leans his weight onto your chest, taking one of your breasts into his sticky hand. He never breaks eye contact with you, bringing the tip of the needle to your achingly hard nipple before spinning it provokingly.

 “You’re hardly worth the effort of surgery,” he jeers, pressing the bevel into the hardened tissue slowly, agonizingly. You squeal a pained groan, your jaw falling slack, trying to roll your hips despite the sickening mashing of your femur under your skin. “Drugs will have to do for now.”

 You drool, unable to swallow through your screams, as the needle penetrates clean through the other side. You can see Cioccolata’s heartbeat through the rhythmic trembling of his fingers, rapid and fluttering. He laughs heartily, the noise foreign, though it brings a groggy smile to your face for reasons unknown.

 You can’t hide the flushing of your face or the throbbing of your abdominal muscles, completely forgetting about the corpse dangling above you. You’re absorbed in the static that spreads from your nipple to your gut, finally forcing yourself to blink.

 Cioccolata rests his head on the softness of your belly, the green of his eyes surrounded by white. He’s almost domestic, flicking the needle with amusement and grinning widely. Secco gets a wide angle shot as Cioccolata trails his tongue into the crux of your rib cage, licking the sweat that buds from the mixture of the drugs and the pleasure that starts to drive you crazy. Your pussy aches with strange urgency, pulsing with the feeling of cum dribbling from it.

 “Secco,” Cioccolata exhorts, “get the box. A sugar cube is in it for you.”

 At the mention of a sugar cube, Secco bares its metallic teeth in an animalistic grin. It starts to bang its head back and forth like there’s no other way that it could release his excitement, halting abruptly after it bonks its forehead against the table. Cioccolata rolls his eyes and waits patiently for his gimp to do as he’s told.

 Secco drags a heavy box from somewhere unseen, grunting with heaving breaths. It practically fumbles over itself to unlatch the lid and throw it open. You tremble incessantly, your fingers twitching erratically, as Cioccolata reaches into the inside of his top to retrieve a perfectly formed sugarcube. Secco whines and whimpers as it pounds its knuckles into the concrete floor, losing its mind over the sugarcube’s appearance. It holds its tongue out, allowing you to notice the physiology behind its length: it’s merely many tongues stitched together, scars of long-passed surgeries suturing them together.

 Cioccolata flicks open a pill bottle, sending the lid toppling onto the floor. He tosses two or three onto his palm, his hands too shaky to be exact, before lobbing the cocktail into the air towards his assistant. Secco’s tongue darts around the projectiles with surprising precision, swallowing them down after gnashing them between his teeth. It reminds you of obscuring a pill in a hunk of meat to get a dog to eat it.

 “Hope you don’t think I’m playing favorites,” Cioccolata says a tad too quickly for sobriety. “He’s just on blood thinners, is all…”

 Secco laps up the last of the powders before digging through the box. Your teeth clatter from the electricity flowing through your jaw, pupils blown wide as you fixate on the toy that it retrieves triumphantly.

 Cioccolata claps his hands together, the noise ringing in your ears and making you jump. Every sensation and experience is amplified by the thousands, your muscles recoiling with each touch of Cioccolata’s fingers.

 “Excellent choice, good, good, good…” Cioccolata murmurs to himself, swiping the Hitachi wand from his pet’s hand with a clatter of the wire. You struggle to stop yourself from hyperventilating, feeling dizzy from the rapid breaths your diaphragm forces you to take.

 He holds it in front of your face, spinning it to make sure you’ve gotten a good look. His eyes are nearly black from wide pupils, the head of his cock blushed red as blood surges through it. Secco practically vibrates, rushing to plug it in as slobber flows past its teeth and across its lip.

 Cioccolata tosses the wand its way. It scrambles to catch it, its hand previously occupied with groping the surprisingly large bulge between its legs, tenting the strange suit that encapsulates its body.

 “Three sugar cubes,” Cioccolata proposes, dangling the promise in front of Secco’s face, “if you make her forget all about this escaping business.”

 Secco leaps into action, flicking the vibrator on with a drag of its thumb. It settles between your legs, eyes locked on your pussy as it presses the bulbous head of the vibrator against your thigh.

 It’s almost enough to make you cum right then. If it held it there for just a moment longer, you’re sure you would have had the most powerful orgasm of your life.

 Instead, it hovers it over your clit, dotting the bud with the unpredictable, shaky movements of its hand. Cioccolata laughs to himself at the way your hips bob and jerk from the stimulation, making a mental note to himself to throw Secco an extra sugar cube. He cradles your head with his forearms, his hands gripping the sore meat of your breasts as he looks down at you. His finger flicks the needle still embedded in your nipple, smiling grotesquely at your pathetic reaction.

 He keeps your shoulders pinned to the table as Secco presses the head of the wand directly onto your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. It’s almost enough to blur the debilitating pain, but in a sick betrayal of your body, the pain began to mix with pleasure like ink in water.

     Good, good, good…  

 Cioccolata’s voice repeats like waves in your head, your unfeigned moans turning to screams as you fight the resistance of his hold on you. He runs his tongue along your upper lip, hunched over you like a beast, taking in the sweetness of your cries.

 Something comes over you, a primal need that every ounce of your logic screams against indulging in.

 You do anyway.

 Cioccolata’s eyes widen as you lurch your lips onto his, taking them into your best attempt at a kiss. He scapes his teeth against yours, taking back what’s his with a suck of your bottom lip. You bang your wrists against the restraints, the clatter of metal only adding to the cacophony of frantic moans and cries.

 Cioccolata sinks his teeth into your lip with a shuddering moan, swallowing your heightened cries and the taste of your blood with thorough enjoyment. He abrases your lower lip as he pulls back from the kiss, distinctive marks rubbing your skin raw. His hand claps onto your forehead, tangling your hair between his fingers, as he rubs your head excitedly. His laugh echoes through you, amplifying the intense building of pressure deep within your pelvis.

 Saliva and blood seep from your lips, agape in glorious, breathless dismay, your eyes locked on his. He tosses your head around like a ragdoll as you cum hard and fast, tears flowing down your cheeks. Your muscles contract as strongly as they can, only for orgasmic relief to follow; normally, you’d be given a break before the next one, but neither Cioccolata nor Secco plan to give you the kindness.

 Instead, Secco twists its wrist with force, angling the head of the wand at your entrance. You squirm from the movement of the stimulation, gritting your teeth as it jams the bulk of the toy inside you, plunging it in aggravation when you offer resistance.

 “Yes…” Cioccolata looks on approvingly, slamming the back of your head into the table with a forceful pound. You start to groan with the penetration, only for your whine to be cut off into a yipping cry as Cioccolata sinks his fist clean against your cheekbone. You gasp for breath, your efforts fruitless as his knuckles crack the bones of your sinuses into splintering shards. You try to turn your head, only for a barrage of fists to follow, his grunts of effort matching the ringing in your ears. He pauses, breathing heavily, watching you sputter blood from your nostrils.

 “Secco, stop.”

 As if the entire world stopped turning, the last beacon of pleasure that was the vibrations deep inside you cease. Secco looks up at its master with wide, confused eyes; even it wasn’t privy to whatever diabolical thoughts mused through Cioccolata’s head. Secco lets out a goading whimper, shaking the handle until Cioccolata snaps at it to stop.

 Cioccolata leans in close, clearing blood from your ear so you can hear his whispers. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

 You shake your head wearily, your skull feeling heavy.

 He bashes his fist against your temple, making your ears ring. “It’s just like you, daring to lie right to my face.”

 You shudder a breath, your hearing starting to fade from your right side, as he pushes your head to wobble around your neck. He strides to your feet, shouldering Secco out of the way to grip the handle in its place.

 He switches it back on.

 You spray blood from your nose and mouth as you puff a breath, the toes of your left foot curling now that you lost the ability to move your right.

 “You fucking love this,” Cioccolata laughs, the smile in his voice loud enough to hear over the buzzing of the wand.

 You’re forced to face that fact yourself, the beginnings of orgasm rippling through your gut mercilessly. He angles it just perfectly, more precise and purposeful than Secco, prodding your most sensitive spots as if in spite.

 “Tell me, you worthless pig,” he spits, pressing the heel of his hand onto your mons pubis to keep you in place.

 When all you have to offer is a half-hearted gurgle, he switches the vibrator off again and takes in the involuntary whine of petulance that spurts from your swollen lips. He thuds the heel of his hand against your mons, the impact settling deep in your gut.

 “You want more?” Cioccolata sneers as he holds the wand painfully still. You feel the crushing weight of your diaphragm as you cough, though you’re not sure if it’s in protest or confirmation.

 Cioccolata scoffs, giving you just enough stimulation with the vibrator’s head to start toppling you over the cliff of hopeless acceptance. When he switches the vibrator on again, your resolve shatters, unable to stop yourself from shuddering a groan as orgasm finds itself a mere pinprick away.

 Cioccolata takes even the last morsel of anticipation that you have, switching the vibrator off just as you’re at the tipping point of orgasm. He scowls at your fervent whine and rolling of your hips, pounding the side of his fist into your gut.

 “You want more, then tell me!” Cioccolata yells, dotting his words with another irritated punch. The volume and vitriol behind his voice catches both you and Secco off guard.

 You manage to part your swollen lips enough to allow air to pass through.

 “Please…”

 Cioccolata grins, knowing from the sound of fluid in your lungs that you were simply unable to say more. “Stupid pig…”

 He indulges you, turning the vibrator on again and putting all of his weight into prodding your gspot with the rounded head. You grit your teeth and cry, unsure if you feel relief or self-hatred more potently. Either way, your body convulses with the need for release, trying to ignore Secco’s snarling breathing.

 Through the gurgling of your breath within the muck of blood and spit, you cum again. The intensity of the vibrations against your abused g-spot was simply too much to handle, the sensation curling your toes as you spurt cum onto the handle of the wand and the pair’s faces. You can’t see Secco’s confused expression, your eye sockets swelled with fluid from the assured fractures. Cioccolata makes his approval known with an amicable pat on your belly, letting the wand protrude from you, anchored only by the squeeze of your muscles. He approaches the head of the table once more to look down at his handiwork.

 Contusions already pool around the impact points of his punches, spreading like a bullseye. Cioccolata’s heaving breaths linger on your skin, effectively blinded despite your best efforts to meet the gaze that surely bore onto your face.

 “Good pet…” he murmurs, almost too soft to hear.

 He grunts as he slaps the meat of his cock against your battered face, hissing at the sensation of broken, bloodied flesh and shards of bone crunching beneath the weight of it. He cums almost instantly, needing only three unscrupulous thrusts before he sends seed to embed in your wounds. You cough out blood that flows from your sinuses, the salt of his cum stinging deep under your skin. It seeps through the hair-breadth slit of your puffed eye socket, singeing your eye and making you grimace.

 “C-Cioccolata…now…?” the gremlin huffs. It’s the first time it’s formed a coherent request, and if the sounds you hear are anything worth trusting, it must be stroking his its cock fervently.

 “Not yet,” Cioccolata manages to respond through bated breaths, apparently becoming disinterested with your face and stumbling away from you into nowhere. You’re powerless to do anything but whine pathetically as the wand’s head is yanked from your pussy, catching on your pubis symphysis horribly before tumbling to the ground. Secco snorts more than it breathes, watching over you as something cold and hard prods against the hole left gaping from the wand.

 You snivel pathetically as a stainless steel speculum twists its way inside, much to the pair’s amusement. They chuckle as Cioccolata twists the speculum wide open, exposing you and blocking off any chance of pleasure you could feel from insertion. You whine, the cold making you shiver, your face painfully sore from the battering.

 “In here, only,” Cioccolata mutters, obviously to his protege. It howls excitedly, using the disjointed, pensile remnant of your thigh to pleasure itself. It thrusts his hips wildly, fucking the sinew and baggy flesh until it’s at its limit.

 It rears back and unleashes its load inside your pussy, so      generously     laid out as if just for its own personal use. Cioccolata apparently pats it on the back as it grunts and squabbles, cum sloughing to pool against your cervix.

 Secco jams its fingers inside, spreading its cum around like a fascinated child. Cioccolata pushes it aside with a huff, clapping his fingers greedily over the stretched viscera of your clit.

 “It’s such a shame you made me do this to you,” Cioccolata seethes, rustling through the utensils on the side table sloppily. “You had such a pretty face.”

 You listen to Secco scramble to the head of the table, its fingers toying with the needle through your nipple. With a gut-churning splice, it tugs the needle free from its place. You yelp through the fog of delirium and hyperawareness, spit frothing from between your gritted teeth as Cioccolata begins to circle your clit with his latexed thumb.

 “You’re sort of beautiful like this, though,” Cioccolata shrugs, rolling the unhooded bud between his fingers. You squeal and pant, bucking your hips into the stimulation, shameless and unrepentant. “If only you weren’t so… disgusting.”

 Cioccolata holds something cold and sharp to the inside of your thigh as he angles his cock back into your ass, forced into accepting it due to your desperate need for something, anything other than crippling pain. You used to think that his cock, engorged artificially from drugs and the incredible sight of seeing you in pain, stuffed in your ass was entirely too unpleasant to earn any modicum of pleasure.

