#need i mention the fucking crypt arm again?

[transingthoseformers]

Absolutely infatuated with the idea that TFP Knockout:

1. Lost his medical license from sheer malpractice long ago

2. Never had one in the first place and lied about being a doctor at some point and committed to the bit

3. Was never able to finish medical school because of the War™️ starting

4. Had a doctorate for something that was non-medical and everyone just assumed he was a medical doctor

Like, Starscream called for Knockout specifically to come for Earth because I swear that he either wanted to kill Megatron faster via malpractice by proxy, or he thought that Megatron just Wouldn't wake up so he purposefully was rather lax on the screening process.

[emmyrosee]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a modern!au sukuna x fem!reader in which they're dating and they're babysitting little yuji for the day, going to the park, grocery store, or whatever, and some old lady thinks yuji is their son and sukuna and reader had yuji as teens so she starts judging, making comments and kinda insulting them for having a kid so young. (but yuji is just sukuna's little brother)

I hope what I said made sens 😅 and feel totally free to ignore my request if you don't want to do it or if you're not taking requests at the moment :)

tw// mean old ladies, insinuations of s3x in teenage years, sukuna talking back, lots of swearing, mentions of death, I wouldn’t normally put warnings but juuuuuuuuuust in case

There’s a scoff that rings out in the air as the last of your footstep passes her. It’s enough to make Sukuna stop on impact. You turn to him, and Yuuji in his stroller looks up to see what the stop is, but Sukuna’s eyes are firm in annoyance, the vein in his forehead pulsing.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, spinning on his heel. “Is there a problem, maam?” His voice dribbles sarcasm, and you feel your heart rate pick up from anxiety.

When you turn to face the old woman, her face is twisted in judgement, wrinkles furrowed deeper than natural as she glares past Sukuna and burrows her sights onto you. A chill shrills down your spine as her cold gaze fixes on you.

“Babies having babies,” she snarls cruelly, and you see Sukuna’s knuckles lighten from the force of gripping the handles. “You couldn’t keep it in your pants, and you couldn’t close your legs, hmm? Reproducing when you shouldn’t be. You ought to be embarrassed.”

You cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but when you look up at sukuna again, his grin is curled devilishly. You sigh, “sukuna, come on-“

“No,” he hisses. “I want to hear what the crypt keeper’s gotta say. One foot in the grave, one on a fucking oil spill and you’re wasting your breath spilling bullshit? You oughta be embarrassed.”

She clutches her chest in offense, “I can’t stand you youths these days, wasting your life on each other, disappointing your parents. Why they’d ever approve of you keeping that sin in the carriage is ridiculous.”

You’re quick to grab Sukuna’s collar and keep him from launching at the lady. He’s not happy about being stopped, he’s practically frothing at the mouth in rage, but at your grip, he stands down.

His mouth however, does not.

“I’m offended people like you even get to breathe my air,” he snarls, and you try to ignore the look the old lady gives you- she looks almost prideful to be getting such a reaction. “That child is not sin, that’s my fucking little brother- and even if it was, if you looked at him and the first thing you thought of was my girlfriend and I smashing, you need to tell your fucking hospice nurse, you pervert.”

“Sukuna-“

“It’s not my fault nor concern that your husband died from an asthma attack your dusty old pussy gave him, but if you ask me, he dodged a fucking bullet because holy fuck if I had to spend my days waiting for you to die first, I’d pull the plug myself.”

“Sukuna!”

“You think you get to sit here and judge my girlfriend, my self, my fucking brother without consequence, you are sadly mistaken. And I sincerely hope that, with the bottom of my soul, that when your decrepit heart finally decides to stop and bless the world by taking your life, no one bats an eye. If this is how you treat strangers with a child, I would love to see how you treat your loved ones. Sit on it and fucking twist, you old bitch.” Then, he flashes her a smile, “have the day you fucking deserve, you twat.”

The woman stares at him, eyes wide and jaw agape. You also, stare at him with wide eyes and an agape jaw, and it isn’t until he wraps his arm around your waist and starts to push the carriage again, that you follow.

“Sukuna,” you say, voice shaky. “Why…?”

“Because no one gets to look at my fucking family in any way other than damn respect,” he growls, fingers digging into your hip from anger. “No one.”

“No, I mean…” you swallow thickly. “Why do people feel the need to be so cruel?”

“The world is cruel,” he says flatly. Then, he sighs and shakes his head, “but I have no issue in putting terrible people in their place. Especially for yuuji. Especially for you.”

You smile softly and lay your hand on his, lacing your fingers with his as they rest on your hip, “we’re lucky to have you then, aren’t we?”

He chuckles, “it’s about time you appreciate it.”

[runaeveena]

Your dashboard if you were in a d&d fantasy world still involved in fictional erotica discourse part 2

⛰️ berenicesblade Follow

now that the new Mountain Angel volume has come out can we please tag spoilers, some of us are still waiting for our pigeon mail

🦚 faeynadaughter Follow

you can access the volume in full on TomePlane!

🎭 bardcampistrash Follow

until TomePlane acknowledges that its interplanar storage is made possible by binding aboleths to the plane and killing them then we are going to continue not using that platform, thanks

🦚 faeynadaughter Follow

aboleths killed my cousin who was a royal cleric. ill never understand why theres a whole movement to protect abyssal creatures when theyve caused so much damage to our kingdoms. and disliking a pocket dimension which provides thousands of people access to books? your attitude reeks of anti literaturism and mal-aligned virtue signaling and im not sure which is worse

🫒 tenthday237 Follow

Aliizya gets pregnant on page 62

⛰️ berenicesblade Follow

banished

620 Notes

🏰 finchtruther Follow

okay but the way that faelor finch writes every song that perfectly fits pennbiel liiike its giving closet fangirl

🧭 waywardwarlock

seriouslyy!! like what else is "give me your unmarked hand / in the shadowfell we won't be a secret" supposed to be about if not pennipher and corabiel

16 Notes

🌫️ cloudgiant-snailboy Follow

yall please dont fill up the unseen servant tag with your super fucking weird smut posts im just looking for tips on how to find my unseen servant

🪡 scç-writer

the search function on tomeblr does need to be updated but we dont have to kinkshame :)

🌫️ cloudgiant-snailboy Follow

the site is being overrun by virgin degenerates

🍯 treebarkhookhandwagondoor

sounds like you need Wilam the Wizard with Wandering Hands to help you summon the unseen stick in your ass

290 Notes

🗝️ crypt-princess Follow

so whose going to be the first to commission a painting of that scene with Aliizya and the beholder 👀

🍎 bloodmaledickening Follow

i already asked my local artisan he said he's gotten two other commissions for the same scene lmao

🐁 softbarbarian

girl i commissioned a tapestry

45 Notes

🕯️ andersfirelight Follow

friendly reminder that devil deals are a real thing that a lot of people fall victim too and that demons are malicious and do destroy peoples lives if theyre not careful so please be careful when consuming works like Hellionfinity which romanticizes devil deals and fiendish soul contracts

🌾entangled-farmer Follow

imo any work of fiction that involves a romance between any type of fiend is not just problematic but harmful

🕯️ andersfirelight Follow

i used to be indifferent to books that had devil romance interests because like thats their whole thing theyre seducing people to get their souls and the mc overcomes it, but reading through the replies i see that Hellionfinity actually ends with the devil character as the main romantic lead which is super problematic in terms of power imbalance and the fact that he has a redemption arc is so out of touch especially since our military is finally recovering from the azgurian assault

🧚🏻‍♂️arms-of-faelor

helliofinity also has a scene where the main character uses a soul coin that an imprisoned mortal gave him and he uses it to bring the devil out of avernus so he doesnt fully die and no one in the book mentions it or talks about how messed up it is to use soul coins and we never see the now bound to hell prisoner ever again

🕯️ andersfirelight Follow

hellionfinity officially cancelled on my end!

88 Notes

☘️ celest-ial Follow

moment of silence for all the customers waiting on drink orders while the tavern wench gets her back blown out by a new guy every night ✊😔

🦁 king-killa Follow

the gods work hard but Girthy Gladys gets worked harder

57,022 Notes

🎲 beholdersbeholdingme

paladin and warlock romances are OUT! cleric and necromancer romances are IN!

🪭 royalcoinpurse Follow

the only thing a cleric should do to a necromancer is beat him to death so she can revive him and kill him again

🎲 beholdersbeholdingme

❇️ arch-dryad Follow

i think we need to analyze why we're so quick to place women in categories of devious seductress or healer in romance novels as if that hasnt been the pervasive trope that holds magic-touched women back in our actual society

🍯 treebarkhookhandwagondoor

why do you assume these fictional tropes are mf couples only? can a gay cleric not beat his gay necromancer boyfriend to death?

🎲 beholdersbeholdingme

and off! beat him off cmon guys

5,275 Notes

🧀 weremouse Follow

yall ever be talking or whatnot and feel like no one understands you

🪨 sebrenenogdon Follow

ᛄᚠ ᛡᚢ ᚳᚪᚾ ᚱᛁᛞ ᚦᛄᛋ ᛡᚢ ᚺᚪᚠ ᛏᚢ ᚱᛁᛒᛚᚪᚷ ᚦᛄᛋ

🧀 weremouse Follow

say that shit fr (<- looking around clueless)

🪨 sebrenenogdon Follow

ᛋᛁᚱᛁᚪᛋᛚᛁ

60 Notes

🌠 crownofstars

remember when that person made a call out post for the author of ilairepeler for using a ghost writer and it turned out the author was an actual ghost. writing. like a literal ghost writer. like.

🍄gnomestool Follow

arent you the dwarf that fucked a slaad

🌠 crownofstars

how would you like to become a ghost so you can write more witty comments like this for eternity

301 Notes

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for chapter- 18+ words and themes overall, cussing, mention of and description of death, night knig, description of blood and minor gore. mention of sandors death. This chapter is just kinda boring and super sad.

Previous chapter here

Chapter 28

The faint echoes of screaming and chasing of metals can be heard. The thick stone walls of the crypt doing everything but keeping the horror noises out where they are supposed to be. You look around you, seeing the women and children and some elderly people holding each other close. 

“Please!!! Please open the door.. Hey… hey.. Ahh” screaming and banging on the crypt door startles everyone but it soon fades out leaving the eerie quiet to fill the ears. You let your mind wander with everything Sandor has told you about the fight. How you cannot kill what is already dead and how he can make them rise again, giving him an infinite army.

“He can make the rise again…” you mutter under your breath. 

“Y/n?... you alright.” Sansa whispers to you. You shake your head looking around. 

“We're not safe in here..” you say to her. 

“What? Yes we are, the fight is above us…” she says frowning in confusion. 

“N-no no sansa were not we have to get deeper into the crypt where the first people were buried.” you say getting up and gathering the blanket around you. 

“Your grace?” Tyrion asks you as he stands confused. 

“We're not safe!” you exclaim.

“Yes we are!! Shh.” Sansa tries to comfort you.

“Where are we sansa?! Where are we right now!” you ask frantically. 

“My family's crypts under winter fell” she says 

“He said they can rise again.. Were surrounded by the night kings soldiers…” you say. She stops freezing in her tracks as the sound of stone cracking and falling turns both your gazes to a crypt wall where a dead man pulls himself out of the casket. 

“Oh god..” she says other people take notice as more stones begin to split and crack causing more bodies to come out. A woman screams as she's pulled backwards and is pulled apart. Everyone gets up and begins to scream and run as the crypts become flourished with the dead. 

“Joss!” you yell as you pull up your dress running to the entrance of the crypt. You pull up the blockade lock on the door pushing the doors open as joss defends you from behind cutting down a few men. 

“Come!” you yell to him as the door opens. Fire, blood, death and fighting is fogged with dragon smoke and icy mist. You pull a sword out of the body beside you and head outwards. Avoiding the dead and cutting down people who try to collide with you. 

“Your grace!” joss yells to you as he leads you to an opening. You follow him as it leads you both up to the castle. It's quiet but with the screams and the people running once again loudons the atmosphere. You both run through the halls being chased by the dead. You topple over stands and statues blocking their way. 

Turning a corner you run into a man screaming but he holds you still covering your mouth with his hand. Your husband. 

“What the fuck are you doing out of the crypt this isnt safe!” he quietly exclaims to you. 

“He raised them… from the crypt. Everyone was being killed.” you say panting out of breath. Sandor is covered in dirt and blood. He looks exhausted already but it's long from over.

“You need to hide. There's a side closet in the north tower!” he says. 

“N-no no i'm not leaving you. Not again I'm not!” You exclaim tears now running down your face. 

“Fuck… you need to go..I cannot loose you. I won't.” Sandor presses a firm kiss against your lips before yelling at you and joss. 

GO!” joss takes your arm and pulls you away from your husband as you both run through the halls once more trying to stay as quiet as you can. The roof above as you run through suddenly collapses in as the dead fall through causing you both to have to find another way. 

“This way.” joss says as you run the other way to the side out of the door way back onto the outskirts of the battle. You're pushed and fall into the ground as people run for their lives. 

You try to get up but your dress is stuck on the barricade spike. You try to pull it off but there's no luck. You try to reach for the sword that you dropped to cut yourself free but you cant reach it as it fell farther than you when dropping it. You hear the snarling and gurgling of one of the dead soldiers as it runs to you holding a sword to you. 

“No no.!” You try to pull away even trying to unrustle your skirt. 

“Y/N!!” you hear your name as joss runs back to you taking out the soldier as well as two others before he cuts you free helping you up. 

“Go g-” he stops and coughs but blood comes out as you both look down, a sword through his chest. You look up at each other. 

“joss…no..no joss!” you exclaim as you move around him yelling you kill the dead behind him and he falls to the ground. 

“Joss, come on. It's okay.. I got you.” You say trying to help him up he gets up holding his stomach. You rush into the north side and move up a stair flight before he can't go any further and drops down the floor laboring breathing as he bleeds. 

“no..no we have to keep going.” you say crying, putting your hand over his to help stop some of the bleeding. 