 Now, though, as your leg, breasts, and face singe red-hot in pain, Cioccolata’s rabid fucking is a mere mercy.

 “Secco.”

 That catches its attention, just as it always did.

 “Teeth.”

 Secco hoots, hollering excitedly. You can’t fight the way it pries your jaw open, the tendons hardly attached to the broken bones of your mandible. Secco’s pinkie digs into the previously-healed sockets of your top canine teeth, removed from an act of defiance many years ago. You drool all over its fingers, feeling another orgasm tug on your exhaustion that the drugs won’t let you confront.

 The skin of the inside of your thigh parts ways with the slice of a scalpel, sending fresh blood gushing onto the table. You don’t have any fight left in you, instead losing yourself to tracing the path of the scalpel. Are you falling further into insanity, or is he carving... letters?

     F…  

 He pounds himself into you as Secco fumbles with something else, dropping what sounds like bullets to the floor with a frustrated groan. The thought of imminent death, a swift bullet to the brain, comforts you more than you expected it would.

 Cioccolata has much more planned for you, though.

 The rolling of his thumb is too much, sending you over the edge again with a clamp of your muscles. You nearly push the speculum out, but Cioccolata shoves it back in with the palm of his hand.

     U… C…  

 Secco holds your weakened jaw open and bends your head backward. You open one eye as much as you can manage to see its shaky fingers dangling a metallic fang in front of your face before sinking it into the sheath of your mouth.

     K…  

 You manage a throaty cry as it starts to screw the tooth into your gum, the socket milling into thready sinew. Cioccolata giggles to himself, amused at the way you gurgle bubbles of fresh blood out of your mouth.

     M…  

 The pain in your thighs is quickly overshadowed by the invasion of slow, tortuous metal drilling into the misplaced bones of your skull. All you can do is cry, thankful when Secco lets your head go, only to be dragged back into dread as it prepares the other socket.

     E… A…  

 The scalpel slips, digging deeper than Cioccolata intends. He scorns himself for being so sloppy, though he can hardly keep himself together, his balls aching with the promise of another release.

 Your tongue explores the newfound implants as best as it can, the taste of metal not nearly as off-putting as the iron in blood. They’re too big for your mouth, jutting across your lower row of teeth.

     T  

 Cioccolata grunts, pulling out of your ass to cum into the waiting hole of your pussy. It almost hurts to cum again, but the delightful sight before him spurs him on. His cum, combined with Secco’s and a tinge of blood, drips from the speculum’s border and onto the roundness of your ass.

 “Good, Secco,” Cioccolata says between panting breaths, dropping the scalpel onto the ground triumphantly.

 “N-now?” Secco begs, grinding his cock against your skull, sullying your hair further in addition to the blood, spit, and mold.

 “One more thing,” Cioccolata bargains, slapping your broken thigh before approaching the box. “I’m sure you don’t want this to end anytime soon, right?”

 You’re not sure which answer bubbles from your psyche first.

 Secco strokes its cock as it licks its fingers, clearing the suit of spumy muck. Cioccolata tosses something large and heavy its way, praising him when he catches it.

 “My pet,” Cioccolata whispers, holding something behind his back as he places a kiss to your forehead. “Those fresh new teeth of yours hold a little… secret.”

 Secco giggles exaltedly as it manages to ignite the flame of a butane torch clumsily, a bit too close to your hair. The fire melts a small portion of it into bundled twine, burning your face just from the proximity. You hardly care, your eyes locked on the cross-shaped iron that Cioccolata bares freely from behind his back. Secco hops in place excitedly, pointing the flame to the design of the iron as well as it can manage. You watch as the iron grows fluorescent yellow-orange, releasing bouts of smoke with the impressive heat.

 “At my command, at any time, and for any reason,” Cioccolata says smugly, admiring the opulent design of the iron, “I can release this same drug you’re surely hating now. In an instant, you will be right back here, and I’ll have to increase the severity of your punishments. No matter where you go, I will always have control.”

 Cioccolata hovers the red-hot iron inches above your breast, the heat of it making you writhe. You shake your head weakly, begging without the words stuck painfully in your throat.

 “You will      never     forget that you’re mine again,” Cioccolata growls, tightening his grip on the handle of the iron.

 You force air in and out of your battered lungs, preparing yourself.

 There’s nothing that could have possibly prepared you for this.

 Cioccolata plunges the hot iron above your nipple, smoke bursting forth from burning skin and sinew. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Cioccolata says something you don’t hear, the sound of blood rushing past your ears all you can focus on aside from the excruciating pain and the stench of burning flesh and hair.

 Cioccolata rolls the cross across your skin to ensure even coverage before pulling back and tossing it to the ground. Threads of burned skin drape over your side, eschar and granulated tissue marking the cross like a signature. You’re barely conscious enough to feel Secco release another load of cum into your pussy, hot and sticky.

 It’s nearly silent, the only noises being your stridor and Secco’s feral wheezing. After a moment of horrible nothingness, wondering what could possibly await you in the tension of quiet, you’re startled back into the present.

 The clattering of the leather straps on your ankles resonates within the walls of your confinement. You think you might be going crazy, truly, until your left leg is released and sent tumbling onto the edge of the table. You’re dead weight, dizzy from blood loss and trauma, unable to give resistance even if you wanted to as your wrists are freed without a word.

 As your right leg is freed, you scowl and wince from the pendulous swinging of it from the edge of the table. You pry your eyes open to see Cioccolata hovering over you from behind, heaving your weight onto his support with a scoop of his arms under your shoulders.

 You wheeze, your chest crushing under your weight as you’re rolled off the table and onto the floor. The speculum topples onto the concrete next to you. You snivel and lay there in the heap that Cioccolata left you in, staring at Secco’s shins.

 He kicks you in the back with the heel of his boot, catching your attention and turning you on your axis.

 “You want more?” Cioccolata hums, digging the sole into the protuberance of your shoulder blades. It’s like he knows the answer already, his tone confident and assured.

 He leaves you there as he moves to lean against the wall, crossing his arms and looking down at the pitiful lump before him. Secco joins him, shuffling on his knuckles to lean against Cioccolata’s leg.

 Your muscles ache, but that’s no matter. Something spurs you from all semblance of logic, urging you into action. You haul the entirety of your weight up by your palms, your head hanging loosely on your neck.

 Slowly but surely, you start to forget anything else but the feeling of their cum seeping from your abused hole and the sound of molded corpse plopping onto the floor. Cioccolata chuckles lowly as you shuffle towards him, dragging your bunk leg behind you as you claw the concrete with dedicated crawls.

 You finally settle at his feet, collapsing from the massive amount of energy you poured into hauling yourself just a few feet. Cioccolata grabs the knots of your hair and forces your face towards the ceiling. You’re met with the sight of their hardened cocks bearing down at you.

 “Good, pet,” Cioccolata mewls, taking your wrist into his grasp. It stings from the abrasions there, rubbed raw from the restraints. He fixates your limp fist around the shaft of his cock, sticky from blood and sex. Secco harrumphs persistently until Cioccolata mirrors the action onto its cock, rolling his eyes like a father to a petulant child. It starts pumping immediately, the movement sparking new pain through your thigh as you rely on your stable leg to hold your weight.

 Cioccolata takes a different approach, coaxing your hand into stroking his length languidly. He smiles widely as you catch on, moving your fist on your own, your knee aching with the pressure of your weight.

 “That’s right,” Cioccolata hisses, already close thanks to the endurance and hair-trigger nature that the drug affords him. “Keep going like I know you want to.”

 You drool from puffed lips, fighting the swelling of your eyes, whimpering doggedly. The noises and your newfound devotion finishes him off thoroughly, ropes of cum spilling into your face and dripping onto your chest. Cioccolata keeps you steady with the grip on your hair, just long enough for Secco to fuck your hand to the hilt, murky cum spattering onto your hair and the contusions of your face.

 They rub their cocks on your face, thoroughly ensuring that nearly every inch of your face was covered in a milky combination of cum, blood, and spit. The sight is enough to sate Cioccolata.

 For now.

  --

 The warmth of the bubble bath is exquisite, though it compares not to the tingling on your scalp from his kneading fingers. The shampoo smells sweet, like violets and vanilla, as he works it though the tangled mess of your hair.

 Secco works at your leg, keeping it suspended above the water to keep the cast dry. You smile lazily, though you’re urged back into stoicism from the pulling of the bandages across your face.

 Cioccolata kneels in close, rinsing your hair with warm water that cascades down your chest.

 “We can do this every morning,      tesorina    ,” he crones, stroking your upper arms authoritatively. “Well, so long as you behave.”

 “Yes, Master,” you mumble through the bandages.

 He helps you out of the bath, calling on Secco to dry you with the plushness of a towel. You think to yourself how strange he looks unadorned by his usual makeup and outfit, favoring a bathrobe and slicked-back hair.

 Just as Secco finishes drying you, the familiar pitter-patter of ebullient nails clacking against hardwood brings a smile to your face. You watch as Rynke praddles into the bedroom, sitting at your feet, not minding the water pooling there. You give him a brief pat, unable to bend too much at the hips for now.

 You’re desperate for affirmation, waiting for the opportune moment to collect the palette of makeup from its place on the vanity. He turns towards you, his gaze warmer than usual, and chuckles when he realizes what you must be planning.

 “You want to help?” he smiles, sitting at the vanity.

 You nod twice, the movement hurting the sore muscles of your neck. Cioccolata finds the request to be delightfully endearing, facing you and closing his eyes.

 You try your best, angling the brush across his forehead and cheeks carefully. The green paint-like makeup edges easily into sharp lines, framing his face perfectly. His black lipstick goes on smoothly, following the curvature of his lips as he pouts for you.

 He opens his eyes to assess your work, scanning his face in the mirror across from him. You await impatiently, bouncing on your good leg.

     Crack.  

 You stare ahead at nothing, looking down at the floor. The wounds of your face burn from his vicious bare-handed slap, bringing tears to your eyes. Rynke whimpers behind you.

 “Do it again,” Cioccolata scathes. “Wash it off and do it      again    . Better this time.”

 You sniff to clear your nose, scrambling to retrieve a washcloth. “Yes, Master. Sorry, Master.”

 Cioccolata glares at you upon your return. It would be easier to wash his face in the sink, but then you couldn’t learn your lesson. Instead, he stares daggers at you until you’ve cleared his face of your mistakes, your hands trembling in fear. Really, truly, through it all, you’re more disgusted with yourself for failing than you are afraid of punishment. After all, you      would     deserve it.

 Finally, his face is dried and prepped for your second attempt. You try to keep your hand steady as he wordlessly grants you permission to continue, dabbing the brush in the makeup more cautiously than before.

 Cioccolata grins, as if he knows the exact spot his makeup should be just from touch. His gaze relaxes, taking in the fear and apprehension on your face like fine wine.

 You set the brush back down onto the vanity quietly, hardly tacking it against the counter. Cioccolata sighs before assessing your work once more, taking his time to study his reflection.

 Much to your relief and delight, he approves. It’s as if your life has meaning again, elevated from your depression in an instant with the brightness of his smile.

 “Good,” he says simply, brushing wet hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “You can help me with this every morning, then.”

 You smile widely despite the agony of your face, revealing the exaggerated metallic fangs that glisten there. He pats your head before rising, shuffling past you and Rynke towards his wardrobe. He spits out a vague insult at the dog, labeling him      patatino     before urging him from his path with the side of his foot.

 “Come now, pets,” he beseeches, dropping his robe to the floor. “We have much,      much    business to attend to.

Tags:

              Explicit Sexual Content

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Character Death

Abduction

Non-Consensual Drug Use

Aphrodisiacs

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD

Violence

Abuse

Strangulation

Choking

Blood

Injury

Gore

Medical Torture

Bondage

Rape

Psychological Torture

Sexual Abuse

Burns

mold

Death

Body Horror

Broken Bones

Needles

gaping

Vaginal Fisting

Painful Sex

painful anal

Spit Kink

Blood As Lube

Teeth

Biting

Vaginal Fingering

Praise Kink

Forced Orgasm

Non-Consensual Kissing

Slapping

Face Punching

Face Slapping

Punching

Mind Rape

Multiple Orgasms

Creampie

Threesome - F/M/M

Stimulants

Video Cameras

Come Sharing

Nipple Torture

Vibrators

Speculums

Blood Loss

Object Insertion

Orgasm Delay/Denial

Squirting

Marking

Knifeplay

Branding

Domestic Violence

Bukkake

Master/Pet

Fear

Ownership

Secco is literally called "it" through the whole thing

Lobotomy

POV Second Person

The dog is okay

[memoirsofamessybitch]

In My Mind Part 5

Joe x Fem Reader 

Warning; Some strong language. 