“i-..i'm sorry..i can't..” he huffs. You nod 

“Th-that's okay.. You're okay.” you say. He nods weakly, smiling. You hear the snarling and screaming of more dead. 

“Look at me..” you say to him, placing your free hand on his face. He looks at you, tears welling up and streaming down his cheeks. 

“I love you…you are everything to me. You've helped me survive, you've helped me smile when I can't. You are not just my squire.. You're my friend, my family, a son....” you cry. He cries a weak smile is placed on his face. 

“I'm not going to leave you.” you say 

“y/n..” he says. 

You look over seeing two dead, one crawling itself up the stairs, the other scraping an ax on the side of the wall. It roars, spotting you both. You pull joss into a hug waiting for the arch of pain that comes before death. But it doesn't come. Scared to look, you slowly turn your head back to the dead. They both lay lifeless on the steps. 

You reluctantly stand up, you look out the staircase window seeing people dropping lifeless. You go back to joss kneeling back down. His head hangs to the side as if he'd fallen asleep but his eyes remain open. 

“J-joss..hey..” you say, lifting his head to you. You see his face knowing he is gone. You sob, running your fingers over his face, closing his eyes. You pull him back to you in a hug sobbing into him.

—-------

You stand over joss’s body as he lays on one of the many pires built. Podrick stands next to you holding his lover's hand as tears roll down your cheeks as you lean down to kiss his forehead. Jon begins to speak. 

“We stand here today to say goodbye to your sisters and brothers, to our fathers and mothers, daughters….and sons. To our fellows who set aside their differences to come here and fight together, and die together, so that others might live, everyone in this world owes them a debt that can never be repaid, we need to keep them alive in memory. It is an honor and a duty.” he says he looks to the side as someone hands him a torch, he walks over to one of the pyres and lights it. 

Sandor places his hand on your lower back as he holds a torch you back up a bit with podrick as he lights the prie. You watch as the flames grow higher and you take your place back to where everyone stands. 

“What was the last thing he said to you?” podrick asks. 

“He said my name… what about you?” you ask him to turn your head to face him. Podrick stands there looking at the flame. 

“...he told me he loved me ... .a-and i ... .i didn't say anything back.” he answers. You take a breath and nod looking back to the flame. 

“He knew..podrick even if you couldn't say anything. He knows.” you reply.

“Come on..” you say to him, placing your hand on his arm, turning him away as you lead him into the castle. Everyone begins to follow slowly, some taking more time to grieve than others. They all begin to head to the banquet hall where meals have been prepared not that anyone really would want to eat but it's set up anyway. 

Your husband takes a seat and Gendryl joins him. You stand on the side with Sansa as people begin to enter, sitting and taking the meal before them. 

You watch people eat and talk. It's fairly quiet but there's still chatter. 

“You should eat your grace.” jon says to you 

“I'm not hungry.” you say. Jon sighs as you look up at him. 

“You've lost a lot in the past few months.” he says to you while taking a sip of whatever's in his cup. 

“Yeah…we all have.” you say you watch as sandor sits alone eating. Tormund comes up to him patting him on the back and taking a seat next to him talking in his ear. You can see he’s extremely annoyed as Tormund continues talking. But it's the girl who comes up to him and wraps her arm around him as he pours himself another drink that bothers you most. 

“Excuse me.” you say to jon before gathering the front of your skirt and walking to your husband. He turns to the girl and growls at her, startled and stands up hurrying off. You rest your hand on his shoulder bracing yourself to sit next to him. 

“Aye you fuck off i-” he stops himself when he sees its you. He takes your hand in his and kisses it as you take your seat.

“Sorry.. Thought you were another one of them.” he huffs, chugging his cup.

“Others still startle at you.” you say leaning into him. 

“Good. Tyrion said "I'm turning soft..” he replies. You chuckle nodding. 

“I just hope it's not…too soft.” you say. He chuckles now at your innuendo. 

“You've changed my love.” he says to you kissing your temple. 

“So have you.” you smile at him before you place your head on his shoulder. 

“Lets leave.” he says you. You frown in confusion. 

“Leave?” you ask your head still resting on his shoulder. 

“Mm. go home.” he says. You shake your head and scoff before replying to him. 

“We don't have a home sandor..” you say a bit sad. 

“Then ill build one for you. We don't have to live in a castle. Im not going to to be pimped and prodded like a fucking whore before she beds a royal…all i want is you.” he says taking another drink from his cup. You look back up to him seeing he is truly serious. 

He looks down to you waiting for an answer you smile and nod to him. 

“We’ll leave tomorrow.” you say. He nods back to you. 

Next chapter coming soon.

I now have a sandor cleagane (Hound Dogs) community open where I’ll be posting sneak peeks, spoilers and teasers to the rest of fox and the hound as well as other fics. If youd like to join click the link. This comm will have smut and other not safe for work sneak peeks so minor DNI.

HOUND DOG COMMUNITY!!

Thank you so much for being patient in waiting for this chapter im now back to being free and posting a chapter every week or so!!

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[foolondahill17]

Dean, Meg, and Cas rescue Bela from Hell:

There’s a backdoor to Hell through Lucifer’s crypt.

Meg reveals the edges of the gate with a whispered incantation in a tongue Dean’s spent the past five years trying to forget. When the brick cracks, it lets out a vacuum rush of icy air and the stench of sulfur.

Dean shoves down the lump that rises in his throat. He’s not going to survive this if he gets lost in memories.

“Dean,” Cas stops him, hand outstretched. Dean steps back before he can touch him. “You don’t need to do this,” Cas says. He doesn’t mention Dean’s flinch. Dean doesn’t know whether to be grateful or guilty.

“Come on, Romeos,” Meg snipes at them from the threshold of the looming Hellgate. “It won’t take long for security to notice the break-in.”

Before Cas has a chance to second-guess Dean’s decision again, Dean walks passed the angel. He tries to breathe through his mouth as the noxious odor grows stronger the closer he gets to the doorway. The air covers Dean like a cold, damp sheet. He shivers against the feel of it.

Hell isn’t quite what Dean remembers it. The corridor they enter is hewn from dark stone, abandoned and ancient as a tomb. The scent of blood and death creep below sulfur. Dean can’t help it: he gags and brings the collar of his shirt over his mouth.

“Fuck,” he chokes, eyes streaming.

“We need to move quickly,” Cas says. His eyes are heavy on the back of Dean’s head. “I don’t know how long a mortal can survive in this realm. It’s meant for souls.”

“Not like I didn’t say it before.” Meg rolls her eyes and jerks her head impatiently down the corridor. “Try not to do anything conspicuous,” she warns. “Angel and a human might as well be a flare gun down here.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Linda Blair,” Dean growls. He looks at her and balks: a second before there was a petite brunet in front of him, but the deeper they move into Hell, the more demonic she becomes. Her body shifts and shimmers, fuzzing at the edges and contorting into something ugly and crude that Dean remembers from his nightmares. There are horns on her head and pointed teeth in her naked jaw.

“Like what you see, Virgil?” Meg smiles gruesomely at Dean’s obvious horror. “Our vessels are just an illusion down here. You’re seeing through the veil, big guy.”

Her flesh melts off in sheaths, leaving behind a hulking brute with blistered skin and bits of glimmering white bone. Dean knows this is what demons look like after they’ve been flayed open on the rack too many times to knit together again. Dean must have looked like this once upon a time before Cas rescued him.

“Shh,” Cas warns them both. He’s got his angel blade in his fist and he’s rigid where he stands. Dean looks for any sign of erosion in Cas’s vessel, but maybe angelic forms are more stable than demon’s because he still looks human.

Dean shivers as they move further down the corridor. Their way is lit by yellow flames on the walls. The fire emits a deathly chill, and soon Dean’s shuddering in full, wrapping his arms around his chest. He breathes and smoke comes out of his lips.

There’s the pinch of metal restraints at Dean’s wrists and ankles. He’s spread eagle on a wooden slab, arms and legs spread wide, splaying him like an absurd specimen pinned to a counter for dissection. The air is cold; he’s stripped naked.

Pinned like a butterfly, Alastair greets him with a smile.

“Take this.” Something touches his shoulders and Dean startles, whipping around with his blade, but it’s Cas. He’s holding out his trench coat.

“You’re freezing,” Cas says simply.

There’s a block of ice in Dean’s chest. He wants to protest, but the open earnestness in Cas’s face is too much to ignore.

Dean huffs and rolls his eyes, but he pulls on the jacket. It smells like Cas, and it’s unusually warm. Dean wonders if some of Cas’s grace has bonded with the fibers. Dean gulps back the strange feeling in his throat. At this point, he can’t tell between fear or any other feeling. He feels untethered and strange; Cas is right: Hell isn’t made for mortals. Dean wonders how long he’ll last before he dissipates into the air, leaving only his shivering, naked soul behind.

“You hear them, Deano?” Meg asks.

Dean can. There’s shouting in the distance: the telltale moan of despair and agony that served as soundtrack to Dean’s forty years. Whatever perimeter passageway the crypt let them into, they’re approaching the eye of Hell. Meg’s directions have bypassed the ugly innards of the many rings of suffering until now.

“I can make it so you can’t,” Cas says. He lifts his fingers. The sympathy in his eyes is sickening.

“Don’t touch me,” Dean says, emotionless, and pushes forward.

The air is so cold, Dean can’t feel his face. The doors between these empty, guarded caverns and Hell-proper are heavy wood. The door screams on its hinges and suddenly they’ve entered the gray, frozen tundra of Treachery.

The screaming is impossible to ignore. Impaled on icicles and metal rods are mangled, squirming souls, dimmed enough to emit merely a faint glow, still holding to their human shapes enough for Dean to see rent flesh, awkwardly twisted limbs, and shards of bone. There are hooks hanging overhead like a butcher’s locker. Some are tipped with shredded pieces of meat. Some hold souls in place, waiting for their turn.

There are demons at work here, too enmeshed in their roles to pay attention to a wayward demon, angel, and human. Dean stumbles to a stop, boots slick on the slush. Meg knew the way to get here, but this is where Dean’s knowledge begins.

His breathing comes in gasps.

“Dean,” Cas says, voice strangled. His palm touches Dean’s shoulder. Dean jolts away and kicks himself forward. If he stops now, he won’t be able to start again.

Dean knows they’ll find her in Caina.

Dean worried he wouldn’t recognize her – if her body would be too brutalized to identify – but the little blond girl standing over a soul with a grin and blood dripping from her hands is easy to spot once Dean gets over his initial shock of thinking it’s Lilith.

“Oh,” the girl says, blinking her gray eyes at the three of them. She brushes her hair back and leaves a streak of blood on her pale cheek. The last time Dean heard this voice, it was screaming. “Dean Winchester. Lovely to see you again.”

Dean blinks, and she’s no longer a child. She’s a young woman as Dean knew her. He blinks again and she’s a shredded monster, nearer demon than human. Her eyes are muddy gray. A young demon, as demon’s go. Dean knows she’s been down here for less than a millennium in Hell-years.

Dean can’t pull in a full breath. The cold nips at his lungs. He says on a gust, “Bela.”

“Guess again,” Bela says, smile playing across her pink lips.

“We’re here to help you,” Dean says.

“No,” Bela tells him. Her eyes are deranged with anger and wild hate. Her voice reverberates across the frozen, dead plain. It echoes everywhere and nowhere, within and without Dean’s own head. “There’s nothing left to help.”

“Please, Bela,” Dean tries.

“Hell has created a new creature,” Bela says. “Bela’s dead.” She traces her thumb against the edge of her knife.

Dean remembers the feel of that knife in his own hand. He remembers Alastair’s breath in his ear as he taught him how to carve. Sometimes Dean misses it. He misses the feel of Alastair’s blades, fingers, lips on his body. He misses the hard buck of a soul under his razor.

Bela Talbot was the first soul Dean tortured in Hell.

Dean…Winchester, Bela simpered above the band taught across her chin. She was naked, belted down at the hips, chest, wrists, and ankles. There was blood tangled in her matted blond hair. Should have known I’d bump into you eventually.

I didn’t know you two were friends, Alastair lied. Why don’t you show Bela what you’ve learned, Deano?

Her first scream ripped Dean out of his own body. It was intoxicating and invigorating. It felt like freedom. Bela’s screams filled Dean’s head with stillness for the first time since he arrived in Hell. He tore at her until she begged for her father not to touch her.

Torture isn’t about watching someone break, not really. That’s what Alastair taught Dean. Truth is: Dean broke five years before Alastair unchained him. Truth is, Dean begged for his chance to hold the knife long before Alastair gave it to him.

“Dean!” Cas is yelling into Dean’s ear. Dean is on his knees, head spinning.

He wrenches hard against Cas’s grip and nearly lands flat on his face on the icy ground. Bela laughs above him, face haughty and proud like he knew it in life.

“Bela, please.” It’s Cas who tries this time. “I’m an Angel of the Lord. I’m here to save you.”

“Angel?” Bela laughs, high and wild. “My very own angel? What am I, paroled for good behavior?”

“You don’t belong here,” Dean says with difficulty. “The deal you made – it wasn’t fair. You shouldn’t be here.”

Bela laughs again, lower this time. “You know, no one else got let off easy like you, Dean. The rest of us had to fight our way off the rack. We didn’t have our own special demon urging us to break. We had to earn it. Do you know how long it took me? Do you know how long it took for me to claw myself off? Two-hundred years. Two-hundred years at the end of their blades.”

“You didn’t,” Dean chokes. “You didn’t deserve it.”

“You speak to me like you know me,” Bela scoffs. “Like you have any idea what it is to exist like this. You never did come into your own, despite being the prize pupil. You only had ten years of practice, after all. You were always so brutal. Sometimes I wondered whether you wanted to get it over with quickly.”

“I know,” Dean forces himself to keep going. “I know about your dad, Bela. I know. You were a kid.” Dean’s eyes stream, and he can’t stop it. He remembers hands on him in dirty bathroom stalls and urine stinking back alleys. He blinks the tears away to clear his vision. “It wasn’t your fault. You were just a scared kid, and you didn’t – you didn’t deserve it.”