Okay another long delay but my job is a nightmare! Enjoy @lizgarxo @deakyswhitequeen @echlomusic

Prologue  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

I felt kinda numb for a while after the initial pain of seeing Joe remotely interested in someone else. I mean who was I kidding anyway, no way someone like me would gain the real interest of someone like him. The engineer, whose name was Becky; was stunning, cool and trendy. She had a nose ring and her hair was always immaculately coloured and styled. Damn, even I would wanna date her. I tried to slink out silently and without attention but of course I was apprehended by someone, it's never just that easy to wallow in solitude.

“You look like the sky is falling or something, what happened?” Carl stopped me in the parking lot. I sighed and looked down at my shoes.

“I think Joe likes Becky from sound, I saw him....winking at her on set today, I mean how long has THAT being going on! Being all cute and flirty with me then as soon as he's on set; oh Becky let me stare at you longingly across the way and fucking WINK at you, I bet he's bought her coffee too....fuck sake” So it seemed I wasn't totally numbed after all. After my outburst I looked back up at Carl, who had cocked an eyebrow in confusion at me.

“Girl you need to calm the fuck down....its a harmless wink, look let me see what I can find out and I will put your mind at ease, but YOU need to focus on learning how to not act like a total ass in front of Joe tomorrow, you've got him in the chair for 3 hours first thing in the morning....don't fuck this up okay” He grabbed my arms and shook me, almost like he was giving me the most bizarre pep talk of my life.

“Okay stop...stop shaking me, I'll try and just act like....normal?” I screwed my face up in confusion. “No...I'll just...be myself” I slapped my hands down onto my side and dropped my shoulders.

“Yeah, but less crazy talk like before okay?” Carl tilted his head as I pushed his shoulder playfully. But he was right, there was no need to act the way I did. I had an opportunity to actually have an actual adult relationship, one that felt like it could go the distance. I couldn't let another chance get away from me to be, dare I say happy.

I remember going home that night and playing one of my records as I took a long hot bath. The soothing sounds of (insert song/band) made my soak a little more special. But not as special as the oils I had added to my bath, plus the very expensive body cream I rubbed on my self afterwards. Sometimes working for big stars had their perks, when you're gifted La Prairie body products you take them but use them sparingly. I felt like I'd earned this pamper. That was not like me at all earlier that day, jealousy was not my colour and I planned on never wearing it again. I slept well for a change, I didn't dream just slept. I woke up remembering not to feel sorry for myself. Perhaps I wasn't going to be good enough for Joe, but the very least I could do was convince myself that I could be.

My small bursts of confidence seemed to stay with me, until I arrived at work and began setting up. I tried to focus on the room for a moment, to try and calm my nerves. The sun was rising slowly and the warm oranges and yellows cut through the blinds and over the trailer, then I noticed I was alone surprisingly, so I decided to practice what I was going to attempt to say to Joe.

“You busy tonight?” no too vague and short I thought. Then I paused and looked at my reflection longingly.

“I like you...and I sound 5 years old” I closed my eyes and shook my head. I took deep breaths in and out then opened my eyes.

“I'd really like to talk more, outside of work....” Suddenly the door slammed open and Joe and Brianna came in laughing and chortling. I picked up a brush and started spraying it with water nonchalantly.

“Hey Y/N” Joe put his hand on my back as he made his way over to my chair. I exhaled heavily trying to contain any kind of moan that may have left my lips in that moment. Every bit of confidence I had spent the previous 12 hours building up escaped me. I just watched him sit down and wait patiently for me to smock him and begin my day. “Okay....something spooked you or have I done something?” of course I wanted to mention Becky but I just halfheartedly smiled and shook my head.

“Just tired” I said in almost a whisper as I tied the smock around Joe's neck. Joe's scene where his corpse is found was being filmed today and I had my work cut out. 3 hours of making Joe look somewhat decomposed. Lots of liquid latex was in order and airbrushing of course.

“Well you better make me look gross, I want you to be unable to look at me afterwards” I couldn't help but smile and giggle at his playfulness. I gripped his shoulder and lent down to his level.

“You're gonna look so gutted and rotted their gonna have to raise the age rating on this damn film” Joe chuckled and my heart skipped a beat. Every time I heard him laugh I just felt every part of me get warm. I got started before I let the butterflies in my stomach distract me any more. The first hour flew by I started painting on a base of greens and greys and yellows on his skin. The opportunity to ask Joe arose, we were looking at one another in a somewhat intimate position as I was brushing his skin delicately. I could have said something, I should have said something but instead I watched Joe's phone go off, my eyes focused on his screen and I saw Becky's name pop up. I couldn't tear my eyes away, so much so Joe caught me looking. I think he noticed the colour drain from my face, and the quivering bottom lip too.

“Y/N you okay?” was all he responded with.

“Is that Becky from sound?” that was the last thing I wanted to say but I fucking said it anyway.

“Yeah....we exchanged numbers not long ago; she's nice I guess”

“You guess, she's cute...she's really cute” Shit...just pure shitting word vomit, I tried to control it but I was just....too far gone.

“Yeah...but she's not...there's something not quite there between us”

“What like what we have?” Internally I was screaming; SHUT UP! STOP SPEAKING YOU STUPID BITCH OR I WILL STAB A PAIR OF SCISSORS INTO YOUR LEG. Joe laughed then sucked in his bottom lip.

“Y/N are you upset in some way...maybe even jealous?” He was teasing me, I got angry....very angry suddenly.

“What you want me to be?” I snapped back in a pointed tone. I wasn't expecting that in all honesty, but what Joe had said really got to me. I wondered if he had done this as a ploy to get me to reveal how I really felt? Maybe he liked to pit female crew members against one another, see how many he could gather.

“No...I....seriously are you mad?” I stood up and looked down at him, a frown on my face clearly visible. It was quiet and all I could hear was True by Spandau Ballet playing in the background.

“I just thought maybe...you know what it might be best to get someone else to finish your face before I say something stupid” I threw my brush down and ran straight for the trailer door. I don't know why but I walked onto an empty set, it was dimly lit and cold, but it was a safe space. I sat on the cold concrete floor and tried to compose myself. Deep breaths in and out, trying to escape somewhere else in my mind. I was so pissed at myself, more so than ever before. I felt foolish for thinking that letting someone make me feel the way Joe did would be a good thing, school girl crushes leave you hurt and confused, I should have kept my distance, I should have left. I pressed my hands on the cold ground and felt my warm clammy palms cool slowly. I heard footsteps which caused my eyes to flick open. Joe stood about 2 feet away from me, looking down at me, and I looked very clearly defeated.

“Yeah I'm a mess, I can't believe you made me think you liked me” I pointed at him almost sneering my nose up at him. “I do like you, for fuck sake Y/N I can't believe how blind you are to it, how many fucking hints I was throwing your way....do you think I brought coffee for ANYONE...no...” He pointed back at me. It was hard too take him seriously with his face painted in such odd colours, I stood up and faced him straight on. I crossed my arms and bit my bottom lip so hard I almost drew blood. “You just never made it clear you liked me back, I saw how you acted with everyone and I wondered if it was just how you were, so I started talking to Becky a couple weeks ago” I interjected.

“Well you know now....god I feel like such an ass...does Becky know how you feel?” I chewed my lip still, I felt sick, I begged for a hole to appear for me to fall into.

“No, considering I'm supposed to be going on a date with her tonight makes THIS whole thing a little awkward”  I was hurt. Clearly it showed on my face because Joe tried to approach me. But I stepped back.

“I just wish you weren't so quick to jump to the next crew member, just because I wasn't on my knees from day one Joe doesn't mean I didn't think about you all the time, the moment I met you I was pretty hooked, what made her so easy to talk to and not me? What did I do wrong?” Joe stepped to me again and I stepped back holding my hand out. 

“Nothing...I'm cancelling my date, she needs to know how I feel about you” He pulled his phone out from his back pocket, this time I stepped to him, and I put my hand on his phone to stop him from unlocking it.

“You should go, at least see how you feel about her unless you're gonna stand in front of me and tell me you love me or something” I laughed awkwardly. Joe didn't. Foot steps echoed throughout the empty lot, We both looked in the direction of the doorway to see my boss looking pretty fucking pissed to say the least.

“If you two are done fucking around I got a director all over me about why one of his actors isn't in a make-up chair?”

“Sorry” was all I said as I led the way towards the exit, Joe following behind like a worried little boy....

[juicifeur]

Passing Through (Pt.3)

PART 1 ~ PART 2

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: little bits of angstyness

A/N: At least I got this done (after three months) after like five months

Summary: With a demon occupying your body, the Winchesters struggle to adjust but they still bring you back to the bunker. And they try to do everything to get you back to normal.

Three days passed and neither of the Winchesters slept.

Sam because he was using every waking second he had to find a way to exorcize the demon that occupied your body, and Dean because Sam wouldn’t let him sleep. 

The aroma of coffee and bourbon was the only constant. That, and the soft hum of your altered voice carrying through the vents from the dungeon.

Dean laughed under his breath as he sat at one of the large tables in the bunker’s library. He’d been sucked into the internet and for some reason, he couldn’t stop watching video after video.

  “What’s so funny?” Sam asked as he walked in. Despite not showering for the last three days, he still looked mildly presentable. Dean chuckled again and lifted his phone up, smiling.

  “Watch this video, this guy’s got a trombone and his kid’s banging an oven door-”

  “Seriously?” Sam looked at his brother. Dean taking breaks had become an issue to Sam, it was time wasted not looking for a way to save you, and this demon had its claws in you deep.

  “I’ve been working my ass off to try and get Y/N back and you’ve been sitting there watching stupid videos?” He scoffed and Dean pursed his lips in awkward silence.

  “Sammy, maybe you just need to take a few hours off and relax. You’ve been up for like forty hours almost.” Dean stood up and pat Sam on the shoulder, but the younger brother shook his head, not showing outward signs of exhaustion yet.

  “I gotta save, Y/N. It’s the only thing I can think about.” Sam sighed and set his laptop down on the table. His calloused fingers trembled with the breaths he took.

  “We just have to find a way to make sure this doesn’t do more harm than good. If I can just figure out a way to distract it..” He sighed again and Dean nodded.

  “Well, then we have to-” 

  “What?” Sam asked. His brother held up a finger and turned his ear toward the wall.

  “You hear that?” Dean turned toward one of the vents that resided near the ceiling in the library. The voice was slowly getting louder.

  “Is that...singing? I’m not just hearing things, right?”

   “Yeah, that’s Y/N.” Sam bit the inside of his lip.

   “The itsy bitsy demon crawled up the water spout; Down came the black smoke and choked the human out.”  A giggle came out of your throat.

The chains that bound your ankles rattled softly as your legs moved back and forth under the chair like you were on a swing. Your joints ached like they were being sawed through with a rusty knife, but that was the whole point.

   “Where am I?” You asked. But no sound came out of your mouth. Your neck ached from hanging forward but, again, you didn’t do anything to stop that. You could feel your wrists bound to the chair, the ropes digging into your skin, but you didn’t make any sort of effort to move them. 

   “Shut up.” Another voice, other than your own, spoke, echoing off the curves of your skull and reverberating in your ears. Suddenly you remembered what had happened. Your body wasn’t your own anymore. Your head was drawn up at the sound of large metal doors unlocking and opening in front of you.

   “Sammy, been wondering where you got to.” Your lips curled up into a smirk as you watched both brothers enter the cold dark room. A mouldy sandwich lay on a plate in front of your feet, from when Sam had tried to get you to eat; to no avail. Dean opposed that idea, but Sam’s resilience led him to believe that the Y/N he knew was still in there and needed to eat. It wasn’t clear how long it had been since your last meal, considering that the demon didn’t need any of that to survive.

   “Let me talk to Y/N.” All the light in Sam’s eyes was gone, and his fists clenched at his sides as he looked you over. He was definitely looking at something in particular, but you didn’t know what. It was pointless to try and scream for help, it wouldn’t let your voice through. 

   “Hmm, I don’t know. I like the view from where I’m sitting.” The demon mewled, leaning forward and pulling your lip between your teeth.

   “I could sit here all day. Hi Dean.” Another giggle came from your throat and the boys awkwardly avoided eye contact. 

   “Just give us a minute.” Dean practically growled, glaring at the demon inside of you. You could feel it roll your eyes.

   “Fine, fine.” 

Suddenly it felt like your chest was ten times lighter. For a split second there was relief - and the devil on your shoulder, the one that had beaten the angel on the other to the ground a long time before, was gone. Or at least dormant for now.

Once you were able to move your head on your own, you looked slowly down at your arms. Your muscles throbbed and your head felt like it was on fire but you were alive. How that was possible escaped you. Bruises started to form and you could feel the same sensation happening around your ribs. It made a small noise of discomfort escape from your lips and you looked up at the boys with heavy tears in your eyes.

The wounds that riddled your skin could have been months old. The areas under your eyes slowly darkened and your cheeks lost their colour, it was as if all indications of humanity that you displayed up until this point were just part of the demon’s facade. And since you had never been involved with whatever these boys did, you had no way to understand what the hell was actually going on. All you knew was that something had taken over your body and had forced you to start believing in something that had nothing to do with your normal view of life - something that wasn’t natural.