His voice bites off when Bela clenches her fist, and an invisible hand tightens around Dean’s throat, cutting off his air. His vision darkens.

“You did this to me,” Bela spits. “I watched the other souls turn. I watched them become evil, deranged, creeping things. And I thought to myself I wouldn’t let them do that to me. I’d rather be hurt. But then you – you – they called you the righteous man. They talked about your valiance. Your bravery. Your honor,” she scoffs.

“And the things you did to me – the things you did to me even when you knew me. When I pleaded with you to stop. You made me decide, no matter how long it took, I’d take up the blade. I would be better. I would be crueler. And I would enjoy it. The way you enjoyed hurting me. The way they all enjoyed it.”

Dean’s head spins. He wheezes, unable to speak. Stars pop in the corners of his vision.

“Abbie, enough,” Meg snaps. Her voice is hard. Her eyes burn.

Bela releases Dean’s throat, face falling slack. Dean gags for breath. Cas hovers over him, arm outstretched but clearly reluctant to touch him again.

“You’ve said enough,” Meg says. “Let them help you.”

Bela’s face is angry now instead of pompous, like Meg’s managed to dig at something Dean or Cas couldn’t. “You know,” she sneers. “You know what I’ve done.”

“Yes, I know, and you are an infant,” Meg spits. Her shoulders straighten. She seems to grow twice her size. She sizzles with sparking heat, and Dean’s suddenly aware that he’s never known her real name. She’s a demon millennia year’s older than Dean can imagine. She has spent centuries enacting horrors untold, evils that make you sick to look at.

“You can’t!” Bela shrieks. “You can’t make me do this!”

“I’ve taught you the things you know,” Meg thunders. “The things you’ve done I’ve done to you. The things you’ve seen, I’ve shown you.”

Bela screams. She covers her face with her arms. She flashes into a monster, oozing blood and flaking ash from her flesh before she fizzes back into the form of a little girl, shuddering with sobs.

“Please,” she begs. “Please, don’t make me.”

“I can’t make you,” Cas steps forward. “It’s a choice you have to make for yourself.”

“H-how?” Bela whimpers.

“Repentance,” Cas says simply.

Bela snorts. She’s again a fresh-faced and sneering adult like she was in life. “Must I accept Jesus Christ into my heart as my savior?”

Dean knows then she’s not too long gone if she can still say Christ’s name, despite the spark of pain that runs through Meg’s form to hear it.

“Jesus isn’t the one you should ask forgiveness from,” Cas says.

“Who then?” Bela asks. Her voice is strained, betraying her torment.

“Name them,” Cas instructs her. “You remember.”

Bela sucks in a shuddering breath. Her eyes leak gray water down her face. “Laverne Swanson,” Bela gasps. “Richard Marlo. Bridget Delaney. Reanna Ackerson.” She gulps back another sob. Her lips tremble. “Gregory Daniels,” she continues.

She lists them, one after the other. Dean loses count of how many. He thinks, once upon a time, he could have done the same.

“Gert Case,” Bela whispers finally. Her voice has gone hoarse. “Robert Singer. Sam Winchester. D-Dean Winchester.”

Her throat works soundlessly. Barely above a whisper, she says, “Maryanne and – and Cyrus Talbot.”

“No,” Cas corrects her gently. “No, Abigail. Not them.”

Bela bows over, spine arched, sobbing into her knees. Her hair flows tangled down her back. Cas approaches. He touches the top of her head, and she lifts her face to meet him. She glows from within before her form dissolves at the edges, spreading like a drop of ink in water. And then the glow comes back together and contracts into a blinding ball of light. Cas holds her in both hands, cupped liked he’s carrying water from a spring.

“Get up, Winchester,” Meg says. But her hand is firm, not rough, on Dean’s elbow, as she hauls him to his feet.

Part of this larger story

[hahahahahangst]

Another love (Be The Young 22)

GIANT TW which will be valid for each episode for suicidal thoughts, SELF H*RM, violence, cursing, relatives dying, mentions of s*x, s*xual assault

All chapter titles are song titles, some of them translated from Italian songs. We start from the first season and make out way through the series. I will break canon (mostly from the S2 finale) but will try to get back into it for the sake of ✨ lore ✨ .

Summary: Emily's life used to be normal. Until one day, her family died, leaving behind just one letter.

"After reading this whole letter, call John Winchester. [...] He’s your real father."

A/N: As I said last time, I’m sorry... This- this is just sad tbh

MASTERLIST

Another Love

So I'll use my voice, I'll be so fucking rude Words they always win, but I know I'll lose“

Howdy, Emily.” Said the demon’s voice from behind her as she arrived at the agreed destination. “You should probably learn to drive less recklessly. Almost caused a couple of crashes back there.”

“Right. Let’s get to business.”

“Alright, alright… fifty miles that way,“ he pointed. ”...I need you to open something for me.” He dipped his hand into a pocket and took out the Colt from it. Emily instinctively reached for it, but he retracted his hand. “Now, now, don’t be hasty.” He said. “This is the key for the crypt.” He handed the gun to her. She looked at him, suspicious and put it away in her pants.

She started driving in the direction the demon gave her. She didn't bother asking for any explanation, she just drove there. Then, she put the gun into the crypt and waited.

At first, some glyphs lit up and started spinning. Then, the door actually started opening. All of a sudden, she was overwhelmed by a sea of black smoke, which knocked her over. She felt the pain of the ground hitting her head and then passed out.

When she woke up, she saw a familiar figure towering her. Bobby was bringing her somewhere. She briefly passed out again and found herself in the backseat of a car. “Emily, can you hear me?” Said Bobby's voice. She moaned, in pain, as a response. The car soon came to a stop. Ellen, helped her out of the vehicle. She recognized Bobby's lot.

“Bobby, I-”

“Are you okay?” He said, checking her for wounds. “Hurt?”

“No, Bobby I am fine, please-” She got out of Ellen's hold and leaned on the car. “I can't be next to Dean right now.”

“What the hell happened this time, uh?”

“He was about to-” She was distracted by the door of the house suddenly opening. Dean stood on the porch with his arms crossed in front of him. A sudden urge to vomit reached her guts. She covered her mouth and turned away.

“What on earth happened?!” Asked Bobby. Emily gagged and threw up in a corner of the lot. “Okay, that’s it, come inside.” The man tried to help Emily towards the door but she tried to move away. Her legs gave up on her and she fell. Quickly coming back up, she stopped anybody from helping her and leaned on the car. “I said no.”

“Alright, you wanna do this here?” Said Bobby, crossing his arms as well. “Fine by me. What on earth were you thinking?!”

“Oh, perfect, now it’s my fault.” Answered Emily, brushing her face with her right hand and trying to ignore Dean staring at her from the door.

“So was it someone else that I just saw opening the gates to fucking hell? Emily I am old, not stupid. What the hell were you thinking?”

Emily ignored the question. She looked at Dean. He was the reason she did all that.

She just opened the gates of hell all because of someone who didn’t even consider her family. “What the hell are you looking at?!” She asked him, bitterly. “This is all your fault, you realize that?!” He didn’t move. Bobby turned around to look at him. He gazed in between the two siblings.

“Okay, enough with this shit!” Said him, suddenly grabbing Emily by her arm and dragging her in front of her brother. “This has been going on for three years, I’ve had it up to my hair with you two idiots. Now get inside!”

Neither of them moved. They limited themselves to staring at each other, upset and ready to explode. “I said get inside!” Yelled the man, pushing them both through the door. “Start - talking. What the hell happened?!”

“He’s an asshole, that’s what happened!” Said Emily, pushing Dean away from her. “An unaffectionate, egoistic bastard!” Bobby immediately stopped her and divided the two siblings.

“For the love of god, stop hitting your brother! Be a fucking adult for three whole seconds!”

“Me?!” Emily looked at the man, her eyes widening in anger.

“Yes, you!” He said, grabbing her by the arm again and having her sit on the couch. He did the same with Dean.

They sat on the opposite sides and accurately avoided looking at each other.

“GROW UP, BOTH OF YOU!” Screamed Bobby, startling Emily way too much. “I’ve had enough of your fights, this has gone too far! You are going to find a way to get along and you are going to do it now!”

Then, he leaned on the wall in front of them and stopped talking. He stared at them. He gestured “go ahead.” with his hands. Soon, Ellen appeared through the door and she joined him as well. They would occasionally talk to each other, whispering a couple of words, but for the most part, the room was completely silent.

Emily didn’t want to be there. She would have given anything to just be somewhere else.

She still had to hear from the demon about bringing Sam back, which was the whole reason she had followed his orders.

She had nothing to lose.

Even if Sam came back, she would probably still be leaving the Winchesters, since it had become as clear as day that Dean didn’t want her there.

But what would she do? She knew she had to leave, but she wasn’t sure what she would do or if she really wanted to, for that matter.

She looked at Dean briefly and recognized that he had been crying.  However, she was too hurt, too full of pride and decided that it wasn’t her fault. He could have been a decent brother.

He could not have been mean to her all those times.

He could have shown some kind of interest for her even if she was not about to die.

He never did.

Never once in the previous three years. It was always out of pity, out of the urgency of getting rid of the broken member of the family, the one that slowed them down.

She let a sob slip out and saw Dean roll his eyes. “What?!” She said, sharp. “I’m not allowed to cry now?”

“Do you ever do anything else?” He asked, aggressive. “Apart from screwing up I mean.” Emily immediately stood up, ready to throw her brother on the floor, but she was interrupted by Bobby’s voice.

“EMILY, SIT THE FUCK DOWN!”

“What, am I supposed to let him say whatever he wants to me?”

“How is breaking his nose going to make this any better?” He said. “One of you is gonna have to decide to be the bigger person at one point!”

Sam would have said to her that she should be the bigger person. One of them had to. Just be the same person you were when you baked pies for him, he would have said. Or when you brought him to your old house in Portland.

But Sam was dead and with him any persistence of what he would say to her.

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“What would your brother say?” Suddenly said Bobby, still staring at them. “Uh? What would Sam say if he was here right now?”

Dean and Emily shared a quick look before going back to staring at an indefinite point in front of them. They knew exactly what he would say. But saying it would have required them to let their guard down. It would have required admitting that they didn’t hate each other as they were pretending to.

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Ellen leaned in to whisper something to Bobby. He nodded. “I will be back in a second. For your own good you better be still there when I come back.”

He left the room with Ellen.

Emily quickly gazed at Dean. He quickly dried his face with the back of his hand.

Emily sniffed. For a while, that was the only sound in the room.

“Do you hate me?” She said, barely audible.

“No. No, I don’t think I do.”

“You don’t think?”

“Okay, Emily, Sam is dead, and it’s also your fault. And if that wasn't enough, you opened the fucking gates of hell. Think is the best I can give you.”

Emily released a long sigh and turned away from them. She tucked her legs on the couch and rested her head on her knees. “You really can’t see it, can you?” She said. “I also lost a brother. Again.”

“You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Sure, yeah.” She said, sarcastic. “I never do. After all, I am just a kid, right?”

“Right.”

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Be the bigger person.

That’s what Sam would have said. He would have told her to just say sorry, to be open.

To be vulnerable.

Although, she looked at Dean and she found herself locked into a mask of strength and stubbornness. Inside the mask, she was breaking into pieces. More than she was already broken. She was close to not having nothing left but her mask.

“Did you really try to save him?” He asked, all of a sudden.

“You know I did.”

“Are you sure?”

“He was stabbed in the spinal cord, there wasn’t much I could do.”

“So you didn’t even try?!”

“Holy fucking christ- YES, I TRIED! I TRIED FOR A WHOLE HOUR BEFORE YOU SHOWED UP!”

“But you-”

“THERE IS NO BUT! STOP TRYING TO FIGHT WITH ME!” She stood up and kicked the table in front of her, making it fall to the ground. The shards of a beer bottle which was resting on it covered the floor in front of the couch and a strong scent of beer spread. She walked to the window and, just like the previous time, leaned on the cold glass. She stayed there for a while, in silence, letting the low temperature calm her down. “It’s not gonna bring him back. And I can’t take it anymore. Please, just-” She turned around. “Just stop.”

He looked at her and nodded. Bobby came back at that exact moment. He stared at Emily, then at the table. Then at Dean.

“Can you go 5 minutes without kicking anything?” He put the table back into a standing position. “Sit back down.” She sighed and reluctantly sat back on the couch. “So, I am not your marriage counselor and it’s been an hour. Are you going to talk or what?!”

Dean and Emily gazed at each other for a second, then looked away.

“I swear to god-” whispered Bobby. “Emily, don’t you have anything to say to your brother? You’re only alive because he killed the damn thing just in time!”

Emily jumped on her feet. “You did…WHAT?!” Bobby tried to drag her down, but she escaped his grip to walk in front of Dean. “The whole reason I did what I did was that he was gonna bring back Sam and you…“

“And you really believed him? You really are more stupid then it looks.”

“I was trying to-”

“What?” Dean stood up as well. Bobby tried to intervene, but Emily had other plans. “I am sorry, Bobby, I really am.” She raised a hand and had his body fly away towards the wall, stopping a couple of feet before he actually hit it. He tried to protest, but Emily ignored him.

“Let him go.” Said Dean, stern.

“Right, so you can avoid this conversation a little bit longer?” She said, still holding the man up in the air.

“What on earth were you thinking, trusting a demon like that?!”

“You were going to kill yourself!” She pushed him.

“So you decided to die first so you didn’t have to watch me?!”

She raised a hand to slap him, but he was faster and intercepted her arm. The moment she had to resist Dean’s strength, Bobby fell to the ground. “I WAS TRYING TO SAVE YOUR UNGRATEFUL ASS!” She screamed back.

“AND YOU COULDN'T FIGURE OUT A WAY THAT DIDN’T INVOLVE RISKING YOUR LIFE?”

“COULDN’T YOU?!” He tried to speak, but Emily interrupted him. “I WAS LITERALLY ABOUT TO KILL MYSELF WHEN THE DEMON CAME TO ME!” Dean raised his hand to slap her but she stopped him just like he did with hers. They stared at each other, blocking each other’s arms. “Doesn’t feel good, does it?” She said, fighting him with all her strength. “When your sibling talks about offing themselves.” She slowly stopped fighting him and she dropped her arms by her side. “All these years, I was wondering why it was so difficult for you to just behave like a brother with me. Sam had his ideas but now I think I see it. He was wrong. None of that shrink shit was real, it was all made up. You’re not afraid to get attached, you are just an asshole.” Bobby, who had managed to stand back up, gave up on civility. He stared at them from where Emily had thrown him.

“You’re one to talk.” Answered Dean. “You never lost a chance to remind me how bad I was doing at being your brother, even if I was trying my best!”

“YOU CALLED ME A BITCH AND TOLD ME THAT IF I WANTED TO DIE SO BADLY I SHOULD HAVE CUT MYSELF VERTICALLY, IS THAT YOUR DEFINITION OF TRYING YOUR BEST?!”

“You’ve been hiding shit from me from the very first day!”

“HOW DOES THAT COMPARE WITH YOU FORCING ME OFF THE GROUND WHILE I WAS HAVING A LITERAL MENTAL BREAKDOWN AND COULD BARELY BREATHE?”

“YOU BROKE MY NOSE!”

“I BROKE YOUR NOSE BECAUSE YOU AND DAD STRESSED ME SO MUCH MY BRAIN SNAPPED IN HALF LIKE A BREADSTICK!”

Everytime they said something they would push the other away.

“I CLEANED YOU AND DRESSED YOU LIKE A FUCKING BABY!”

“I SPENT THE FUCKING NIGHT HOLDING YOUR UNGRATEFUL HAND WHILE YOU WERE DYING!” Emily gave Dean one final push. She tried to attack him again but he stopped both her hands. Frustrated and unable to move, she tried to set herself free and started crying again. Soon, her legs started shaking and they gave up on her. She leaned onto Dean’s chest as he was still holding her up by the wrists. “I just want you to be my brother, that’s all.” She said in between sobs. Breathing was becoming more difficult each second, her extremities going more and more numb as time went on. Dean let go of her arms, but she immediately reached for his wrist and held onto it, her nails digging into his skin like it was butter. With a grimace of pain, he tried to get rid of her hold, but she only made it tighter. She felt as if everything was collapsing under her feet and that wrist was the only thing to keep her alive. Her crying became less and less intense as she lost the ability to breathe, her body completely overwhelmed by a panic attack.

“Alright…“ he said, struggling to keep her standing. With the only available hand, he put her head on his chest and unexpectedly hugged her. “It’s okay. It’s over now.” He repeated. “You’re right, this is not good.” She finally let go of his wrist. He put his hand on the back of Emily’s head. “We’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

[whippedcloudsofcream]

TW: Fucked up stuff

I rewatched that analysis about Gray Dawn again, y'know that game I talked about where we play as a very ill minded unreliable priest

It turned out the guy was very sick in the head, he murdered children cuz he thought those children are demons incarnate and they're dirtying his "Jesus", who was actually a normal boy, that priest disgustingly fantasized a young boy as a reincarnation of Jesus. He also killed that boy by accidentally running over him with his vehicle and murdered the child

It's revealed at the end he committed suicide to atone for his sins and to get to Heaven, it also implied he only felt guilty for killing "his Jesus" not the other children, it's worse that the children this asshole murdered were orphans under his care hence it's easier for him to commit the deeds

There was also this theory where the priest murdered a Woman who was his co-caretaker to the Orphanage he was managing bcuz well, she found out he's a criminally ill creep, he did it by shoving her off a railing of an abandoned church resulting to her falling to her death. Seeing how unreliable this priest is, I think it might be true, also he hates women cuz he was sexually repressed and instead,well turned the target to children

Here's also a delicious twist: From the start to the end of the Priest's journey, he wasn't alive, rather he was in Hell, meaning we were playing a dead man since the start

Which explains a lot, the entire game was about a sinner reliving his own crime and life, although he admitted his sin, it's only a bit of it, so he is a hypocrite till the end, therefore Hell will have a fun time with him. After all Hell is very welcoming of insane sinners

There are a lot of visual cues in the game that indicate he's in Hell, first the snowing sky, the analyst said this is a symbol of Heaven with the pure white snow, Winter being the Season of Christmas, Jesus's birthday. It hints that the Priest believed he should be in Heaven ugh

But the sky wasn't actually snowing, that wasn't snow falling from the sky, but volcanic ashes from an active volcano, which means he's in Hell, a place full of fire. The truth is that he's in Hell not Heaven, only the bastard believed he was in Heaven

I also remember that the deepest level of Hell's many levels is one of the coldest Winters, so maybe Winter doesn't mean Heaven here, it also ties back to Hell.

This guy commits crimes that can put him in more than one Hell's level: Heretic, Murder, Pedophilia,Hypocrisy..... Apparently Hell is organised since they have levels catered to different sinners and I'm pretty sure a sinner who committed many types of crimes had to experience different levels, how neat, the Devil must be really organised, I'm pretty sure he welcomes the Priest with open arms cuz this asshole is in for eternal damnation

Not sure if this is worth a mention but: In the Priest's memory, the Radio was broadcasting about the suspicion on the Priest we're playing as, he was suspected of murdering the children I mentioned, excluding the boy he ran over. Apparently another Priest may have caught on to his crimes and told the Police about his suspicion. I hope that the Police found the Children's corpses cuz that Priest hid them well in a crypt underneath the abandoned church where he killed the caretaker woman and the remaining orphans to be safe, cuz God, he was a massive creep and EVERYONE NEEDS TO KNOW and get another manager who isn't a sicko

omgggg thank you for the info that makes the game even more interesting and also everything in it 10x worse, but also thank god he’s being punished lol

I’m hoping the other priest, the children and woman (who are in heaven most definitely), and the families found peace after all that horror, peace that the evil priest will never know because he’ll always be suffering for his sins 💖💖

[gravessyard]

Garden

Notes from the crypt: So this started out as self indulgence before I realized that I could totally make it into a fic to share, so I hope you all enjoy. I'll say here that I used the codename Garden because my name is Eden and y'know... Garden of Eden lmao again, this started as something I'd read back to myself for my personal pleasure but as I kept going I figured I'd share it anyway! I got a lil tipsy today so forgive me if the end is a little messy;;

Tags: GN! Reader, military au, depictions of violence, blood, mentions of death, angst with a happy ending

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple escort mission, until shit went sideways

“Ugh, an escort mission? That’s boring, I can’t kill anything on an escort mission”, Tartaglia huffs from his chair, slouching back with his arms crossed over his chest like a child who got scolded. Pierro glances at him, annoyance evident in his gaze after being rudely interrupted during their meeting. Scaramouche glares at him before kicking his shin from under the table, causing the ginger to jolt in pain and glare back at his teammate.

“Children, please, you two will get your chance at each other’s throats when we have secured The Garden. Now pay attention”, Pierro growls before going back over their mission, which was simple in theory: months ago you had managed to infiltrate an enemy base under the guise of wanting to join their cyber operations unit. You were successful, working alongside the enemy to “help” their missions while copying important data to bring back to the Tsaritsa. You had gone silent a week ago, your last message to Pierro relaying how you thought someone was beginning to grow suspicious of your presence before you just disappeared entirely, and then he saw that your silent alarm was tripped. Something felt off about it, but he prioritized your safety first, so he wasted no time in rounding up his squad that consisted of Tartaglia, Scaramouche and two other nameless soldiers to give them your location and the mission to get you out.

“Try not to gain attention to yourselves, Garden doesn’t have any weapons other than their computer so if they get caught, we’re all fucked. Plane leaves in 10 minutes, dismissed.”, Pierro watches the men stand and give a salute before they’re jogging out of the room and outside, boarding the awaiting plane that took off not too long after. Tartaglia yawns loudly while checking over his equipment, making sure his weapons were loaded and knives were where they needed to be while also complaining internally that you could have at least waited until noon to bug them and not at 3 in the morning.

“Shut up, you yawn any louder and they’ll hear us coming before they see us”, Scaramouche scoffs from beside him, and a moment later he’s pushing something into Tartaglia’s hand. He looks down curiously to see a 5 hour energy that Scaramouche pulled from his vest, a snort escaping him while he glances over to see the other shoot his own energy vial back. “Jesus dude, how many of these do you have?”, he snickers, unscrewing the cap to shoot the liquid back, face contorting at the questionable flavor.

“I have enough”, the rest of the flight to their first location was made in silence, tension beginning to grow among the four once the plane landed and they get off to see a car awaiting them. ‘The car will take you to where Garden is, around this time there will be guards posted, if you can sneak past them then do so. If not, well, leave the rest to Childe. Garden will be waiting at the south entrance, so get in and get out quickly.’ The car ride to the building was equally silent, not even the radio was on. Childe is no stranger to silent car rides, but there was something about this one that made his hackles rise. He snuck a glance at Scaramouche, who looked equally uncomfortable before the man is looking at the driver, a face he doesn’t recognize. Just as the car was beginning to approach the building, their coms devices spark to life, your voice breaking through static.

“STOP! Stop!! It’s a trap!”, your scream through the coms made Childe’s blood run cold, he was barely able to look at the driver before his hearing went out all together and the car was flipped upside down. A small crater was left on the ground where the tire went over the land mine that was awaiting them, Childe’s vision seemed to move in slow motion, a constant ringing in his ears as he takes in his surroundings. Scaramouche was kicking at the driver, his mouth screaming curses that Childe can’t hear as the smaller man kicks the gun out of the driver’s hand, the two shots that came from his own gun seemed to bring him back, the sound returning.

“Tartaglia! We have to go!!”, he hears Scaramouche scream and gets to work on opening the door so he could crawl out and help his teammates out of the overturned car. A flurry of bullets has them crouching behind it, weapons at the ready. “What do we do?!”, one of the nameless soldiers cries beside them, gun in their trembling grip. Childe looks over the side of the car to see where the shots were coming from before sending his own bullets back, taking down two of the enemy soldiers. Scaramouche joins him, peeking over the other side to spray bullets before barking orders at the other two. Seconds of firing go by before their coms are sparking back to life again, your trembling voice whispering in their ears.

“Tartaglia – this is Garden, how do you copy?”, you sounded like you were hiding somewhere, and Childe could only hope it was someplace safe.

“Garden! We’re under fire outside of the building, what the fuck is going on?!”, Tartaglia shouts back, pulling back so he could reload his weapon. One of the nameless soldiers take his place. “It’s a trap, I sent Pierro word that someone was onto me some days back and well, they found out I worked for the Tsaritsa. They wanted to use me as bait to get you guys here and kill you, I’m so sorry –“

“Quit whining, we don’t have a lot of time here! Where are you?”, Scaramouche growls in his coms, switching places with the other nameless soldier so he could also reload.

“I’m hiding in a supply closet on the second floor, I think I lost – “, a scream is ripped from you, Childe and Scaramouche could hear the door be thrown open and more screaming from your end before the coms went dead again, and dread filled their veins.

“Find a way into the building! We’ll cover you!”, Scaramouche snarls at the nameless soldiers before he and Childe begin raining bullets on the remaining soldiers that were trying to approach the vehicle. Following their teammates to the entrance, they wait while one of them fumbles with picking the lock, their trembling hands proving to be a hassle since they kept dropping the pins and cursing to themself.

“Move!”, Childe yells, pulling the soldier to the side so he could kick at the lock, he was growing way too impatient to wait for this fool to open the door when you could potentially be in danger this very second. Three solid kicks later the door gives, swinging open and his reflexes are quick to shoot down the single guard that was prepared for their break in. Childe calls your codename through the coms, hoping you’ll respond but the grip on his gun only tightens when he’s met with static. The inside of the building is eerily silent, there’s barely a body in sight outside of the guard he shot down. Like the trained soldiers they were, the four of them began sweeping the floor, checking every room in hopes that you had gone back to hiding. “clear”, Scaramouche grumbles quietly beside the ginger, who only frowns in response before he leads the team upstairs, he can feel a bead of sweat roll down his cheek as his eyes scan the empty floor, he notes the open door of the supply closet you were pulled out of, and guessing from the papers thrown around the floor, you managed to put up a bit of a fight. He’d smile if your life weren’t currently in danger, silently motioning his team to sweep the floor. He checks a room, finger nearly pressing the trigger when he spots the body of a dead soldier, knife plunged in their neck. His brows furrow as he looks around the room, other than the body he can see droplets of blood on the floor leading outside of the room and towards the stairs.

“Scara”, Childe calls and immediately the soldier is by his side, looking down towards where blue eyes were to see the blood leading up the stairs. “Sir… The wall”, one of the nameless soldiers whisper, and both men look up to see the bloody handprint that was clear on the wall, it had a streak going up, meaning whoever was injured was dragged upstairs. Swallowing hard, Childe takes a step onto the stairs when he jumps at the sound of a single shot followed by your scream, and then they were all rushing upstairs. Childe and Scaramouche couldn’t believe the sight that welcomed them, the bodies of two soldiers laying motionless in different places of the floor, one with a knife plunged in their chest and the other laying in a pool of their own blood. Four guns were pointed at a stumbling body that was exiting a room, hand pressed tightly against their neck before they’re falling face first on the floor, the sounds of gurgling dying down moments later. Approaching the room, Childe leads with his gun, stepping slowly inside with your name on the tip of his tongue before he sees a flash of silver, and suddenly he’s grabbing the wrist of the assailant and slamming them against the wall, arm twisted painfully behind them. Your screams and whimpers fill his ears and his heart drops, hands immediately letting your arm go and barely catching your slumping form as you cry in pain.

“Shit, y/n – “, his breath catches when he sees the state you’re in, your shoulder was bleeding from a bullet wound, you had a split lip and a black eye, he didn’t even want to imagine what other wounds you could be hiding under your clothes. “Fuck, Scaramouche! Radio in, we need immediate evac and a medic, Garden’s hurt”, Childe picks you up bridal style, whispering apologies to you when you whine in pain.