The pain in Sam’s eyes worsened as your limbs turned black and blue, the only thing that had kept you looking semi-normal was the demon’s ability to heal itself and appear invincible.

   “S-Sammy..” You practically gasped feeling your chest seize up and start throbbing. The intercostal muscles between your ribs ached with trauma and hindered your lungs from taking full breaths. The stabbing pain you felt as you shifted in the chair indicated to you a possible broken rib; the result of something you couldn’t remember.

Sam’s eyes changed and he rushed to your side, remembering to keep his hands at a distance as not to hurt you anymore. His protective instincts would pose a problem when you whimpered his name yet again.

   “Y/N, hey, we’re gonna get that thing out, alright, don’t worry, we got you-”

   “Sam, it hurts.” You began to cry, you felt as though your guts had been twisted over and over and tied in knots.

   “I know, Y/N, I know, you just gotta hang in-”

   “Times up!” The demon’s eyes flashed black again and your teeth snapped at Sam’s cheek as he suddenly pulled away. A dark chortle sounded from your throat and Sam didn’t know how such a terrible sound could come from your vocal cords.

   “Don’t like biting, anymore huh? Oh, Sammy from what Y/N remembers, you never had a problem with it.” The demon giggled again and Sam’s lip turned into a snarl.

   “Why the hell are you here. Why go after Y/N.” Dean stepped in front of his clearly overwhelmed brother. The demon’s head tilted teasingly. The way your teeth were bared and the way your eyes stared them down with a dead, menacing look reminded Dean of “The Exorcist”.

   “Oh, boys, to get to you of course. Unfortunately, you’ve both been too stupid to look for the signs in that fucking town for the last six months.” The demon grinned again, attempting to get a reaction out of Sam.

   “Avoiding your past will only make it worse, Samuel. Just ask that pretty little blonde, Jessica.” A giggle left your chapped lips. The tension in the room rose as Sam’s fists clenched and he stepped towards your fragile form, intending to interrogate further. But his brother’s hand gripped his forearm before he could take his second step.

   “Too soon?” Your previously beautiful eyes turned from demonic obsidian to their natural colour and the demon twisted your face into an expression that conveyed innocence. It made his stomach churn.

Two more days past before the demon was finally weakening. 

Beads of blood emerged from cuts all over your body and they continued to stain your tattered clothing.

The bags under Sam’s eyes got darker as the hours went on, he hadn’t slept, and he hadn’t stopped trying to loosen the demon’s hold on you.

It was painful and lengthy, like a lot of things that you had gone through in your life. Every once in a while your limbs would move involuntarily, or your throat would emit a high pitched laugh, and every time this happened you felt your body begin to deteriorate further.

Suddenly, something felt different and you saw Sam’s tired face for the first time free from control. The book he held dropped from his hands and he rushed to your side, Dean exiting whatever dark, cold room you were in to get something to clean you up with or something that would ensure you wouldn’t die from your injuries.

Your weak arms lay limp and your neck didn’t seem to have the strength to hold your head up anymore.

   “S..Sam..” Blood had dried under your nose and over the cuts that hatched your arms and they left a grubby, sweaty, sticky feeling all over your skin. Your hands, clammy with sweat, stretched out slightly as your fingernails scratched at the arms of the chair you were still shackled to. The cuffs dug into your ankles and wrists and you looked up, with blurred vision, at the two men who saved your life.

Arms, legs, fingers, toes; you could feel everything. Unfortunately, everything hurt, but at least you knew that you were alive.

Always Tags: @knightofmischief @potato8queen @sherlock44 @too-much-winchester   @krista200022   @mcdoyle22   @lezbianlovebitez @leiassorganaakatestiel @kylorentrsh @trashbutnotforyou @angel-allie-golcha-aroha@thedamnchesters @kickasscas67 @hoe-zier @kyara2015trustnobodyshootfirst @all-ur-friends-r-dead @rhae-winchester @one-shots-supernatural @spn-ayyy @abigrumple @livelovelike555missdestiel67@lemonadegazeelle @elsatxx @superhero-lover101 @jadepc @becs-bunker

Dean tags: @jesuisdabbo @akshi8278 @sonicscrewdriverandtulips

Sam Tags: @commitmenttosparklemotion @carbonated-beverages@galaxyllamaftw @pilaxia

If you are crossed out, either you changed your url and I can’t find you or you don’t exist anymore

Message me if you want to be tagged/untagged

Always accepting tags for Always Tags, or tags for a specific character

REBLOGS, LIKES, and COMMENTS are much appreciated<3

[luxandauroris]

Thus the Journey of the Vessel Begins.

[ “You were born a child of light’s wonderful secret— you return to the beauty you have always been.” ― Aberjhani ]

“You want to what now?” Prompto asked in disbelief.

“I want to go and investigate the fort to the east of here.” Delphine said, sat around the dwindling campfire with her four companions. “It’s not one of Aldercapt’s units, but I swear I’ve seen that symbol somewhere before.”

Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose. “We really should make haste for Caem, Cid is waiting for us and-“

“I know, Ignis.” Delph interrupted. “I wouldn’t have even mentioned going if I wasn’t sure it was worth investigating.”

“Hey,” Noctis said, turning to Ignis. “It could be useful for working out any Nif secrets…”

Delphine turned to Noctis and flashed him a grateful smile, one which he returned eagerly.

“You would side with her…” Ignis muttered. “Fine, I know better than to argue with you when you have your sights set on something so deeply. We’ll leave at nightfall, but you’re the one who has to incur the wrath of Cid when we eventually get back to Caem.”

“Fine by me.” Delph agreed, causing Gladio to chuckle beside her.

Three hours later, and the group were preparing to head out as the sun set over the lands of Lucis. As Delph was sharpening her spear, she felt a presence behind her, turning round to see a familiar blond head of hair settling down beside her. He rest his head on her shoulder, as he had come to do so often since they had departed on this crazy journey.

“Do you ever think about the people from back home?” Prompto asked, looking over the horizon.

“Sometimes.” Delph replied, voice quiet. “The usual been on your mind again?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I… really miss her.”

The dark-haired woman had to hold back tears which were threatening to spill. Miel had been on her mind a lot since she had finally received a reply to the text she had sent a few days ago. She was fairly sure Prompto had cried when she showed him the messages, seeing Miel not believing that he wanted to see her…

“You really love her, don’t you?” She asked.

“More that I can say.” Prompto chuckled.

“Next time you see her, tell her.”

Prompto turned to face his friend, wide eyed but nodding all the same. Delph didn’t know if he would actually do it, but the thought being in his mind was enough for her for now. She hadn’t gotten the guts to tell Miel how she felt all those years ago, and the last thing she wanted was for Prompto to go through the same anguish she had. He was so much more open with her, so much more suited to her than she was, and the way he looked at her, it made Delph’s heart sing, seeing her two closest friends so happy.

“Didn’t you love her… once?” Prom asked, eyes full of curiosity.

Delphine laughed. Not a malicious one, an airy one, looking back on a past memory that she was extremely fond of. “I’ll always hold her dear in my heart, Prom, but… she’s yours. I accepted that a long time ago.”

Prompto nodded, pulling Delph to him in what could be seen as an act of thanking her. He valued Delphine and her friendship so much, she was what kept the boys from constantly being at each other’s throats, what kept Gladio from being too overbearing during training, the only person Ignis trusted to cook other than himself, and Noct - well, Noct was another matter entirely when it came to Delphine Auroris. Not that she knew, or that she would ever know.

Before either of the two could ponder their thoughts further, a cough came from behind them. They separated, seeing Gladio stood there, all prepped to head over to their mission. “We’re ready, let’s go.”

The pair nodded, standing up and gathering their gear. Delphine took a deep breath, mentally readying herself for another infiltration, unaware of what awaited she and her friends on the other side of the tall, looming walls.

The plan of action was simple enough – infiltrate, explore, extract. The group had gotten past the first line of defence pretty swiftly (thank the lord for warp-kills), were now making their way through the facility. Prompto, Noctis, and Delphine stuck to the left, heading for an office building, whereas Ignis and Gladio scouted out the weapons area.

Delphine still hadn’t been able to identify the fort flag, the symbol was striking up a memory within her, she just didn’t know which one. There had been no names anywhere, either, so she was at a loss. She shook the thought from her mind as her group reached the building, Prompto granting them entry with a keycard he’d swiped from one of the guards.

“What exactly is it that we’re looking for?” Noctis asked, rooting through a cabinet.

“Anything which gives us an idea of who these guys are, and what their plans are.” Delphine replied, heading over to what looked like the main desk in the room. She tried each drawer, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she pulled. She didn’t want to break it, otherwise whoever owned this place would know someone had been in there.

Instead, she moved to what appeared to be a tray of folders. Opening one, she saw mission details for a raid on Galahd, effectively planning to destroy the place, with ‘MISSION SUCCESSFUL’ stamped across the top in large, red letters. She scanned the page with haste, looking for a name, a group, anything that would tell her who was responsible. She turned page after page with no luck. On the final page in the document, however, was a photo. It was specifications for a catapult, extremely intricate and bound to destroy anything it set its sights on. The name on the side, however, caused Delph’s stomach to drop.

No.

No.

Not him.

Please.

No…

“H-hey, Delph?” Prompto asked, voice shaking as he studied the folder in his hand. “What were your parents’ names again?”

Oh no.

“Carina and Amanitus.” Delphine replied, tone void of emotion.

“Wait…” Noctis interjected. “I know those names, they were two of Dad’s most skilled Glaives.”

“They were, yes.” Delph replied. “And I’m guessing that Prompto is currently holding the report of the raid they were involved in on General Ulixes twelve years ago, the night they died.”

“Uh, yeah. I-”

“The same general, as it would happen, who I would guess runs the very fort we’re stood in.”

“Delph, wai-”

She was out the door before Prompto could finish, eyes alight with a flame which had been burning for twelve years too long.

“DELPHINE! FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS WOULD YOU WAIT!” Ignis cried, sprinting to catch up to her as she stormed through the area.

“I’ve waited for twelve years, Ignis, that’s more than long enough.” She replied, voice harsh as she stormed ahead.

Ahead of her was a large courtyard, where she hoped to get a better idea of where the bastard might be. And if he wasn’t here, well, she could tear up his shit instead. The boys were clearly concerned and scared simultaneously, but she pushed them to the back of her mind for the moment as she charged forwards. That is, until a firm grip pulled her back.

“Get off, Gladio.”

“What exactly are you hoping to do here?” He growled. “We have no plan of attack, no back-up for if things go wrong, it’s a death trap.”

“I’ll be fine.” Delph protested, moving to walk again.

At that moment, a large spotlight flashed into life, glaring down onto the group. Delphine squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light, before spotting a figure perched on the top of one of the nearby towers.

“My my my, what have we here?” An unsettling voice shouted. “Could it be the heir of Lucis, in MY fort?”

Gladio moved to stand in front of Noctis. “Who are you?” He roared.

“Why, I am General Velinus Ulixes. General of the Niflheim forces and weapons contractor.”

He had whispy black hair which hung around his hollowed face, making him look like a ghost. His face was set into a permanent sneer, spindly fingers gripping the barrier of the balcony he was stood upon. His uniform was decked in platinum metal, shining under the harsh lights above. Delphine growled, readying herself to summon her spear when the situation presented itself.

“What’s this? You brought a pretty girl along with you?” He asked, leaning over the railing slightly. “She’ll make for plenty of fun later, looks like the type to enjoy that sort of thing.”

“HEY.” Noctis and Prompto yelled, getting themselves into their own combat stance.

“Trust me, old man, I want nothing to do with you.” Delphine retorted, seeing more red with each second that passed.

The sounds of soldiers approaching didn’t go unnoticed by the group, all conjuring their weapons simultaneously. Delphine gripped her spear tightly, ready to launch it at a moment’s notice.

“Oh but why so aggressive, beautiful one?” He chortled. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Why would I want anything to do with the man who killed my family?” Delph snarled. At a lack of response from the General, she continued. “You don’t even remember them, do you?”

“I’ve killed a lot of people in my time, sweetheart.” He shrugged. “But I’m bored of you now. Attack!”

Guards came at them from all sides. Bullets flew, swords clashed, it was chaos. Delphine utilised every skill she had learned throughout her fighting career, her training, everything came together to eliminate as many of these guards as she could, while keeping an eye on Ulixes to make sure he wouldn’t escape.

He didn’t move. He simply stood, watching. Waiting.

The guards were down to their last few. As Delphine plunged her spear into the heart of an MT, she noticed Ulixes had finally started to move, producing something from behind him. Was that a crossbow? It looked like it, and a big one at that. He perched the device on his shoulder, taking aim on the battlefield at the first person he set his eyes on.

Delph’s legs moved faster than she ever thought possible.

And then there was pain.

Blinding, absolute, pain.

Then nothing.

At the sound of an arrow right behind him, Prompto turned around just in time to see Delphine’s body hit the floor. An arrow was protruding from her chest, almost like an insult to the rest of their group. His mind went numb, the only thing he focused on was eliminating the last of these damned guards so he could get to her, so he could make sure she was okay.