“I-I already… I already did that”, you pant in his arms, exhaustion beginning to take over. “Evac’s… 5 minutes out”, your head dips, and Childe has to shake you gently to keep you awake.

“Hey, don’t close your eyes, we’re getting you out”, he doesn’t know if he’s saying that more for your sake or for his, half of your shirt is already drenched in your own blood, and judging from how pale you appear, he fears you may have lost a lot. Scaramouche takes the lead in escorting the team out, leading with his gun while the two nameless soldiers cover the back, the sounds of a helicopter is reassuring to the ginger as he watches it land, the door opening so they could rush inside. He reluctantly gives you to the two medics who begin working on you, cutting your shirt open and Scaramouche can see how pale Childe gets when your wounds are exposed to the air. Along with the bullet in your shoulder, there was a stab wound on your side actively bleeding, your blood coating the forming bruises that littered your body.

“Garden, can you hear me?”, one of the medics calls out to you while the other pushes an iv in your arm to begin administering fluids, but both pause when you don’t respond, your eyes long closed and chest devoid of movement. Tense silence fills the air as the medic calls out for you once more, fingers moving to press against your neck to search for a pulse.

“H-Hey, whats going on?”, Childe questions, leaning forward to try and be by your side but was held back by Scaramouche, who had to use all of his strength to fully keep the man back. “Hey! y/n, wake up! No, no no, please!”, Childe screams as he watches the medic begin chest compressions, the other speaking into a radio. He couldn’t watch you die here, not when you two had gone through so much. You were always Childe’s favorite, you were reliable and witty and had a sense of humor that rivaled his own, you were always there for him and his team, your lovely voice guiding them through almost all of their missions before you decided to take this one for yourself.

‘You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life’, Childe begins as he holds your pinkie tightly against his own, your giggling making him break out into a grin. ‘You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again’, he brings your pinkie up to his lips to press a kiss against it, your laugh ringing heavenly in his ears. ‘Well that wasn’t morbid at all’, you snicker as you mirror the motion, bringing his gloved pinkie up so you can press a kiss against it. ‘Just promise me you’ll come back safe and alive’, he huffs, letting go of your pinkie in favor of bringing you into his arms for a warm hug. ‘I promise, Ajax’.

“you promised…”, Childe whispers to himself as a tear rolls down his cheek, the helicopter landing and the door opening before you’re being pulled out and laid on a stretcher, the medic doing your chest compressions straddling you so they can continue while you’re being wheeled away. “They’re in good hands, now come on… We have to go back to base”, Scaramouche keeps a firm grip on his shoulder as he coaxes the grieving soldier out of the helicopter and onto the plane that brought them there. He was noticeably distant the entire way, not making any snarky remarks whenever Scaramouche prodded at him or even when Pierro was commending them for keeping a level head during the mission, even if it went sideways, all he was focused on was praying that you pulled through and was okay. He tried asking around about your status but was met with several confusing answers, some would claim that you died while others say you were brought back, it brought him to near insanity just trying to figure out who was telling the truth. He was growing impatient, waiting days before he was summoned for a meeting, silently sitting next to Scaramouche and crossing his arms, blue eyes staring at the table while he waits for Pierro to enter the room.

“Damn, who died? Thankfully not me”, his head perks up at the sound of your voice, looking up to see you walking into the room next to Pierro, your injured arm in a sling and he can feel tears fill his waterline. He shoots up to his feet, rushing to you so he could throw his arms around your form. You yelp, free hand smacking at him while telling him he’s hurting you, and he apologizes softly while loosening his grip, arms moving to wrap around your waist while he presses his face against your neck, hot tears rolling down his cheeks and getting the collar of your shirt wet. “Aw, did you miss me that much?”, you snicker, running your hands through his hair while listening to the way he sniffles and sobs quietly into your skin.

“You kept your promise”, he murmurs against you, his form beginning to tremble as he lifts his head to get a better look at you; while you still had a black eye and some scratches, he still found you to be beautiful in his eyes. Your eyes were wide at his statement before softening, holding your pinkie out for him to wrap his around while pressing your forehead against his to the best of your ability.

“Of course, I’d hate for my tongue to fall off from the cold after all”, you chuckle, hand moving to wrap around his neck while he brings you closer to press his lips against yours, completely ignoring the gagging sounds coming from Scaramouche.

“I’m never letting you go again, y/n.”

[ohmightydevviepuu]

writers month prompts

day five: heart (a continuation of day four, melody.)

(follow the complete story, try / cry / why? (just a dream) as it posts daily or on AO3)

--

“You chose her,” Cora intoned. “And the consequences of that decision.” (2B canon divergence wherein Emma and Killian deal with the consequences.)

Emma’s pushing the buttons on the phone so hard she wonders if they might break.

“Let’s try not to overreact,” Emma says, but the lockscreen won’t override and Mary Margaret won’t stop staring. “Hook says he doesn’t know where Cora is, and that seems more important right now.”

(She’s being a stubborn child and she knows it, but she doesn’t care.)

(Because, yes, okay, someone should definitely figure out the how and the why of the Cora of it all but all Emma cares about is getting his fucking voice out of her fucking head and if the town line is open for business that is kind of a big deal even without a third hospital bed she has to care about.)

(She just doesn’t need her mother to remind her of that.)

“Of course, if you say so.” But Mary Margaret doesn’t sound certain.

“I just mean---” Emma stabs a button “---that on the scale of worries---” stab “---the evil witch who makes Regina look like an amateur is more of a threat than a guy in a car?”

(Not to Hook, but. Heh.)

(The whisper of bad form in the back of her mind.)

Stab.

But Mary Margaret is watching her with those big tell-me-everything eyes and a tentative hand rubbing her arm and Emma tries not to flinch. “Emma, did she---did she do something? Did Hook mention something?”

(And she wants to tell her. She does.)

(But they want to leave.)

So Emma shrugs her off.

(Like always.)

(One step forward, two steps back.)

“We do need to find Regina,” Mary Margaret says. The hand is gone.

(The look is not.)

“She needs to know that we know she’s innocent.”

(Innocent seems like a stretch, but sure.)

“I’ve been tracking her,” Ruby says, and Emma can only wonder what that might mean. “But she’s gone underground.”

(Ruby hasn’t even finished talking when Emma can see the crypt in perfect detail.)

Stab.

“What if Cora finds her first? I don’t want to think about the damage those two could do together...”

“I don’t think that Regina’s been missing Mommie, Dearest---do you?” She glares at Mary Margaret. “And aren’t you the one who was just reminding us that Regina is innocent? Of the murder that Cora framed her for?”

David and Mary Margaret just exchange a look and David says, “What about Hook?”

(That’s when the phone shorts.)

“Hook didn’t frame anyone for murder,” Emma says, turning away from Mary Margaret’s expression, the way it goes from shocked to questioning to---knowing.

“No, but he did actually attempt murder.” David looks concerned, or maybe confused, and---right. She’s already made that point herself. But.

But.

It’s unnerving how little David can read her, or her, him; it’s stupid to miss the understanding she shares with Hook---the understanding that is the entire reason she left him on the beanstalk in the first place. Before all of this magical mind-reading bullshit.

“How is he?” Mary Margaret asks, and the mental catalog of injuries starts again.

“Broken ribs, broken leg.”

(Broken heart, but she doesn’t say that part out loud.)

(If it can be broken, perhaps that means it still works.)

But Mary Margaret wasn’t speaking to Emma.

“He’s bleeding into his chest cavity,” Dr. Whale says. Emma can smell the alcohol on his breath and see the tremor in his hands and wonders if this whole guy-who-can-cross-the-town-line problem is going to go away all on its own.

“So make it stop,” Emma says. “Aren’t you a doctor?”

(Apparently Dr. Whale did not get the memo about ‘good guys’.)

She doesn’t hear him answer because the phone lights up again to display a name---Mike Darling---which was not the name on the agreement in the rental car. Emma starts scrolling through the phone but there’s nothing except a few photos: London, New York, Boston.

Tallahassee.

Tallahassee.

Tallahassee.

(What?)

That’s when Whale lunges at Gold, interrupting his march down the hall---from Belle’s room, not Hook’s, small favors---and is met only with the pettiness of a petty tyrant’s laugh when Gold says, “Yeah, just...no.”

Even better? Mike Darling, whoever he is, apparently saw Gold “throwing some magic” to heal Belle.

So Cora is definitely gonna have to wait.

Fine.

But the best part is when the phone starts ringing, its cheerful melody completely at odds with the name that appears on the lock screen: Neal Cassidy.

(When the phone shorts that time, Emma can still feel the energy crackling in her fingertips.)

--

@spartanguard​ @optomisticgirl​ @shireness-says​ @mariakov81​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @thisonesatellite​ @katie-dub​ @justanotherwannabeclassic​ @thejollyroger-writer​

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Serana falling in love with Dragonborn!s/o

So I've been burnout lately so in attempts to get back into swings of things, here's a self indulgent request that no one asked for and I guess I write for the elder scrolls now.

From the very moment she fell out of that coffin at Dimhollow Crypt, Serana would never saw her life leading up to this point where she is now; from the treacherous journey to the Soul Cairn leading to the reunion with her mother, the beauty of the Ancestor Glade, the dangerously stupid fall down Darkfall Grotto, to getting your hands on Auriel's bow to put an end to the prophecy and the life of her father - all these things done with someone as amazing as you right by her side and she’s forever internally grateful for everything that you’ve done.

Now even with that, love is something that’s...a delicate matter for her for lots of good and valid reasons given everything vile that came with becoming a daughter of coldharbour and that she really doesn’t know all that much about the current state of the world since her thousand year slumber, so commitment isn’t something that she’s ready for a very long while. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings for you, over the course of your father-slaying journey together that’s something she is most definitely aware of with the particular moment she can recalling being aware of it these feelings swelling in her being when you were marching around, sparkling, with a slab of tree bark in your hands muttering curses to any god that came to your head as you were swarmed in Ancestor moths. It was...adorably cute and it was such an amusing sight to behold. 

After Harkon’s defeat and with Skyrim safe from the Vampire overrule threat the two of you continued to journey the land together, traveling from Hold to Hold and getting into more and more adventures and fetch quests together. Everyday didn’t have a single boring quality to it, the town of you were always going out and killing or looting something together, even with her ‘undead’ status she never felt more living. 

In the down time the two of you did have, a hobby the two of you share is storytelling (Usually when you have to make camp for the night or when you stay at inns) for both of your benefits; when it’s her turn you get to learn about what the world was like before the Septim Empire and when it’s yours Serana gets to hear tales of what it was like while she was sleeping, most notably the tale of the Oblivion Crisis which was the start of the downfall of the Empire and why it’s...how fucked it is today. 

With her Vampire powers, Serana tends to heal herself very quickly now while you as dragonborn do as well, you still get very beat up from time to time especially when it comes to having to deal with giants and their mammoth herd or when roaming large dwemer ruins and fighting off the old machinery of the ancient dwarves. So there's times where she has to deal with your injuries whether it being finishing up killing the last few foes in the room or just sitting on the floor with you waiting for you to heal back at the relatively decent but sometimes slow at times pace because you either forgot to buy enough of the necessary potions you need the last time you were in town or you chugged all of them down much earlier on dealing with a hard enemy. When this happens you either tease and joke at each other whether it be by the predicament you're in or Serana just mentions something like the one time you got so wasted with a daedric prince you proposed to a Hagraven (and breaking said Hagraven; Moira's heart) because that's something she's never going to let you down on, which leaves you with heat on your cheeks as you further repressed that whole night back out of your head. But on the bright side with her teasing it does make her giggle, which makes the embarrassment quite worth it.

Much later into your companionship together our both of your mutual romantic feelings know, and again with love/commitment being a thing Serana isn't yet ready for, you surprise her, when she turns down your confession and starts explaining herself you stop her - giving her one of the most loving gentlest smiles she's ever seen and tell her it's fine that after everything that happened she deserves time for her own personal recovery for her build up trauma and that your more than happy to support her by standing at her side as her partner in arms, dragging her in your silly dragonborn shenanigans - killing dragons, helping people in need, and maybe stealing the occasional sweet roll that whenever she feels right, you'll be waiting for her to go at the pace she needs to whenever that may be. 

Your words mean more to her more than you could possibly realize as she tackles you in an off guard hug, her face tucked in your neck/chest (depending on your height) and she mutters out a thank you, her voice barely above a whisper as everything just hits her at once. She does love you and a part of her screams at herself that she doesn't deserve someone such as amazing and caring as you but as she clings onto you something else tells her with this wonderful ache in her dead chest to never let go and lose herself in the feeling of being held by you. 

Sometime later down the road, after Alduin has been slayed, the rocky civil war settled, and the Holds at peace at last you and Serana pack up to leave Skyrim, the taste of adventure still not yet quenched and Serana still curious on what the state of the rest of Tamriel is like after a thousand years of slumber, this time hand in hand as you set off past Skyrim's border and set off for your next destination. Together at your own pace, now and forever. 

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

Tagging list

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How to be added to the tagging list + additional info

[stripper-patrick]

I like the barbies💓, but I want the Bratz😈Steve Rogers

Warnings: language, fluff, smut, dom!Steve, choking, degradation, oral (m), angst, angry!Steve, fingering, fluff, crying, slight sub!Steve

Tags: @rebellious-desires @mrsbanreswillseeyou @eclecticblkgirl

Relationship: Steve Rogers x black plus sized reader

Steve called a mandatory meeting but I’m not sure for what and I’m interested to see what he’s gonna say.

“Y/N” Scott calls and I turn around meeting him.

“Hey Scott”

“You look beautiful today” I can tell he likes me but usually I don’t pay attention because I’m so busy with work. See I work as a nurse but strictly for the avengers team. I interned for Stark and he hired me after a month seeing how good I work under pressure. Then that’s when I met Steve. They brought him to me when he was fresh out of the ice to which I took care of him as well as catching him up on the 66 years of history he had missed. He took a liking towards me and soon we started our best friendship which turned into a sexual relationship. I’d enjoy more but I don’t wanna ruin what we have so l handle this for now.

Me and Scott walk and talk together to the conference room where he opens the door for me “oh my god I’m so tired of wearing scrubs really I’d prefer to be in a big t-shirt and nothing else” I laugh. I notice I’ve caught Steve’s attention by that sentence. His blue eyes study my features of a short t-shirt dress and my silk-pressed ashy brown hair flowing gloriously on my shoulders with each step I take.

“Well I’m sure a lot of male patients would be very aroused by how good you’d look in either attire I know I would” I blush laughing and I catch a Steve’s eyes. The once ice blue orbs now turned into electric with what looks like lust and anger. Steve always was possessive but seeing as we aren’t together you’d think he’d let little things like this slide. But we’re both wrong.

Everyone piles in at once and we all sit down waiting for what Steve has to say. “For starters I’d like to thank everyone for coming to the meeting and as we know there’s a special event tonight the ultimate Christmas party Tony famously hosts every year but we don’t want it to be like the last time where we we’re attacked by robots which is something I never thought I’d said in my 99 years of life” he chuckles “let’s remember to have fun but keep the compound secure and safe as well”

“That was all you called us for?” Scott asks. He had a tendency to get under Steve’s skin often bringing up his past and on one occasion he even mentioned our extraordinary 74 year ago gap and Steve nearly put him in a full Nelson.

“It is is there a problem?” I can see Steve is boiling but I don’t know why

“No problem at all captain” he chuckles

“Good everyone’s dismissed” he calls “except for Y/N” my heart starts beating faster and I watch everyone leave. I avoid eye contact with Steve but the second I catch him (gif), I feel my wetness start to collect between my thighs. The door is shut and I stand up walking towards him. I do a half sit on the table as he strides towards me placing his hands on either sides of my hips coming about eye level to me. The smell of his mint toothpaste and Armani cologne is breathtaking.

“I don’t like how he talks to you or even looks at you”

“Who Scott? We’re just friends”

“He wants you Y/N and I’m sure he has a sense that something is going on between us so if he could he’d taste you right in front of me” Steve parts my legs stepping between them

“Nonsense Steve it’s not even like that. You’re just being over-protective and jealous. For what? I don’t know”

“Because you’re mine” his hand slides between my thighs as his calloused finger rubs my wet clit before sliding between my folds. My upper body slouches down as I push my hands behind me on the table to keep my balance. My eyes shut and I bite my lip holding back a moan.

“How can that be the case yet we’re not together?” I ask

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t mine” he says sliding a finger in. My body opens up to him. I’m feeling so many different emotions. Mad, sexually frustrated, horny, appalled. I don’t know what to do. He continues pumping slowly to torture me. My body shakes and he holds up my chin forcing me to look into his eyes. Steve curls his fingers making my body jolt. He moves his hand in a quick all-of-a-sudden pace slamming on my g-spot. My body rocks and my moans get louder. Steve covers my mouth “be a good girl for me and cum on my hand princess” my legs shake and next thing I know I’m convulsing against him trying to press my thighs together. My back arches as he pumps me dry. Once I come to my sense I watch Steve lick his fingers with a smirk.

“If you want me to officially” I stand up slowly watching him take a step back “you know what to do” I walk out going straight to my room. I take a deep breath as my wobbly legs force me to sit on the nearby chair. I’ve gotta start getting ready for this party. I bring myself together walking to the shower turning it on hot.

.....

I’m all dressed and ready for the party and I hear a bunch of people downstairs and the slow jazz music awaiting. I take one last look on the mirror at my outfit which is white mid rise bell bottoms, a double breasted blazer and a lace white bra that exposes the breast tattoo Steve likes so much. I grab my bedazzled clear heels sliding them on before heading downstairs. I stand at the top of the steps just grabbing some alone time before I merge with the crowd. A body slides next to me and I think it’s Steve until I meet eyes with someone else. Scott.

“Oh my god Y/N you look incredible” I smile thanking him keeping my eyes on the crowd “Jesus if I were Steve I wouldn’t let you walk out like that” I chuckle

“Scott I do what I want relationship or not”

“Speaking of what’s going between you and the crypt keeper” he takes a sip of his drink and I feel eyes burning into me. I look down seeing Steve staring right back at me. Sharon is staring at him like she hasn’t eaten in days and I feel my blood boil. He excuses himself and I watch him walk towards the steps.

“Nothing we’re just friends and coworkers”

“Hmm” he hums in disapproval. Steve meets us at the top with a fake smile on his face.

“Excuse me Scott I’d like to borrow Y/N for a minute” he grabs my arm whisking me away without even allowing Scott to comply.

Steve takes me to a dimly lit hallway and I yank my arm away “have you lost your damn mind” by this point I’m pissed. I get that Steve has attachment issues but that doesn’t mean he can control who I talk to let alone get mad that another guy is giving me attention when all he does is work and fuck me.

“Maybe. What the hell are you doing after I told you Scott is trying to get what’s mine”

“Steven how the fuck can I be yours and we’re not dating. And you know why we aren’t dating because you’re still strung up on Sharon who just so happened to be undressing you mentally”

“She was not” he scoffs. I squint my eyes in anger “It’s obvious Scott only wants to fuck you”

“And what the fuck do you actually get to do. Fuck me that’s it. You don’t know how bad I actually wanna be with you but the only thing we can do is fuck so don’t say shit about anyone else’s place when you’re actually participating in the act just using the same mindset” I storm away from him and walk downstairs mixing myself in the crowd.

“Y/N you look great” Pepper says “woah what’s wrong”

“Nothing I’m fine” I say. She knows me better than anyone else and she grabs my hand. She excuses herself from Tony and we head to the bathroom.

“Talk to me” a tear slips and I wipe it careful not to mess up my makeup. I explain to her what happened and she shakes her head

“Men are so stupid” she hugs me making me laugh. She helps me fix my makeup and it doesn’t look too bad. Pepper walks out with me our locked together and we go straight to the bar “4 vodka shots please”

The bartender grabs the Smirnoff bottle pouring the liquor into the small glasses setting them in front of us. She hands me 2 and I grab one glass tipping my head back letting the liquid glide down my throat leaving a fiery trail. My face scrunches up and the DJ spins the record stopping the smooth jazz.

I watch as Tony gets on the mic “I feel like we need to amp this party up some more” the crowd agrees as the DJ turns the music up putting on Meg Thee Stallion’s song Freak Nasty.

I take my second shot grabbing a lime to chase the liquor and replace the fiery taste in my mouth. My chest burns as the liquid courage smoothes down singeing my sternum.

I feel myself migrate to the dance floor rocking to the beat of the music. I bend over shaking my ass and I feel a body slide behind me. I’m not sure who it is but the guys hands slide around my waist keeping me close. “Damn baby can I take you home” before I’m able to pull whoever this is off of me Steve grabs him.

“Get your fucking hands off my girl” I watch Steve pull the guy away and he grabs my arm pulling me upstairs to his bedroom. I can tell he’s livid.

“Y/N what the fuck”

“I didn’t even know it wasn’t you” I say nonchalantly standing up “and again I don’t see why you’re mad we aren’t even-“ he cuts me off with a kiss and a hand pressed to my throat. Steve is quick to lay me on the bed still holding me in his powerful kiss. Steve pulls off my jacket moving his lips to my neck and breasts. I bite my lip holding back a moan. His hands slip into my pants undoing them and my legs fall open for him. I feel his erection against my thigh as he rubs my wet swollen clit begging for attention.

“Don’t stop” instead Steve does the opposite and stands up. I pull off my pants and soaked black thong. Steve undresses his bottom half and grabs my legs pulling me to the end of the bed. He taps his dick on my clit making me writhed before he finally pushes himself in me.

I grab his arm as he continues his assault breathing heavily near my ear. His moans are guttural and low as he nips at my ear. “Just like that please Steve” he pushed my thighs back on the bed stroking me down harder. My jaw drops and I lift my arms above my head gripping the sheets behind me.

“You look so fucking good doll” I whimper holding him close to me. The thought of Sharon taking him away from me overwhelms me and a tear slips. Or it could be from just how good he’s pounding out my pussy.

“Look at you. A beautiful fucking mess. My beautiful fucking slut” he bites my collarbone quick to put my legs on his shoulders.

“Steve please”

“What do you want? Use your words” I can’t even think. I’m not sure what I want so I let my heart do the talking

“Don’t leave me”

“I won’t baby girl. Fuck you look so pretty taking my dick like that”

“Steve” I moan. His strokes increase as he wraps his hand tighter around my throat

“Nobody is allowed between my pretty little sluts thighs but me” my release is on the brink as he keeps talking to me like this “and if they try... I’ll kill them”

“I’m cumming” my legs shake uncontrollably as my hips buck upward.

“Cum for me please” he whimpers. I muster up the strength and flip us over riding him. I grind hard on Steve as he coats my walls in his juices whimpering my name.

I keep bucking my hips watching him squirm. I slow down and collapse on his chest feeling his dick pulse inside of me.

“You’re mine” he rasps

“I’m yours” I smile

“We’re going on a date tomorrow to solidify it but for right now will you be my girlfriend?” He smiles

“Of course” I laugh as he kisses my head.

[prose-for-hire]

Right on time

Pairing: Spike x reader; Faith x reader [reader dates men & women]

Request: Not requested. I’m trying to write whatever’s coming into my head even if it isn’t my best so that I can be inspired to write something potentially better for a fic someone’s requested lolll. Requests will still be written but they may be a little slower than normal sorry 💖

Desc: Reader was in a relationship with Faith but since she was in a coma the reader turned to Spike for comfort and feelings begin to grow.

Warning: Sex references; set in hospital; mention or discussion of a kind of loss. swearing.

The walls appeared to be closing in again. The noise around you lulled every so often with a sombre silence. The hollowed eyes of loss surrounded you but had no reason to look your way. They were all stuck in their own minds. A funeral march in the making.

The occasional laughter bubbled up, from those that clutched hope so desperately their knuckles were perpetually white. It didn’t feel right in this place though, it was a surreal room that held both the impending horror and delight depending on what the doctor said next. You could nearly taste it in the air it was that strong. The mixture of such strong emotions blanketed the room in a thick tension. A kind of purgatory.

You were sitting in the adjoined café to the hospital coaxing your mug to give you some answers when you didn’t even know what questions to ask. You stared into your mug, wishing it could offer you come kind of comfort. The human touch you craved just couldn’t be replicated. Her touch. It had been so long now that you had almost given up.

Faith was in a coma. The only woman you had ever fallen in love with couldn’t open her eyes. Could barely breathe on her own. She shouldn’t be lying there. She didn’t deserve that, no matter the choices she made. She didn’t deserve to end her days this way. Or any way, in your opinion.

When you had been together, just the two of you it had been so good. You redefined the meaning of love together. You were unapologetically each other’s. You promised forever and she had been taken away from you.

She had confided in you in a way that she couldn’t with anyone else. You shared hushed whispers, swapping your pasts beneath the sheets together. You had loved her when she lived out of a motel and you had loved her just the same when she lived in her apartment that the Mayor had bought for her.

She could be so soft when she wanted to be. Holding you into her and not letting the cruel world touch either of you. You were completely embraced by her adoration and you just hope that she felt the same.

That she knew that you would rather be in her place. That you loved her just as much now as you did the first day you whispered those words to her. Your skin on hers, wrapped in a sheet as the afternoon stretched out before you. It had been such bliss.

You still visited every Friday. Held her hand and told her that you love her. Spoke to her, told her everything about your life. Everything except…

Spike. He appeared before you just as your mind turned to him. As it often did, recently. You squinted, thinking he must have followed you.

This was unlike him anymore. He would usually wait around the crypt or in the alley around the back of the Bronze for you to decide the inevitable. That you would spend the night with him. Losing yourself in his touch. Fucking him until you could almost forget her. But you never did, of course.

You both knew the arrangement, don’t get attached. Don’t stay for breakfast (or dinner, should it be that way around). It suited you both. It was for comfort, you had both found yourselves increasingly isolated. On the peripheries of the Scoobies whilst still being hauled back in to help when they remembered you both existed. Still, there was no warmth from them. None of them trusted either of you.

You turned to each other, shielding from the cold. The loneliness that seeped in no matter how you tried to protect yourselves. The reality was that you needed each other. These nights were necessary. The sex was good, you both knew you couldn’t get better anywhere else.

Admittedly though, more recently you became more and more present in those moments. Where you wouldn’t leave as soon as you finished. You had been shuffling away without a word passing between you. Not so much as a thank you, come again.

No, you now didn’t even put up the pretence of going to the Bronze first. You found your way to him as soon as you could. You found yourself increasingly enjoying his presence. Which was something you hadn’t consciously found yourself feeling since Faith got hurt. Enjoyment. Maybe even happiness. In a strange way, Spike made you feel more than you could remember feeling.

One evening, you stayed up the entire night. Talking. His mind spoke to you. A connection that was fast becoming unbreakable since. Neither of you even suggested more and you hadn’t realised this until the morning came and you woke up with his arms draped around you. It was a soft intimacy that you hadn’t found yourself expecting but now it was happening you only wanted more of it.

More of him.

You hadn’t realised but Spike had been falling even before that night. He had a taste of you. Your body and mind. He saw the ugliest parts of you, the guilt and the sadness that you tried to conceal and loved you wholly.

He wanted to comfort you. Wanted to protect you from your sadness. From the guilt you held for even having a single moment of happiness when Faith no longer could.

He couldn’t help loving you, the way you spoke even in your sadness was appealing to him. You were a strong person although it was a task for him trying to get you to reveal how you truly felt.

It started to upset him, when you were upset. He found his mood lifted and fell depending on how you felt. On how you spoke about yourself. He was in love with you. All in. He was a fool for love. Or, more, a fool for you.