Noctis raged, summoning the armiger and blasting through any guard he set his sights on. This hadn’t happened. This couldn’t happen. She was fine, she was fine… At last, the guards were down, laying in heaps on the floor of the courtyard.

And among them, lay Delphine.

The group sprinted over to her, Noctis laying her head in his lap while Ignis checked her pulse. Prompto looked to Ignis with hopeful eyes while Gladio gently tried shaking the woman, but to no avail. Ignis shook his head lightly. Her eyes were clouded, no longer sparkling with a lust for adventure, with the delight that she was so well-known for.

She was gone.

“You know, I think I do remember her parents now.” Ulixies sneered. “They died the same way, protecting people they cared about.”

“SHUT UP!” Noctis and Gladio yelled, tears pricking their eyes.

She couldn’t be gone. Their Delphine, their warrior, the cockiest yet sweetest woman they’d ever met… Noctis’ mind flashed back to memories of school, of hours spent at Delphine’s house working on stupid projects that wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, of being entranced by her smile and her laugh, exploring Insomnia together and making places their own, knowing he could trust her no matter what, enjoying every moment he spent with her.

Gladio thought of her quick wit, how she was always able to find a silver lining in any situation. How she was hot-headed, but sensible (most of the time), the challenge she posed when the two duelled, playing off one another in order to work out the other’s weaknesses, emotional conversations under starlight, everything.

Ignis’ mind was blank. He was seeing red himself. One of their group had been taken in the act of trying to bring justice. His friend, his sister, was gone. His fists clenched at his side, this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. They were meant to meet up at cafés long into the future and laugh about this journey when it was all over, not mourn.

Prompto still had her hand in his. She was still warm, bittersweetly. He thought of the days the two of them and Miel would sneak out of school and head to the arcade, wasting the time but having the time of their lives all at once. Hours spent talking about life problems and helping one another to be their best selves, supporting her as she fought her way to the top. Oh god, Miel… What would she say? She’d be in bits… He brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently before placing it on her chest, just below where the arrow still stood.

He rose slowly, drawing his weapon. “I’ll kill him.”

The others joined him, standing beside him. Ready to avenge the woman who brought them so much joy.

That is, until the light hit.

So this is death…

Delphine had never known what to expect when she died, few do.

It was so dark.

So empty.

She felt as though she was floating, drifting away to join her parents and godfather – wherever they were now. She could see a faint light in the distance, growing larger with each second. That must have been her final destination, she supposed.

She didn’t regret jumping in front of the arrow, no way. It saved Prompto. That was all she wanted, for those she loved to be safe. She just hoped that Ulixes was dead by now.

The light finally reached her, and she closed her eyes, embracing the warmth it brought with it. But there was no shift in consciousness, no sudden alertness. She still felt just as drained as she had done before. But now, she could feel… grass? Was she in a field? Opening her eyes, she sat up to find that yes, she was in a field. A field filled with delphiniums, conveniently enough.

She stood up, noting that she was barefoot now. Her clothes had changed, too. Instead of her tattered jacket and jeans, she was wearing a short-sleeved dress, white in colour which came to her knees. As she moved, the flowers seemed to part, forming a path for her to follow. Tentatively, she began to walk along it, taking in all the sights, smells, and sensations along the way.

Where was she?

Why was no one else here?

Delphine could see a throne in the distance, lined with the same delphiniums which lay along the ground. Atop the throne sat a woman, one of the most beautiful women Delphine had ever seen. She had long, blonde hair which fell past her feet, and a gown which was made from the finest silk, with two wings fanning outwards behind her. An angel? Her face was soft, kind, welcoming. She smiled as the young warrior approached, sensing her nervousness.

“Young Delphine, there is no need to be afraid.” She said, voice soothing.

“W-where am I?” Delphine asked.

“You are in a place between life and death, where decisions are made and fates aligned.”

Delphine’s eyes widened. Fates aligned? What did that mean?

“Allow me to introduce myself.” The woman continued. “For I am the Goddess Eos, Protector of the Planet and Ruler of the Astrals.”

Delphine immediately dropped to one knee, bowing before Eos. “Please, forgive me. I had no idea.”

Eos laughed. “Stand, my child. There is no need to bow before me.”

Delph nodded before rising slowly. She tried to appear composed, but internally her mind was screaming. What on Eos (ha, that was ironic now) was going on?

“If you don’t mind my asking, Goddess Eos,” Delph began. “What exactly am I doing here?”

“Ah yes, of course.” Eos said, rising from her seat. She began to circle Delphine. But she didn’t walk, she appeared to glide, moving with such grace and elegance that Delph found herself getting slightly light-headed. “You have heard the stories of the Vessels of the Astrals, correct?”

“I…” Delph said. “Yes, but I assumed they were just stories?”

Eos shook her head. “They are all true, dear one.” She moved to stand in front of Delphine, taking her hands. “I have brought you here to ask that you be my vessel, to bring justice and honour to a planet which is dwindling into extreme dismay.”

Delphine studied the eyes of the woman before her, there was no hint of malice, of deceit. All the stories were true, and here she was about to embark on one of her own. Her breathing sped up, panic starting to take over her as she thought about what this could mean.

“I, um, why me?” She asked, concern and fear clouding her features.

“You’ll know.” Eos said simply. “When the time comes, you will understand.”

“But- But what if I can’t do it?”

“You will, I wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise.” Eos said, smiling. “I have the upmost faith in you, Delphine Auroris. The light which you bring to the lives of so many must continue to shine.”

Delphine paused for a moment. If she accepted this offer, she could be reunited with everyone again. Prompto, Ignis, Gladio, Noctis, Miel… She could come back. She would have a job to do and a calling to fulfil, but she could come back.

“You will,” Eos said, interrupting her thoughts, “be granted all powers I have at my disposal. The elements will be yours to command, these wings yours to take to the sky. I will, essentially, meld myself with you.”

Delphine gulped, this was a huge responsibility. She took a few minutes to think about her choices before lifting her head to look at Eos again, face steady and determined.

“Have you made a decision, young one?” She asked.

Delphine nodded, sure that this was what she wanted to do.

A warm light began to fill her chest, and she closed her eyes once again. She felt… powerful, like she could do anything she put her mind to with ease. Energy flowed throughout her body, and she felt the world grow dark again, her spirit rising with each passing second. She thought of her friends, her family, willing her on, supporting her through anything and everything. A cold chill hit her face, wind. She could hear several voices shouting below her, four in joy and one in anger.

She opened her eyes.

Delphine Auroris, Vessel of Eos, was reborn.

She raised her hand, not quite sure what she expected to happen but willing it nonetheless. She would have to practice, she knew that, but for now, instinct was all that mattered. She aimed her hand at Ulixes, eyes stern, calculating, prepared. A blast of light shot out, hitting him square in the chest as he screamed.

Dead.

Gone.

Her family avenged.

His scheme, his glee at killing once again, foiled.

She slowly lowered herself to the ground, feeling two weights on her back as she adjusted to the feeling of wings present there. The air around her felt sharp, electric, and she breathed it in willingly. The arrow was gone, she noticed, all that remained was a scar.

Delphine looked up into the faces of the four men she had dreamed of seeing again, noting mixed emotions on their faces. Joy, disbelief, mild fear… all to be expected. But she was happy. So, so happy to be with them once again.

“Well,” Prompto said, mouth agape. “You certainly have some explaining to do.”

[raendown]

Pairing: Tobirama/Kagami Soulmate au: The one where everyone can shape shift to a unique animal form at will but if your soulmate demands you change form you are forced to.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

“CHANGE BACK!”

A loud screech and a hiss follow the shout, then laughter shortly after. The figure in the tree heaves a sigh and doesn’t bother to open his eyes. He’s been having such a good nap and he refuses to disturb it unless his students actually find him and bother him personally.

“Sensei!”

Which, it appears, they intend to do. Tobirama lets a low rumble of displeasure shake the branch his large feline form is stretched out on, warning the younger pair coming toward him that it had better be good or they’ll see their training doubled on the morrow. Neither of them heed the warning.

“Sensei! Kagami is being stupid again!”

“It’s not stupid!”

“Did you really think Aiki-san was your soulmate? She’s twice as old as sensei!”

“Sensei’s not all that much older than us!”

Two teenagers land on the branch near the trunk of the tree, bickering between each other as they stick their feet to the bark with chakra and walk towards him. Tobirama opens one red eye to glare at them for disturbing his rest and when Torifu catches sight of his expression the lad stops walking to cringe. They’re both young adults now but that doesn’t stop them from fearing their teacher’s displeasure. Tobirama might be only eight years older than their nineteen but he’s been considered an adult and an expert in many fields since he was less than half their age. His displeasure is not something to be taken lightly.

His tail flicks with annoyance as Kagami continues to babble in Torifu’s ear, wanting nothing so much as to go back to his nap. It’s hardly the first time that Kagami has decided to disturb random villagers with his silly habit and it’s unlikely this will be the last. He’s long since given up interfering on the young lad’s behalf, choosing instead to leave him to the mercy of whoever the latest victim is.

“It’s not stupid! Sensei, tell him it’s not stupid!” Kagami turns wide eyes on him, his expression wounded and open. Tobirama huffs. To tell anyone anything he would need to shift back to human form and he’s feeling much too lazy to do that.

“It really is,” Torifu insists. His expansive chest puffs out as he lifts a finger to make his point. “I mean, sure, if you demand every person you meet to change their form then someday you’re statistically likely to find the right person. You’ll demand they change, they’ll be forced to, and voila! Soulmate! Except then your first impression is that of an annoying, demanding brat and I don’t think that would be a great way to start off your relationship, do you?”

“But Torifu, it’s foolproof!”

“It’s rude!”

Tobirama turns his head, laying his fluffy ears flat against his skull as he tries hard to block them out. He loves them, he really does, but he would much prefer them to go away right now. His chakra levels still aren’t recovered from that mission he’d only just gotten back from two days ago. He shouldn’t be back to training yet but, even if he vehemently denies it, he has a soft spot for his students. Taking them to the public training areas was meant to allow them to go through the exercises he set for them while also allowing him the time to rest. There are others training on the grounds below that could answer any technical questions they have.

Instead Kagami is up to his usual antics, sneaking up behind unsuspecting victims and demanding them to change their forms on the off chance they might be his soulmate. Tobirama would roll his eyes if he hadn’t frequently been tempted to follow the same pattern when he was younger. He didn’t do it, of course. He has much more dignity than that. But he was tempted.

“Sensei you don’t think its stupid do you?” Kagami entreats him. Tobirama ignores him, eyes staying closed and not even bothering to turn his head back to the bickering pair. He can hear the little sigh of annoyance that earns him and, were he in human form, it would have made him smile slightly.

“He can’t talk in animal form, Kagami,” Torifu points out.

“Oh come on sensei! Talk to me!” It takes extra chakra control for him to dance his weight back and forth but still he does it because Kagami is the type that is always moving. “I hate it when you ignore us like this! So mean, sensei!”

Tobirama pointedly allows himself to yawn, tongue curling and eyes not even bothering to flutter. Torifu laughs.

“Let him sleep.”

“No! I want him to change back and answer me!” Kagami hops around to another branch so he can press his face right up close to the older man’s furred one. “Why won’t you change sensei? Everyone else says it’s stupid but you don’t think so do you? Do you sensei? Hey, come on!”

“He’s not gonna do it, Kagami,” his companion chortles. Kagami scrunches up his nose.

“Sensei! Change back!”

Tobirama feels the pull in his gut and his eyes snap open, a startled yowl escaping him in the split second before his fur recedes and he is suddenly and forcefully stuffed back in to human form. So unprepared for the change is he that, with a yelp, he overbalances and plummets out of the tree. His landing is far from graceful; it’s probably the least graceful landing he’s suffered since he first learned how to tree-walk. He sprawls in the dirt, a tiny cloud of dust rising around him, while the handful of shinobi gathered in the public training area stare at him in wonder.

Warmth rises under his collar as everyone stares at him, dazed and spread out in a most undignified position. The sensation of being forced to change form has been described to him endless times by Hashirama yet, even though he’s still fairly young himself, he’s long since given up on experiencing it for himself. The only one able to force someone to change is their soulmate and over the years he’s managed to convince himself that he’ll never find his. It’s a big world, after all, and most of the new people he meets don’t survive to the next morning.

Slowly, with many eyes still upon him, his head tilts back to look up in to the canopy above. Torifu and Kagami stare back down at him with twin expressions of utter shock. His eyes lock with the Uchiha’s, who looks almost as if he is too scared to move.

“He doesn’t look too happy,” Torifu whispers out the side of his mouth. Kagami gulps and Tobirama narrows his eyes.

“Kagami,” he starts in a warning tone.

That’s as far as he gets. With a small squeak of fear, Kagami shifts to his own animal form. The he darts away, a tiny red fox flitting between the treetops. Tobirama scrambles to his feet and launches himself after the younger lad.

“Kagami!” he roars. “Get back here!”