He so wanted you to see what he did. How he adored you so. That you were truly a gift to the world. That you were the reason he got up in the evening. On the promise of being close to you.

You kept things bottled up, held tightly to your chest. You didn’t tell him but you felt guilty, what with Faith still breathing and being involved with Spike. The doctors had told you multiple times that it would take a miracle for her to recover. That you should move on. But it was too hard letting go.

That was how you ended up here, psyching yourself up to go and join her by her bedside. Visiting hours started in less than an hour and you were still trying to convince yourself that there was still hope.

Her face, it looked almost peaceful lying in that bed but it brought you anything but peace. You knew she would rather be where the action was. Fighting and fucking in that way that only she could marry together perfectly. You could hold her hand in yours but it was often cold to match the room. You could bend it to curl around you but it never stayed.

You just wanted her to reach for you again, clasp her hand to yours and tell you that it would be okay. That she would make it out. That she could make it out of anything. Her confidence, you had loved it. She was so sure of herself and she had the same confidence in you. she was devoted to you in every way. Had near fought the Mayor over some of the comments he had made about you.

Spike spotted you immediately where you were sat hunched over your seat in the café. He stalked straight towards you, not moving out of anyone’s way. He sat down in front of you, characteristically throwing himself down and smirking as if this had all been planned. He took the mug from you and downed the remainder of the lukewarm liquid, grimacing at your choice of beverage. He slammed the mug back down, almost cracking it before sniffing and looking back at you expectantly.

“Did you follow me? You know you really shouldn’t do that to people-” You warned. You had this conversation more than once and he had mostly learned from what you had said. Or so you hoped anyway.

“I know. I wasn’t, I swear it” He said and when you raised an eyebrow he continued, “Stocking up wasn’t I?”

He pulled one half of his duster as if trying to sell you something but it revealed several concealed pockets that held blood bags. Human blood. He had come to get lunch.

This type of thing was what you had come to expect of Spike and so you just nodded and accepted it. In fact, you had begun to warm up his blood for him in the mornings when you both woke up together. He liked that you didn’t look at him in disgust for surviving. That rather you understood. He smiled at you before patting himself down again.

He took a cigarette from his pack and started to light up, forgetting where he was. You reached and took the object from him, dropping it in your cup. The dregs put the lit end out with a disappointing sizzle.

When you had leaned in, his eyes had widened. Your proximity was something he wanted more of. Those soft, familiar gestures of comfort. They meant a lot to him. Although, it wouldn’t stop him testing just how familiar he could be back to you.

“Question is, why are you? Doc said she’s gone, pet. No point making it harder on yourself” he said slowly, knowing not to push too hard. Last time he had started to press you to talk about it more you hadn’t spoken to him for a week. 

You knew what the doctor had said. But you couldn’t stop coming. You couldn’t let her go. You couldn’t leave her behind.

“I love her” You said sadly. The words stung Spike and he lowered his gaze to the table between you. His jaw tensed and he tried to blink the water from his eyes before you saw it. Your love meant too much to him. Sometimes, you wished it wasn’t true. You wish you could move on and just forget. But she had meant everything to you, even after she had joined up with the Mayor you stuck by her. You had fallen so deeply.

The way she always held you close. Kissed you until you were breathless as soon as she saw you. That smile that could light up a room. She would have died rather than see you hurt in any way. Faith loved you, you had never doubted it.

But as soon as you thought this your mind moved to Spike. In the same way, he clung to you protectively. Gave you all of his time. Would rather give up anything so that you could have even a second of happiness.

“But… I think… I think I feel the same about you” Your sentence exploded from your mouth before you could brace yourself. You hadn’t even thought them properly before you expressed these words. But, you knew that you meant it. That you adored every part of him.

You were scared though, that he may suffer the same fate as the only other person you loved. You didn’t need to explain this though, he understood.

He had gasped. Audibly. Spike was looking at you as if you had hung the stars in the sky. He reached for you from across the table, his features crudely carved out of the fluorescent lighting. Yet he still managed to keep this soft expression on his face. The one that was only yours.

“I have loved you since the first I saw you. Couldn’t even begin to deny these feelings inside. I need you, near crave you at times. Nothing compares to you, pet. Nothing even comes close”

He took your hand in his from over the table as he began to offer his feelings to you. This love that he had harboured in secret for too long. This soft adoration that he could now allow to flow freely. He assured you that he was yours, in any way you wanted him.

His hand caressed yours in such a way that you could no longer imagine him letting go. This intimacy meant more than you could even begin to describe. He slowly rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand as he spoke so earnestly.

You could have cried. Could have thrown the table aside and urgently pressed your lips against his. Instead, you clasped your hand tighter, wove your fingers firmly between his. You needed this. You needed him.

He squeezed your hand tighter as you spoke, trying to shuffle your thoughts into some type of cohesion. You wanted to explain. Wanted to match the beautiful way he expressed his own emotions to you. But something had stopped you. Or, someone. It felt as if someone had a hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing your throat until no words could form.

Your eyesight began to blur. The corners of your vision turning to static. But there was something, a flicker that caught your attention.

Her. Standing there in someone else’s clothes. Paler than you remembered but still completely her.

“Faith you’re…”

“Right on time” She nodded, smiling at you. Although her eye was almost twitching as she looked at the way you were both intimately sprawled across the table. Leaning in towards each other closer as the other spoke.

You couldn’t help but get up, dropping Spike’s hand in your shock. Your vision completely enraptured by her. You were so excited you didn’t hear a British accent muttering ‘Bloody brilliant’ as he contemplated that his relationship with you had just completely changed. Again.

To have everything he had ever wanted from you now potentially ripped away in almost the same breath hurt. Deeply. And so he blamed Faith for it. 

You launched yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her so enthusiastically. She hissed a little and you moved but you were unable to part from her. You pressed a chaste kiss against her lips before laughing at how amazing it was to have her standing before you after all of this time.

They scowled at each other while your back was turned, hugging Faith more gently again. They knew exactly how the other felt about you. Because they themselves felt it.

You opened your mouth to say something but then it dawned on you. You remembered what you had just said to Spike. Suddenly this reunion was bittersweet. You loved her completely and couldn’t leave her side now. But life had moved on and you had found yourself a spirit that spoke to yours. You also loved him.

You looked between them both and time stopped. There was no choice here. You knew who your heart belonged to. It was split in two, in equal parts. Your heart - it was theirs.

[inkandpen22]

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (6/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: So much fluff, arguing, mild heartbreak 

Word Count: 1.8k 

Part Summary: Y/N has finally broken her silence and Spike is relieved. Then, when he suggests they find a way for Y/N to harness her powers things take a turn, leaving both of them at a loss. 

Masterlist

The black cloud that blocks my sight subsides as I slip into Spike’s memories. Then, I lose myself completely in Spike’s mind.... 

Enraged, I storm into my crypt. Slamming door behind me, I immediately begin smashing everything and anything in my reach. 

“You bitch!” I scream to the ceiling and pick up the candle stand beside before throwing it to the far wall at full force. The glass holder shatter against the concrete and fall to the floor. “Wherever you are Glory,” I growl. “I’ll find you and make you pay!” 

After Y/N left Glory’s mind and I ran to protect her, she screamed bloody murder before going mute. All I see are her traumatized eyes starring back at me. She won’t speak to anyone, look at anyone... What if I can’t fix her? What if I can’t get her back?

I pant, continuing my rampage as my rage grows. I punch the nearest pillar, making a giant gash. I look down my fist and bloody cuts consume my knuckles. Turning around, I slide down against the pillar to the floor. Tears fall from my eyes as I brings my knees close to his chest. I hang my head low, hiding my face from the world. 

“I need her back…” I plead in a whisper, thinking of Y/N. “I need her...” 

I snap back to reality, flying up from my laid position, panting for air. Spike is knelt before me, no longer touching me. He must’ve pushed me out by breaking free. He looks at me with a narrowed gaze, presumably waiting for my reaction. I didn’t mean to invade his memories. I just didn’t want him to leave me again. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” I stutter. “I didn’t mean to.” 

Spike shakes his head, assuring me it’s alright. “Will that happen every time we touch?” He asks and I notice his hands resting inches from me on the bed. 

I swallow hard, still a bit shaken from the insight. “Not if you shut me out.” 

His brows scrunch together in confusion, but when we kissed, I didn’t feel you in my head,” he describes. 

“That’s because uh... that’s because when you kiss someone you’re so zoned in on the sensation and your uh... your thoughts that you’re- in a way- isolated and internalized,” I explain what I’ve learned over the years. 

“Is there a way you can prevent it from your end?” He questions, much to my surprise. “That way we don’t have a repeat of the hospital?” 

“There is one way,” I explain with pause, unsure myself. “I’ve heard of psychics who’ve learned to manage it. Some can touch people without a problem. It’s complicated though. I tried to learning when I was with the coven, but I never mastered it. When I slip... it’s sort of like falling. I lose control and keep going deeper until something triggers me out.” 

“Do you only see memories?” He rushes out eagerly, moving to sit on the edge of my bed. “How does it work?” 

I prop myself up my elbows, shaking my head. “There are layers to it. It also depends on how open the recipient’s mind is to me. When I’m in your mind, I’m living through you basically. If I’m seeing old memories, then I relive them from your perspective. Seeing a memory is the easiest layer to reach. If you wanted me to experience a specific moment, you can project that by thinking of the memory. If I’m experiencing the world through you in the current moment, then that requires concentration of your side. You have to open your mind to me completely. It requires a lot of awareness and discipline because the mind is protective of itself, your first instinct is to kick me. When it comes to seeing your future, that’s highly complicated. I would have to navigate your mind and focus on channeling the images. For example, if I envision you ten years from now hard enough, I would see a flash of it,” I do my best to explain. 

Spike leans to rest an arm over my legs. I shift under his touch, afraid I’ll slip. 

“It’s okay!” Spike assures me, showing me how the fabric of his coat keeps our skin from touching. 

I settle back down, relieved and subtly impressed that he’s already taking precautions. 

“Is there a way you could do both?” He asks. “Be in the present moment but read what another is feeling or thinking?” He clarifies further. 

Processing the seriousness of his request, I sit up, shifting to lean against my head board. He’s speaking of extremely sophisticated self-control. I’ve only ever heard of leading psychics mastering such skills. It would require immense self-awareness and discipline. People have spent months, years even, in Asia studying the methodologies. The leader of my coven visited the temples on her way to Australia last summer. When she came back, she taught me everything she learned. I tried the practices while in New York and gave up when it became too much. Every time I failed, I entered someone’s memories and saw all sorts of things. 

“What?” He asks urgently, noticing my hesitation. “What is it?” 

“I’ve... I’ve tried it,” I confess, growing nervous as I remember the constant trials, the countless hours. 

There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes, “how did you test it?” 

“Practiced, had friends in the coven touch me and I would focus really hard on not falling in” I mutter, fiddling with the fabric of my blanket and avoiding his gaze. 

He shifts closer to me eagerly, “could we try it?” 

I know Spike is just trying to help me, to find a solution. Yet, he’s asking for too much. My friends in the coven tried the same thing! This won’t be a one time thing, I’ll fail on the first try. I experienced first-hand the frustration and obsession that forms from wanting control so badly, but failing on the way. 

“I’ll fail,” I admit, certain of it. “I’m far too weak to channel that much power.”  

“It’s okay if we don’t get it right the first time,” he encourages, reaching for my hand until he stops himself. “I don’t care how many times it takes! I want to do this with you! I want to be able to touch you, actually touch you!” 

“Spike...” I exhale deeply. 

Overwhelmed, I toss my comforter and climb out of bed. Spike moves out of the way, watching me pace the floor of my bedroom. He’s asking too much of me, of both of us! He’s offering up every aspect of his mind. Every memory, every thought, every emotion, there will be nothing left. In return, I would be accepting the possibility of seeing and experiencing events that could leave me worse off than I am now. 

“It’ll take days, months, maybe even years!” I try to reason with him. 

“I understand that,” he claims, still up for the idea. “If you’re afraid of what you may see, I’ll do everything I can to prevent the bad part from coming forward!” 

I shake my head, it’s too risky. What if I become confused between reality and memory? I mean, it happened at the hospital with Glory! Then, there’s always the risk of falling in too deep and become obsessed with consuming power. 

Spike rises from the bed and crosses the room, “it doesn’t hurt me! In fact, it does quite the opposite. When you’re in my mind it gives me a rush- if you can even call it that. It’s like weight off my shoulders,” he describes with a bright grin. 

“That’s because I absorb a part of your energy,” I explain. “Everything you’ve ever felt I take a piece of it and carry it forever.” 

“So when you saw me turn...” he frowns, beginning to piece everything together. 

I nod, “I felt it and took some of the pain from you.” 

“Bloody hell, Y/N!” He moves to reach for me, but again realizes his mistake and stops himself with a growl. Growing irritation etches across his features as he clenches his fist. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” 

I scoff, is he serious? “Why do you think I was so emotional the other night? I was dealing with over a century of emotions!” I shout in defense. 

“For God’s sake, how did you not explode or something?” He remarks, sounding both impressed and concerned. 

“Umm, nearly fucking did,” I admit darkly. 

He tilts his head back with a deep sigh in reaction to my words. 

“I certainly did after Glory!” I add with a brief snicker, making light of the situation. 

Spike doesn’t share my humor at the mention of Glory or of what happened. He snaps his head in my direction, looking into my eyes pleadingly. I don’t have the same optimism he has for this to work. 

“We could at least try, Love,” he urges in a mutter. 

“What must I say to make you understand?!” I snap uncontrollably, turning away from him. “You’re asking for the impossible! It’s like challenging gravity! It can’t be done!” 

“But it can!” He yells, “you said so yourself! There are people out of there who’ve done it! We’ll go to them and we’ll do whatever it takes!” 

“You don’t think I wish I were normal?!” I shout back. “Spike, I would give anything to be normal!” He forgets that I’ve been dealing with this my whole life. I pause, finding it hard not to cry. “To be able to touch you...” I whisper. 