Instead of listening the idiot hurls himself away at an angle, trying to use his smaller size to shake Tobirama’s pursuit by heading through gaps and places that he can’t fit. It doesn’t work, of course. The older man can follow him by sense alone and he always manages to get ahead of him when he cannot simply follow.

The pair of them cover nearly two miles of empty forest before Tobirama realizes he has the power to stop Kagami – provided the younger is quick enough to catch himself from the inevitable fall that will result. Keeping his hands at the ready in case he needs to flicker over and catch the other himself, Tobirama smirks.

“Kagami,” he drawls, his voice starting out almost singsong only to crack like a whip as calls, “chance back!”

A satisfactory yelp meets his ears as Kagami finds himself suddenly human just as he heads for a small gap that his little fox body would have only just fit through. Instead of having to catch him, Tobirama is treated to the sight of Kagami stuck between two branches, his skinny nineteen year old body wedged tightly between rough bark on both sides. The older of the two feels no guilt in stopping to enjoy the sight for a moment, smirking. Then he chuckles, hopping around so he can talk to the other face to face rather than speaking to his rump

“Perhaps next time you’ll listen when I ask you to stop.”

“Uhm, a little help?” Kagami’s whine is edged with the tones of defeat and dread.

“Are you going to stay still and listen?”

“Are you going to hit me?”

Rocking back on his heels in surprise, Tobirama blinks rapidly while exclaiming, “Why on earth would I hit you?” He’s more than startled to see Kagami break out in a mortified flush and drop his gaze as he suddenly begins to babble, body still wriggling in an attempt to get free.

“Okay so it wouldn’t be like you to hit me but I guess I was just scared because I was worried that you’d be disappointed. You’re amazing sensei, everyone knows that, and you deserve an amazing soulmate but you got me instead! I’m really sorry! I didn’t know, I promise! You can pretend it didn’t happen if you like, I would understand.” Tobirama opens his mouth to speak, only for Kagami to continue to bulldoze right over him, voice rising in pitch as he panics a little bit more with each word. “I was just afraid of your reaction. I didn’t want you to keep looking at me and show me how disappointed you were because – well because I always dreamed of finding my soulmate and being happy. And anyone would be happy to be you’re soulmate! But I’m just me!”

“For kami’s sake,” Tobirama grumbles under his breath, stomping down the branch he’s standing upon. Kagami blathers on and on – right up until Tobirama snatches a fistful of his hair, wrenches his head around for the right angle, and plants a kiss right on his still moving lips.

The younger man falls silent only after a startled moan, the one arm that isn’t trapped reaching over to fist in Tobirama’s shirt. He sucks in air desperately through his nose as Tobirama ravages his mouth without mercy, glad to force an end to the idiotic drivel the younger had been spouting. He releases Kagami only when he feels the other go lax under his hold, body languid and melting in the pleasure of the kiss.

“Just you indeed,” he grumbles. “Are you or are you not happy to find your soulmate after all the fuss you’ve kicked up about it in the past?” Kagami stares up at him, dazed.

“I’m very happy.”

“Then for sage’s sake what on earth inspired you to think I wouldn’t be?” The only response he gets is a gaping mouth as the other stares at him, dumbfounded. “What absolute nonsense.”

Kagami continues to stare at him silently as Tobirama stomps over to brace his back against the tree and use both legs to shift the branch trapping his soulmate in place. The younger has just enough time to squirm free before his foot slips and the tree snaps defiantly back in to place. Both of them stare at each other wordlessly, one nervous and the other heavily exasperated.

“Thanks…” Kagami murmurs, rubbing at his hair awkwardly.

With a sigh and another roll of his eyes, Tobirama takes hold of the younger man’s shirt and drags him in until their faces are nose to nose. “I did not spend the better part of a decade training you for you to think so little of yourself. Fur and fang, Kagami, you don’t get to tell me what I do and don’t deserve! I’d all but given up on finding my soulmate and the moment I discover you’ve been right here under my nose this whole time you tell me I should give up on you? Hogwash!”

“Sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry! Be…happy!”

“Well you don’t look happy!”

“Well I am!”

The two stare at each other with matching frowns – until Kagami wavers and bursts in to laughter. Tobirama shifts, his frown subsiding as embarrassment creeps in. Perhaps he is acting just a bit ridiculous, shouting about being happy with such an angry look on his face. He’s never been very good at expressing himself, especially not in his human form.

By the time his companion finally calms down it occurs to Tobirama, at last, what is happening. He’s found his soulmate. He is holding his soulmate in his arms and it’s not a stranger. It’s someone he knows, someone he cares about. The possibility never occurred to him. The picture he’d had in his mind was that of meeting a perfect stranger and trying to decide if it was worth getting to know them or not. In all honestly the idea has never enthused him very much. This…he likes this much more.

“Are you through with being an idiot?” he asks once Kagami is quiet once more.

“Wha-! Don’t be mean, sensei!” Kagami pouts, tilting his head back to look up at Tobirama and then pausing when he notices their faces are still quite close. The older man smirks.

“If you wish for me to kiss you again you will refrain from calling me ‘sensei’ from now on,” he drawls. The younger flushes.

“Right.”

Kagami does not call him sensei again.

-

(A very worried Torifu finds them later, comfortably ensconced in one of the trees growing just behind Tobirama’s house. The large white feline flicks its tail idly as he naps in a perfect patch of sunshine, curled protectively around the small red fox tucked into his side. Torifu stays just long enough to hear the loud rumble of a leopard’s purr before dashing away again with a smile.)

[evanescent-epiphanies]

like a passage from goodnight moon

It has been a very long time since I wrote a fic, but doing some music recs yesterday reminded me of how much I wanted to write some kind of musicians AU for the song Goodnight Moon by Go Radio! So yeah, have 1.5K of musician!mika yuumikayuu that I cranked out in like five hours last night. I love the sweet smell of hurt/comfort in the dead of night u_u (there are mentions of mitsunoa in here too)

@kuruenairazz look I actually did it *finger guns*

And sing for me softly, love, your song for tomorrow

And tell me my name’s the one that’s hidden in there somewhere

Yuu is lulled back into consciousness by the soft brush of a melody against his cheek.

He rolls over in bed, kicking off the covers that he doesn’t remember dragging over himself. The walls light up with the splashes of headlights through the window. Yuu checks the time: four in the morning. He squints. His lover croons sweetly from elsewhere in their shared apartment, the same mellow ballad that Yuu drifted off to yesterday evening. Mika has always worked far too hard.

He cards a hand through his bedraggled hair and swings upright. By the time he reaches the door, fingers ghosting the knob, the song has faded; it’s replaced by the low rustle of paper and the drumming of fingertips against wood. Yuu stares at the warm lamplight bleeding in from under the door. He shuffles out to the living room.

Mika is right where Yuu left him, perched at the end of the couch and hunched over sheets upon sheets of half-scribbled music. He doesn’t look up from the crumpled score in his hand, even when Yuu slides in behind him and lazily snakes arms around his waist. His chin finds a home on Mika’s shoulder.

“It’s late, darling,” mutters Yuu, voice thick with sleep, as he nuzzles his love’s jawline. Mika hesitates; his grip slowly slackens, muscles uncoiling, and Yuu hums in wholehearted approval. “Come to bed.”

Yuu reaches for the lamp beside them, but Mika gently seizes his wrist. His blue eyes are red-rimmed with exhaustion, brows drawn thoughtfully, and Yuu wants nothing more than the smooth them out with kisses and honeyed words. He leans in to do so, but Mika suddenly goes boneless. He chuckles hoarsely and presses his back into Yuu’s chest like it grounds him, and--Yuu eyes the sea of balled-up paper scattered around them--maybe it does.

“Let’s just stay here for a while,” Mika whispers, quiet enough to get swallowed in the silence around them, and dodges Yuu’s quizzical stare. Yuu lowers his arm--takes Mika’s down with it--and twines their fingers together. They sit. Mika opens and closes his mouth a few times, as if mustering the courage to say something, so Yuu waits. He listens to the forced pattern of Mika’s breaths and counts the pockmarks on the ceiling.

“Do you--,” Mika starts, air catching in his throat, and Yuu squeezes, “do you ever think that…. This isn’t what I’m meant to be doing?”

Yuu hides his frown behind golden curls. “What do you mean, love?”

Mika makes a helpless little gesture at the reject ideas on the floor. “I don’t know. The music, the writing, the--.... I’ve had slumps before, but this is just….”

“That tune you were working on earlier was good,” Yuu says. He rubs soothing circles into Mika’s skin when his shoulders begin to hike, trying to ease away the frustration seeping back into his bones. “I liked it a lot. It was rich and soulful, kind of like the one you wrote for--”

--“Shinoa and Mitsuba’s wedding? Yeah.” His lips curl up at the corners, mirthless. “I was looking at it earlier. Thought visiting my old stuff would help, but nothing’s good enough.”

Mika lowers his gaze to the music sheet still caged in his grasp. He lets it go. Yuu watches it flutter to the ground. “I’ve been working on this song for weeks, but I can’t even come up with something that even resembles what I’m trying to do. Maybe I’m just,” his voice cracks, “.... not cut out for it.”

Something in his gut twists horribly in response, wrenching even harder when Mika untangles his fingers from Yuu’s and moves to get off of him. Cold air floods the empty space that he occupied. “I’m sorry, this is stupid. You’re right, I should just go to sleep--”

--that’s as far as Yuu lets him get before he yanks him back down. A surprised noise escapes Mika as Yuu clutches him to his body like a lifeline, burying his face in the crook of Mika’s neck and inhaling deeply. Mika trembles against him, hands fisting and unfisting themselves numbly at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. And it hurts to witness, because Yuu has seen those hands in so many ways--curled around the neck of a violin, splayed over monochrome piano keys, dancing across the lengths of flutes and clarinets and all manner of instruments--and he can’t stand the thought of Mika giving up the very thing he lives and breathes.

Yuu is not a musician. Yuu is not a musician, but he knows Mika, and that will have to be enough.

“Baby,” he murmurs, threading their fingers together once more, “That’s complete bull. You’re dedicated, you’re a hard worker, and you’ve got more talent in your pinkie finger than I’ve probably got in my whole body. Don’t say you’re not cut out for the thing that makes you happy.”

Mika makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat. “Yuu-chan--”

--“no, you need to hear this. You need to hear about the way your eyes light up when you make music. About how your voice steals the air from everyone in the room. I remember when Shinoa and Mitsuba asked you to compose that song for their wedding, and the way you positively glowed with happiness; you threw yourself into it with everything you had and chattered my ear off every chance you got. You had everyone crying halfway through your performance the day of because it was just so beautiful. That… That’s why I can’t let you quit. Music makes you come alive, and…. I don’t know how I breathed without you by my side.”

“You don’t know how you--,” Mika laughs, fond and incredulous all at once. “God, Yuu-chan, that’s my line.”

Yuu blinks, genuinely baffled, when Mika manages to loosen the arms around him enough to bring Yuu’s hand up to his face. He’s still chuckling as he kisses each of Yuu’s knuckles reverently; Yuu’s cheeks redden.

“You’re all that I think about. All that I dream about,” Mika says, voice raw with devotion, into his lover’s skin. “I’d drop music in a heartbeat if it meant I could be with you. You’ve given me the whole world and expected nothing in return. A life with you…. That’s the kind of hope everyone talks about. The kind of feelings we sing about, and,” he lays Yuu’s hand on his cheek and covers it with his own, “if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have any music in me anyway.”

There is silence. Bewildered, Mika swivels around to the sight of a bright flush spiraling down the collar of Yuu’s t-shirt. He chortles, and Yuu scrambles to recollect his composure.

“Dammit, Mika,” he says weakly, “Give a guy a warning, will you?”

Mika’s laughter grows fainter as he readjusts himself, tips his forehead against Yuu’s, breathes in his space. His eyes are closed, so Yuu studies the sweep of his lashes and the way they glimmer in the artificial light. His vision blurs from the proximity.

“I want to write the perfect song.” Mika looks at him dead on, eyes intent and so very blue. They snatch the oxygen right out of Yuu’s lungs. “I want to write the perfect song, and I want it to be about you.”

“Then do it,” replies Yuu quietly, cupping his other cheek. Mika leans into the contact with a warm exhale. “You can. I believe in you.”

Mika breathes out and Yuu breathes in, and god, he loves this feeling. “You make me feel like I’m actually living. There’s just a jumble of emotions inside me that are all associated with you. I can’t do it justice.”

And it’s Yuu’s turn to grin and giggle now, because his lover is so silly, sometimes. “This is what you’ve been stressing about for all these weeks? Darling, I’ll love the hell out of anything you write for me. I’ll make you play it for me all the time, blast it on the speakers while I’m driving, and make you cringe by singing it in the shower. You can do it. Take your time.”

Mika nods, and a beautiful smile blooms on his face as his head slides down to Yuu’s shoulder. “Okay…. Thanks, Yuu-chan.”

Yuu hums in lieu of a response, gripping Mika tighter when it becomes apparent that he’s falling asleep, warm and solid in his arms. He huffs a little in mock exasperation, but gathers his snoozing blond up anyway, heaving them off the couch, down the hall, and to the bedroom. He manages to situate them both under the covers--despite Mika’s incessant clinging and gangly limbs everywhere--and checks the time again: five in the morning.

“Good night, Mika,” Yuu whispers. Mika doesn’t speak, but the curl of a pinkie finger around his says enough.

Good night, Yuu-chan.

[reptilerach]

“Rejection”; Chapter Sixteen

*Realizes I haven’t updated this in a week whilst chatting with my awesome pal @vanessagirl286*

HOLY F##K

HERE YA GO PEEPS, ENJOY THE FLUFF

*throws long(?) chapter at your face to make up for the absence of content*

______________________________________________________________

“ER-HEM.” Papyrus coughed loudly, staring at the both of you with a sly grin on his face. You panicked on the inside, and instinctively stepped a couple of feet away from Sans. Your face was the color of a tomato; you shoved your numb hands into the pockets’ of your newly acquired coat. The inside of the jacket was lined with flannel; you could see why he loved wearing it so much. It was so freaking comfy.

Sans narrowed his eyes towards (Y/N), and was surprisingly disappointed when she backed away. What made her do this? Sans turned to the direction that she was looking, and froze. He could feel his cheekbones blush with embarrassment when he saw that not only Papyrus was staring with a mischievous look on his face, but a few small monster children too.

“AS I WAS SAYING… THE SECOND EVENT OF THE HUMAN VS. MONSTER GAMES WILL NOW BEGIN!” And with that, Paps kneeled over and made a snowball. “WHOEVER SUBMITS FIRST WILL LOSE THE COMPETITION!” He boomed, and the children beside him ran to either your side or Sans’.

“READY...SET...GO!!!” Papyrus cheered, and the kids next to you let out a cute battle cry. You bent over, wanting to form a snowball, but realized your hands were still bare. It was nice having Paps’ scarf around your hips, and Sans’ jacket to cover your arms, but without hand protection… what could you do?

A forceful tugging from behind caught your attention, which turned out to be Monster Kid. “Yo, Miss! I see you don’t have gloves.” He called out, and you nodded. “Pfft, who needs arms anyways?” He giggled, and started making a wall to protect our team with his tail. You thought he was going to offer you hand-wear, but it seems you assumed incorrectly.

Instead, a little bunny hopped over with something in his mouth. You peered downwards, and saw that its leash lead back to a young woman by the Snowdin Inn. She waved kindly, and gestured down to the mittens. You smiled and waved a “thank you” back, graciously taking the gift. “I promise to give them back!” You yelled, but the rabbit-lady just replied, “No no no! Keep them, dear! It looks like you need them more than I do!”

You smiled widely, and gave the little bunny that was now nibbling on your feet a pat on the head goodbye. “Thank you very much, little guy!” You said sweetly, and the pet mewed the same as a cat would. Then, it hopped away back to its owner. You stood up straight, and equipped the gloves. Just as you were about to turn around, and hard ball hit the back of your hair.

“Yowch!” You cried, and swiftly spun around. It was none other than Sans who had chucked the snowball at you; and he was busy laughing his skull off. You grinned devilishly, and began shouting orders at your team. They all obeyed, happy to have a leader who knew what they were doing. You had Monster Kid making the fortress, and another helping you with ammo. One monster child that you had never met before as Frisk was assisting MK while you had your final teammate go fetch help from the adults of the square. You would need all the soldiers you could get.

Meanwhile, Papyrus was furiously building a wall surrounding him and Sans. Sans was hunched over, making the ammo, while one other monster that looked like a bird was standing around singing a familiar tune. As you thought about it, the melody sounded very similar to Papyrus’s Bonetrousle; aiming perfectly, you threw a snowball right to the back of Sans’ head.

He teleport slightly to side, and glanced back at you with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. You dropped the snowball you’d made out of infatuation, and flipped Sans’ hood above your cheeks bashfully. The fur around the rim tickled, but at least it hid the highly noticeable blush spreading all the way to your ears.

Sans chuckled, and picked up about 10 snowballs he constructed. Papyrus was just about finished with his wall, making it a stunning 6 feet tall. He poked a hole for Sans to look out with at the 5 foot mark; the short brother thanked him. However, when he moved to survey through the peephole, he saw how it had gone absolutely silent on the opposing side of the battlefield.

“paps... where’d they go?” He asked, his voice wavering from nervousness. A chill ran up his shirt, warning him that this was all a trap devised by the cunning human he was up against. Papyrus stood on the tips of his toes, and looked out from inside his wall. “I HAVE NO IDEA. THIS MUST BE A TRICK.” He stated, and Sans nodded in agreement.

In fact, the whole square was absent of any noise. All the crowds that were watching before had disappeared, and only the howling wind could be heard. Sans sat down on the snow covered ground, and tugged Papyrus down with him. “papyrus, i’m thinking that they are all hiding behind their fort.” His brother glanced sideways, but shook his head “yes” anyways.

Scooping up the whole pile of ammo that Sans had made, Papyrus ran out into the battlefield and screeched a loud “NYEHHHHHH!!!!” Sans stumbled after him, shouting that what he was doing was stupid and completely blowing their cover. “NO GUTS, NO GLORY!” Papyrus shrieked, and threw all his weapons at the space behind the fort.

Sans decided to just roll with it, and formed a snowball while running past the Christmas tree in between bases. He held it up at the ready, but just like he suspected, no one was there. The two stood still, not knowing what to do. “WELP… IT SEEMS THAT I JUST USED ALL OF OUR AMMO.” He crossed his arms, looking around him to see if he could spot any signs of his enemies’ disappearance.

When a snap of a branch sounded from behind the brothers, they spun around to find that they were completely surrounded. From every angle, an adult monster held two snowballs and an evil grin. And then there was the leader of the pack, who had her hair flowing in the wind just like Undyne would atop her mountain. Sans stared in awe as (Y/N) snickered, and looked to her sides at her huge team.

“While you two were busy protecting yourselves and making snowballs, I had the genius idea to recruit more members.” As if on cue, all of the monsters on her side stepped closer, chuckling and chortling under their breaths. Sans gulped, and looked at the ball in his hand. that’s it. we’re screwed. Sans thought, but smiled when a plan popped into his head. or are we?

He started laughing like an insane person, and it really unnerved you. You still held your ground, and the many weapons in your hand. Sans beckoned Papyrus closer, whispering something by his skull where his ears would be. You frowned, and a feral snarl escaped from your lips. “Surrender now, and it’ll make all our lives easier!” You smiled, remembering how you told your team that even if they did surrender, they were to pummel them for making fun of your species earlier this morning. You’re sure Frisk would’ve done the same.

Papyrus grinned, and raised his hands in the air. Sans did too, even finding a tissue in his pocket to wave around like a white flag. You commanded your team to go ahead with Operation Retribution; but as soon as you did, something felt off. Like the skeletons somehow knew you would attack them, even when they said they’d surrendered.

Your teammates, children and adults, ran forward like there was no tomorrow. They hurled their snowballs at the two brothers in the center of the square, but none of them ever made contact. Papyrus summoned a bone staff, and spun it around hastily. All the snowballs that would have hit him were deflected and dissolved into nothing. Sans had shut his eyes, and then snapped them open with his left eye burning hotter than the sun.

He stared right at you, and teleported away. Your hands grew clammy, and you broke out into a nervous sweat. The atmosphere around you was suddenly chillier than before; you spun around 360 degrees to try and identify where that short-stack could have vanished off to. Papyrus continued to block attacks impressively, while your team was starting to run out of snowballs. They would need your leadership once again, and that meant that you couldn’t focus on just one target. Monster Kid and friends ran over, asking for your snowballs; you handed them over reluctantly.

You knew that they wouldn’t touch Papyrus, but regardless you gave them a hopeful smile and a wink of encouragement. Keeping at least one snowball for yourself, they ran off, leaving you by your lonesome. “so…” a deep voice that frightened the shit outta’ you called from behind, “... it appears that we are even.”

FIRST

PREVIOUS

NEXT

Chapter Ten (Where all the chapters before that are.)

Chapter Twenty (Links for Chapters 11 --> 19)

Chapter Thirty (Links for Chapters 21 --> 29)

[katie-and-the-gays]

Father’s Day

A Winn/Alex brOTP ficlet. In response to a prompt received on my main blog. To be posted on Ao3 eventually. Also posted on my main blog.

In which Winn does something stupid, Alex decides the best course of action is a sisterly reprimand, and feels/hilarity ensue.

As always, please let me know what you thought of this fic. Reader feedback is always appreciated.

And remember, fic prompts are always welcome.

Winn’s day had been off to a good start.

He’d woken up a solid five minutes before his alarms had been scheduled to go off, finding himself in that rare mood where he didn’t need an IV drip of caffeine attached to him arm to kickstart his morning routine.

He’d still made himself coffee though, if only to savor the taste of the rich blend from Lapeyronie, a fair trade cafe located somewhere within the 3rdarrondissement of Paris that Kara made regular trips to just to indulge Winn’s addiction.

Kryptonians are awesome, Winn thinks dreamily, sipping slowly at his freshly brewed cup of caffeinated ambrosia.

But everything had gone to shit the moment he’d opened his front door.

There, resting on his prized ‘welcome to the dark side’ doormat, was a medium-sized package wrapped in a brightly colored paper that Winn recognizes, a pang of longing echoing through his chest at the remembrance of the very same paper being used on a majority of his childhood gifts.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Winn kneels to inspect the box, vaguely wondering if his father had finally decided to off his only son and just be done with the whole ordeal of family. He wouldn’t blame him if he had.

On a hunch, he pulls his phone out to check the date. Sunday, and if Winn wasn’t mistaken, the third one of June. Father’s Day.

He sighs, stowing away his phone in order to grab the gift with both hands and retreat back into his apartment, shoulders hunched, shuffling across the floor with an air of resignation weighing down each of his steps.

A part of him- the rational part of him- tells him not to open the box.

He tears into the paper with more force than strictly necessary, all the while acknowledging the fact that he was never great at the whole sense of self-preservation thing anyways.

Too stupid to live, he thinks, but surrounded by too many superhero friends to die.

He reaches for the lid, wincing, and rips it off with a haste usually reserved for tearing away reluctant band-aids.

Nothing happens.

Winn waits a few seconds, lid still in hand, before looking down at himself and noting the lack of leaky holes and gooey bits sticking out of his flesh with mild relief tainted by a vague sense of dismay that he quickly dismisses in favor of inspecting the contents of his father’s ‘gift.’

“You did what?!” Alex bellows, hands automatically finding her hips as she enters what Winn had once affectionately dubbed Big Sister Mode™ after repeatedly bearing witness to her various lectures, usually geared towards Kara after the blonde-haired superheroine rushed headlong into danger against all reasonable advice.

Now turned against him, he finds the situation less amusing but no less endearing. Yet. Behind her, Kara watches, unconsciously mimicking her sister’s pose as she tries- and fails- to maintain a severe expression.

Wincing, Winn raises his hands in the universal gesture of defeat. “I opened it! Sue me for being curious!”

“Curious?!” Murder flashes in Alex’s eyes, sending alarm bells off in the back of Winn’s mind. Foot, enter mouth. “Curious is Kara using her x-ray vision to check her Christmas presents!”

Kara flushes a shade of red with a speed that would be worrying if she were human, and shoots them a sheepish smile.

Winn coughs in a feeble attempt to disguise his laughter as Alex turns back to him, frowning. “Opening presents from your homicidal father who has well-documented tendency of sending exploding presents doesn’t qualify as ‘being curious’!”

Cue violent air quotes. The gesture would look silly coming from anyone else, but from Alex, it radiates her usual brand of badassery.

She continues with a snarl. “Maybe the term you’re looking for is ‘craving death’!”

“Alex, I’m fine!” Winn leans back in his chair and waves his arms and legs in the air for added emphasis. “Look! All my appendages are still attached!”

“That’s not the point!” Alex roars, and Kara, doing some kind of interpretive dance with increasingly desperate fervor behind her, finally makes a motion that Winn is able to understand, drawing her hand across her throat and letting her head loll to the side as she bounces up and down on booted feet with a surprising lack of noise.

Too late.

Alex hoists him out of his chair by the front of his shirt, her left eye twitching ominously, and a strangled noise escapes the Kryptonian’s throat as she watches the scene unfold.

Winn gulps.

A lesser man might have needed a change of underwear at this point, but Winn is not that man. At least, not yet.

There was a lot of ‘yet’ involved when it came to Alex Danvers, who took it as her personal mission to defy every expectation set for her- and doing it all with supernaturally perfect hair and heroic facial expressions to boot.

Someone clears their throat- several someones, actually- and the trio look around to meet the stares of approximately half of the DEO, agents having collectively gathered to watch the show.

Vasquez hurriedly shoves a bag of chips behind her back as Alex’s no-less-murderous gaze darts around the room.

Alex releases him with a low growl. “You got rid of the whole thing, right?”

Winn nods as hard as he can without dislodging his brain from his spine. “Threw it into the incinerator chute as soon as I got here.” He shrugs, trying hard to appear nonchalant. “It was just a teddy bear.”

A note of wistful longing echoes in his voice despite all his best efforts to sound stoic, and he knows she catches it. Alex doesn’t miss anything- at least, not when it came to Winn and Kara’s various tells.

Her homicidal expression softens- marginally- and Kara gives him a thumbs-up over her sister’s shoulder, a mixture of sympathy and understanding etched across her features.

The sight of it makes Winn’s throat tighten, and he struggles to swallow as tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes.

“Come with me.” Alex turns on her heel, movements brisk and efficient, heading towards the hall leading towards the training rooms.

Predictably, Winn nearly trips over himself following suit.

“Kara, stay,” Alex calls out over her shoulder, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The blonde pouts, almost appearing to wilt beneath her cape, but obeys, throwing herself into Winn’s vacated chair after shooting a last, oddly indecipherable glance in his direction.

Winn wonders if he had been allowed to evade death at the hands of his father just for the extra bonus of having to face death at the hands of Alex Danvers.

Who knew the grim reaper had such a sense of humor?

In the privacy of one of the unused training rooms, Winn anticipates a violent death as Alex locks the door with a decisive twist of her wrist.

But she doesn’t kill him.

She approaches, expression intense and unreadable, and pulls him into a hug.

Alex holds him, clutching him tight against her chest with the attitude of someone just daring the world to try and take him from her grasp.

He breaks down in her arms, weeping against her shoulder, mourning for the father he had lost so many years ago, whose ghost now cast a relentless shadow across his life even from behind the bars of whatever dark hole Agent Chase and her colleagues had thrown him into.

Almost absently, the gesture borne from years of being Kara’s older sister, Alex runs her fingers through his hair as he buries his face into the junction of her neck and her shoulder, his tears hot against her skin as he clings onto her with equal fervor.

They stand like that for a while, and the only sounds that echo through the room are Winn’s gradually subsiding sobs and Alex’s surprisingly sweet soprano as she half-hums, half-sings the words to a song he vaguely realizes is in Kryptonian.

She must have learned it for Kara, he notes, heart nearly full to bursting in his chest as he slowly relaxes into her solid, unwavering warmth.

They gather at Kara’s apartment later that day for Trivia Night, and Alex quickly claims the spot beside Winn- along with his beer- when she arrives, bearing potstickers and Japanese takeout from a place just down the road from the building- Mr. Pi’s, if he’s not mistaken.

Maggie sits beside Alex, and her gaze is warm and friendly when Winn is finally introduced to her. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she quips, and her smile reveals a pair of deep-set dimples that make her seem instantly more adorable in Winn’s eyes. And Alex’s too, judging by the lovestruck expression that softens her face every time said smile is directed at her.

Winn grins back, clinking their bottles together in an impromptu toast. “I could say the same. Alex never shu-”

Alex shoves a potsticker, pilfered from Kara’s ever-shrinking pile, into his mouth with a dangerous smile. Winn chokes, and Maggie laughs. “What was that, Danvers? Do you really talk about me at work?”

Alex stammers out a hasty response before turning back to Winn with a glare that makes his life flash before his eyes.

Around a mouthful of pork and mixed vegetables, Winn makes a sound that could pass for an apologetic squeak.

Kara laughs, and Winn draws the conclusion Kryptonian laughter must be infectious, because it spreads around the room until everyone is chortling.

Lucy is sprawled across James’ lap, seized by a fit of uncontrollable giggles, and Maggie is leaning backwards against a bemused Mon-El, who doesn’t get the joke but laughs along nonetheless in the spirit of being polite. Even Lena, who had been sitting quietly beside Kara for most of the night, comes out of her shell to chuckle at Kara’s antics.

Winn smiles, taking in the sight of the people gathered around the living room table- his friends, real friends, made in spite of his last name and his father’s violent legacy.

He joins them in their laughter, collapsing against Alex, who steals his beer again- but he doesn’t mind.

He is here.

He is happy.

He is home.

[rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars]

Ship-fic-thing : more Alex and Winn brOTP! I love the sibling dynamic between them and I'd be excited to see your take on it!

Not exactly BrOTP, but still features a sibling dynamic, Big Sister!Alex, and a very sheepish Winn on the receiving end of her infamous lecturing. Enjoy!

Father’s Day | Winn/Alex brOTP ficlet | to be posted on Ao3

In which Winn has his day ruined by a not-so-unexpected surprise and Alex is there to yell at him for an idiot move.

Winn’s day had been off to a good start.

He’d woken up a solid five minutes before his alarms had been scheduled to go off, finding himself in that rare mood where he didn’t need an IV drip of caffeine attached to him arm to kickstart his morning routine.

He’d still made himself coffee though, if only to savor the taste of the rich blend from Lapeyronie, a fair trade cafe located somewhere within the 3rd arrondissementof Paris that Kara made regular trips to just to indulge Winn’s addiction. 

Kryptonians are awesome, Winn thinks dreamily, sipping slowly at his freshly brewed cup of caffeinated ambrosia.

But everything had gone to shit the moment he’d opened his front door.

There, resting on his prized ‘welcome to the dark side’ doormat, was a medium-sized package wrapped in a brightly colored paper that Winn recognizes, a pang of longing echoing through his chest at the remembrance of the very same paper being used on a majority of his childhood gifts.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Winn kneels to inspect the box, vaguely wondering if his father had finally decided to off his only son and just be done with the whole ordeal of family. He wouldn’t blame him if he had.

On a hunch, he pulls his phone out to check the date. Sunday, and if Winn wasn’t mistaken, the third one of June. Father’s Day.

He sighs, stowing away his phone in order to grab the gift with both hands and retreat back into his apartment, shoulders hunched, shuffling across the floor with an air of resignation weighing down each of his steps.

A part of him- the rational part of him- tells him not to open the box.

He tears into the paper with more force than strictly necessary, all the while acknowledging the fact that he was never great at the whole sense of self-preservation thing anyways. 

Too stupid to live, he thinks, but surrounded by too many superhero friends to die.

He reaches for the lid, wincing, and rips it off with a haste usually reserved for tearing away reluctant band-aids. 

Nothing happens.

Winn waits a few seconds, lid still in hand, before looking down at himself and noting the lack of leaky holes and gooey bits sticking out of his flesh with mild relief tainted by a vague sense of dismay that he quickly dismisses in favor of inspecting the contents of his father’s ‘gift.’

“You did what?!” Alex bellows, hands automatically finding her hips as she enters what Winn had once affectionately dubbed Big Sister Mode™ after repeatedly bearing witness to her various lectures, usually geared towards Kara after the blonde-haired superheroine rushed headlong into danger against all reasonable advice.

Now turned against him, he finds the situation less amusing but no less endearing. Yet. Behind her, Kara watches, unconsciously mimicking her sister’s pose as she tries- and fails- to maintain a severe expression.

Wincing, Winn raises his hands in the universal gesture of defeat. “I opened it! Sue me for being curious!”

“Curious?!” Murder flashes in Alex’s eyes, sending alarm bells off in the back of Winn’s mind. Foot, enter mouth. “Curious is Kara using her x-ray vision to check her Christmas presents!”

Kara flushes a shade of red with a speed that would be worrying if she were human, and shoots them a sheepish smile.

Winn coughs in a feeble attempt to disguise his laughter as Alex turns back to him, frowning. “Opening presents from your homicidal father who has well-documented tendency of sending exploding presents doesn’t qualify as ‘being curious’!” 

Cue violent air quotes. The gesture would look silly coming from anyone else, but from Alex, it radiates her usual brand of badassery. 

She continues with a snarl. “Maybe the term you’re looking for is ‘craving death’!” 

“Alex, I’m fine!” Winn leans back in his chair and waves his arms and legs in the air for added emphasis. “Look! All my appendages are still attached!”

“That’s not the point!” Alex roars, and Kara, doing some kind of interpretive dance with increasingly desperate fervor behind her, finally makes a motion that Winn is able to understand, drawing her hand across her throat and letting her head loll to the side as she bounces up and down on booted feet with a surprising lack of noise.

Too late.

Alex hoists him out of his chair by the front of his shirt, her left eye twitching ominously, and a strangled noise escapes the Kryptonian’s throat as she watches the scene unfold. 

Winn gulps.

A lesser man might have needed a change of underwear at this point, but Winn is not that man. At least, not yet.

There was a lot of ‘yet’ involved when it came to Alex Danvers, who took it as her personal mission to defy every expectation set for her- and doing it all with supernaturally perfect hair and heroic facial expressions to boot.

Someone clears their throat- several someones, actually- and the trio look around to meet the stares of approximately half of the DEO, agents having collectively gathered to watch the show. 

Vasquez hurriedly shoves a bag of chips behind her back as Alex’s no-less-murderous gaze darts around the room.

Alex releases him with a low growl. “You got rid of the whole thing, right?”

Winn nods as hard as he can without dislodging his brain from his spine. “Threw it into the incinerator chute as soon as I got here.” He shrugs, trying hard to appear nonchalant. “It was just a teddy bear.” 

A note of wistful longing echoes in his voice despite all his best efforts to sound stoic, and he knows she catches it. Alex doesn’t miss anything- at least, not when it came to Winn and Kara’s various tells.

Her homicidal expression softens- marginally- and Kara gives him a thumbs-up over her sister’s shoulder, a mixture of sympathy and understanding etched across her features. 

The sight of it makes Winn’s throat tighten, and he struggles to swallow as tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes.

“Come with me.” Alex turns on her heel, movements brisk and efficient, heading towards the hall leading towards the training rooms. 

Predictably, Winn nearly trips over himself following suit.

“Kara, stay,” Alex calls out over her shoulder, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

The blonde pouts, almost appearing to wilt beneath her cape, but obeys, throwing herself into Winn’s vacated chair after shooting a last, oddly indecipherable glance in his direction.

Winn wonders if he had been allowed to evade death at the hands of his father just for the extra bonus of having to face death at the hands of Alex Danvers.

Who knew the grim reaper had such a sense of humor?

In the privacy of one of the unused training rooms, Winn anticipates a violent death as Alex locks the door with a decisive twist of her wrist.

But she doesn’t kill him.

She approaches, expression intense and unreadable, and pulls him into a hug.

Alex holds him, clutching him tight against her chest with the attitude of someone just daring the world to try and take him from her grasp.

He breaks down in her arms, weeping against her shoulder, mourning for the father he had lost so many years ago, whose ghost now cast a relentless shadow across his life even from behind the bars of whatever dark hole Agent Chase and her colleagues had thrown him into.

Almost absently, the gesture borne from years of being Kara’s older sister, Alex runs her fingers through his hair as he buries his face into the junction of her neck and her shoulder, his tears hot against her skin as he clings onto her with equal fervor.

They stand like that for a while, and the only sounds that echo through the room are Winn’s gradually subsiding sobs and Alex’s surprisingly sweet soprano as she half-hums, half-sings the words to a song he vaguely realizes is in Kryptonian.

She must have learned it for Kara, he notes, heart nearly full to bursting in his chest as he slowly relaxes into her solid, unwavering warmth.

They gather at Kara’s apartment later that day for Trivia Night, and Alex quickly claims the spot beside Winn- along with his beer- when she arrives, bearing potstickers and Japanese takeout from a place just down the road from the building- Mr. Pi’s, if he’s not mistaken.

Maggie sits beside Alex, and her gaze is warm and friendly when Winn is finally introduced to her. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she quips, and her smile reveals a pair of deep-set dimples that make her seem instantly more adorable in Winn’s eyes. And Alex’s too, judging by the lovestruck expression that softens her face every time said smile is directed at her.

Winn grins back, clinking their bottles together in an impromptu toast. “I could say the same. Alex never shu-”

Alex shoves a potsticker, pilfered from Kara’s ever-shrinking pile, into his mouth with a dangerous smile. Winn chokes, and Maggie laughs. “What was that, Danvers? Do you really talk about me at work?”

Alex stammers out a hasty response before turning back to Winn with a glare that makes his life flash before his eyes.

Around a mouthful of pork and mixed vegetables, Winn makes a sound that could pass for an apologetic squeak.

Kara laughs, and Winn draws the conclusion Kryptonian laughter must be infectious, because it spreads around the room until everyone is chortling. 

Lucy is sprawled across James’ lap, seized by a fit of uncontrollable giggles, and Maggie is leaning backwards against a bemused Mon-El, who doesn’t get the joke but laughs along nonetheless in the spirit of being polite. Even Lena, who had been sitting quietly beside Kara for most of the night, comes out of her shell to chuckle at Kara’s antics. 

Winn smiles, taking in the sight of the people gathered around the living room table- his friends, real friends, made in spite of his last name and his father’s violent legacy. 

He joins them in their laughter, collapsing against Alex, who steals his beer again- but he doesn’t mind.

He is here.

He is happy.

He is home.

Aaaaaaaaaand scene! What did you think? Was that enough brOTP for ya? Let me know what you think! :D

Hugs and much love to everyone! :)

Fic prompts are, as always, welcome! (Told ya I’d be getting to some today!)

P.S.- the cafe and the restaurant mentioned above are all very real places you should check out!