The room goes quiet as the two of us reach a crossroads of our opposition, perhaps now he’ll see that I’m not saying ‘no’ for the fun of it. 

“You may not believe in yourself, but I do,” he confesses, breaking the silence. “You’re the greatest witchy-psychic I’ve ever met. If there’s anyone who can do it, it’s you.” 

“You hold too much faith in me,” I reply, utterly broken. 

“You’re the only thing I hold faith in...” he mumbles sorrowfully. 

My lips part as I fall speechless. I would’ve never predicted him to say that. 

Abruptly, Buffy storms into the room. “Spike!” she shouts, as though she was looking for him. Then, she notices me out of bed and functioning. “Y/N, you’re up!” She practically squeals and yells for everyone. 

“Yes,” I reply plainly, starring Spike in the eye. “I’m back.” 

Disappointment plagues his face, his eyes glistening with emotion. I don’t want to let him down, it’s the last thing I want to do. It’s true, I would do anything to be normal, to touch Spike and for us to be normal. However, as the universe has made, we’re not normal. I’m a ‘witchy-psychic’ and he’s a vampire, nothing about this is normal. It’s the most complicated affection I’ve ever felt toward another. Yet, I refuse to ever let it go. 

_________________________________

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream​ @hexmancia​

Masterlist

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb Ch 11 - Tell Me

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary: “Please don’t pretend.” It was little more than a hoarse croak that cracked at the end. “I can’t bear it. Let me be.”

“What do you know of pretending?”

He pinched your chin and bade you look. It wasn’t a rhetorical question; he expected an explanation, but there was no simple answer.

“I know you don’t like me. You’ve made it clear.” You sniffed and looked down, hiding behind your lashes. “I just don’t know why.”

Author’s Note: This chapter has my heart. I hope you enjoy.CN: Mentions of pregnancy, mass death, self-harm inclinations

***

Even in Hosnia, with its perpetual twinkling twilight, there was night.

Gradually, a stillness swept over the land. The stars dimmed to a faint flicker. The wandering wind settled down to rest. And the expanse of The Ren’s keep went stone silent. Not a ripple in the bath. Not a creak from the ages-old walls. Not a crackle of candlelight. 

It was a crypt. Your crypt.

And yet, you could not die in it. You remained suspended in this agonizing in between. Perhaps if you lay quietly enough, you could slip beyond his enchantment, will your heart to beat slower and slower. Perhaps if you wallowed low enough in your grief, you could trick yourself into believing you weren’t apart from your family when the bombs dropped. You’d died with them.

Perhaps if you concentrated on it enough, you could simply cease to be.

These morose notions kept you curled into yourself. After leaving him in the throne room, you’d escaped to his bed, hoping for a few hours of reprieve. You kept on your cloak, hiding your head and face in the folds of the hood. You tucked your knees to your chest and hugged them tightly, imagining it was Nona. It was the only comfort you would get here, but it was hollow. Hollow, like everything else.

Numb, you ignored him when he entered. You didn’t need to see him anymore to know he was here. He changed the atmosphere by entering, altering the barometric pressure enough that you had to pop your ears whenever he came near. When the work was put down for the night and the souls collected, he came for you.

You thought briefly that maybe he would leave you alone. You’d fulfilled your part of the agreement. As far as you could tell, you were, in fact, pregnant. You’d done your part. But you let the wish die, as everything did here. He was too arrogant to stop turning your body against you. For all of your hostility and heartbreak, your body responded to him in a way you couldn’t quash. Regardless of how hard you tried.

You didn’t bother unwinding from your ball. He would move and position you how he saw fit. Your eyes, dry and red from staring into nothing for so long, closed in preparation. You found you could endure his emptiness if you did not look at him. It made the times he bent you over to have you less bitter. You’d been grateful for the ability to bury your head and not be tempted to look.

Tonight, however, he did not pull you from your self-pity. Neither did he jerk you from your cocoon. He watched you; you could feel it, but you would not, could not, give him the satisfaction of looking over your shoulder. You were simply too wrung out to care. Whether it was pity or anger or outright meanness, he slid into the bed behind you without a word.

An inkling nagged at the back of your mind, an anger you were too deadened to acknowledge. His presence comforted you, irrespective of your ire. Knowing where he was and that he was so close made you feel safe. He was the only indomitable soul in the whole of existence, and you had quite a good reason to be protected. More so now.

Despite yourself, you fell asleep.

You awoke to a tangle of limbs and the decadent scent of belladonna. You’d nearly forgotten how good he smelled close up. Having rolled out of your nook in your slumber, you'd stretched out and were cradled in his embrace with his fingers lazily stroking the back of your head in a way that made your scalp tingle.

Alarm bells rang in your mind. This was dangerous ground, and you needed to escape. He could fast make you forget your commitment to staying away. You shifted in his hold enough for him to ease it open slightly; but when he understood you meant to flee, those wrought irons trapped you again.

“Let me go,” you said timidly.

He not only ignored you, he tipped your face up to press an almost chaste kiss to your wrinkled brow. It was too much, the very thing you feared. Your fight erupted, and you twisted to get free. You heard yourself telling him you’d done what he asked; he could leave you alone; you can’t do this.

He doused your outburst by rolling onto you, punctuating your feebleness. With one arm and one leg trapped beneath him, you gulped down fear and exasperation. He slid his leg up between yours, situating you so your cunt rubbed his broad thigh. Your cheeks burned, a complex mix of mortification and yearning. You’d finally found an empty place, a desolate oubliette in your heart where you could hide, and he was already dismantling it.

“Please.” You turned your face to one side, lips quivering. “Don’t do this.”

You knew you begged more tonight than you did when you arrived, more than you did when he fucked you the first time, but it was unstoppable. You wouldn’t come back from this. If he broke you, if he cracked you open to make room for himself, you would never again be able to contain the sadness. You would ache and cry and pine without solace.

"This," he said flatly. It was an admonition and a challenge combined into a single syllable.

“Please don’t pretend.” It was little more than a hoarse croak that cracked at the end. “I can’t bear it. Let me be.”

His thumb swept across your pulse, feather soft and lingering. His jaw ticked the way it always did when you frustrated him, but you’d weather it. It was worth the risk if you could get free.

“What do you know of pretending?”

His patronizing question stoked the resentment lurking in the dark matter of your brain, but you fought it, blowing out as steady of a breath as you could manage. He pinched your chin and bade you look. It wasn’t a rhetorical question; he expected an explanation, but there was no simple answer. You knew you made far too many assumptions about his character, but he wouldn’t tell you anything to color your vision of him otherwise.

“I know you don’t like me. You’ve made it clear.” You sniffed and looked down, hiding behind your lashes. “I just don’t know why.”

“Hm. Why.” 

He dipped his head to place another soft kiss to your neck, right above the hollow. He enjoyed finding the particular places that made you shiver. You pushed at his shoulder weakly, a last ditch effort, but he caught and drew your offending limb up over your head. His granite fingers latched around your wrist, keeping you bound to the bed, to him.

This was bad. Both hands at his mercy. One leg stuck between his. His thigh perfectly situated to welcome your body’s yielding. You felt more bare, more vulnerable, more weak.

Carefully, he pulled the string holding the hood of your cloak in place. Until he untied that bow, you’d forgotten you wore it. Dutifully, he unpeeled you, layer by layer and in a fashion far too intimate. You’d jumped through that door with only your cloak because he kept you clad in as little as possible for easy access. And plunder as you might through room after room, there were simply no other clothes that would fit you available.

That idiot decision led you directly to this moment and this torturous undoing.

You suspected the lack of attire was deliberate, but you forgot about all of that when he tugged the hood apart and pushed it further back. He caressed the length of your jaw with his knuckles, deliberately drawing out your suffering. This was calculated; he had millennia to learn manipulation, physical, mental, and otherwise.

You didn’t stand a chance.

“You ask too many questions.” 

Egregiously slow, he popped the first button on your cloak, the one below the same hollow he’d kissed. With his index finger, he drew a small circle there. Your toes and fingers curled involuntarily. You wanted to argue that you only asked questions because he wouldn’t tell you anything, but you realized he answered your accusation. It was why he didn’t like you. A boulder dropped into your belly because you didn’t want to hear it. It was enough that he didn’t; you wouldn’t recover if he told you why.

“You are stupidly reckless.”

The second button met a similar fate, a leisurely unfastening. It wasn’t only the fabric he plucked apart. It was also you, and you squirmed beneath the utter slowness of it all. You wanted him to edge you forever and to hurry the fuck up.

The last button sat over your heart, and you cursed it for being so bloody prophetic. You felt like howling. You wanted to hurt and sob, but the trail of his fingers made you forget your own name. With the third button gone, he traced the line of your sternum before dipping down to lick up a bead of sweat between your breasts.

“You distract me,” he murmured, lips crawling back up towards your pulse.

That last one cracked lightning in your head. The room tipped sideways into spinning. Your lungs turned to steel, struggling to expand. You ground your jaws together painfully, and your throat burned with acrimony. With those three words, he shredded your tender soul to ribbons. Ruined, you squirmed, all pins and needles and lust. It felt like you wept, but your cheeks were too hot to be damp.

I don’t. I don’t. I’m sorry. I don’t. I’m sorry. I can’t. Don’t.

It became your litany. You chanted it, lamenting and weary, but his hands did not waver from their task. He flipped the cloak open, bearing your flesh to the cool midnight air. His slightly calloused palm smoothed up from your calf, along the curve of your hip, and over the ripe swell of your breast. He squeezed, fingers digging in until your hiccups changed to whimpers. The noise he made right before he covered your straining nipple with his mouth coaxed your entire body into a jerk.

“Kylo,” you choked, barely able to get it out. “Please. Don’t make me.”

It was the first time you said his name, and his head shot up. His eyes bored holes into you, swirling incandescent. Fast as a feline, he shifted, settling more of his body on you and looking down. He went from halfway lying between to spreading your thighs obscenely wide with the sheer size of his frame.

You didn’t want him to see the things you couldn’t hide, but he clearly had no plans to let you loose.

“Make you.”

His truncated parroting was infuriating, but you fought valiantly to not be goaded into an argument you'd never win.

His thumb breached your lips to swipe at your tongue, and your body surged up painfully as though he electrocuted you. You’d worked hard to forget the sugary taste of him, the way his skin drugged you to an erotic high at the briefest taste. He was deadly in every way and sexier than anyone had warned you, or maybe even knew.

It was pointless to argue any further. He would win. He would always win. Hardening yourself against what you knew to be a hungry gaze, you looked up at him. For a flash of a second, he wavered at the sight of you, but he disguised it with the press of his lips into a steadfast line.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m not alone.” 

You said it with much more calm and confidence than you actually felt. Your time in his captivity, beneath him and wrapped around him, developed this new ability to distill your rambling down to its foundation. He didn’t like questions or mortal nonsense. He wanted it plain, always, and you’d learned how to do it. He didn’t like a lot of extra words; but no matter your newfound skill, you overflowed with them. The essence of your human-ness was to make connections, to find understanding and empathy.

“I have nothing. Not a home, not a family, not you.” 

You studied the way he studied you, watching him swallow what looked startlingly like a feeling. 

“I’m not like you. I’ve had to mourn my family alone, and…” You stalled, but you knew he wouldn’t let you not finish. “I have to mourn you every time you say something nice to me or do something that looks like kindness but isn’t.”

His brow cocked, a clear response to what he felt was your false presumption, but you didn’t care. You were beyond it all. You may as well say to him whatever you wanted because it couldn’t get worse than his stony countenance day after day, and the alternative to that was the peaceful forever of death. 

“I’m not asking you to like me.” Foolishly, you carried on, but your voice dropped, quieter and more afraid. The bravado you felt faded fast. “I’m asking you to not make me like you.”

The way he looked at you, slightly off stoic but decidedly demanding, boiled your blood. He reached down and hooked his fingers under your knee, drawing your leg up and around his hip. It parted your legs more for him, opening you up in a way that made you swoon. You thought you could stay out of reach of his dick; but with it so close, you practically salivated for it.

“It's far too late for that.” Following the first, he tugged your other leg into place around him. “Your body gives you away.”

You wanted to disagree, but his teeth nipped your cheek. You shuddered at the tease of his hard length sliding through your mess, seeking its target in the warm and wet that never quite abated. Your everything swelled for him. Breasts, nipples, pussy lips puffy and engorged with your rushing blood. He wasn’t wrong, but you despised him for pointing it out.

Your breath ruptured into wild panting, sharp through clenched teeth. You stared up at him, hopelessly lost to the spiraling of color in his irises. He took advantage of your deliriousness and pushed your previously pinned arm above your head with the first and held both down with one massive hand. It elongated your body and arched your torso up into him, a thing he enjoyed if the thrum in his chest was to be believed.

You imagined yourself an insect, wings stretched out and nailed to the bed; and all the while, the mad scientist above you inundated your senses. His mouth descended upon your breast once more, eliciting a strangled keening when your vocal chords caught up to the rest of you. He batted the hard nub with his tongue until you writhed pitifully, and he only switched to the other when you tried to buck him off from the over-stimulation.

Playing more and more into his hand, you hugged his sides with wobbly legs and tried to draw him in closer. Your body did truly lead the way, each movement beyond your mind’s purview. It no longer hearkened to your whims but to his. Your insides leaked out of your sex, painting both you and he with heat and want. It scented the air and mingled with his tempting poison. 

You were seconds from begging him to fuck you when the blunt head of his cock found its place. He gripped your hip and mouthed at the side of your neck as he rocked himself further into your weeping slit bit by bit. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and your fingers dug into his because it always amazed you. He was long and thick and perfect; and though he stretched you open to the point of burning, it was intoxicatingly good. Thankfully, he bottomed out right when you thought you surely couldn’t take any more.

You whined his name, which spurred him to bite at your shoulder. You convinced yourself it was to cap off the grunt you heard in the back of his throat. He masked another noise by burying his face into your nape and sucking a mark into your salty skin.

You clamped your eyes shut because these were the sounds you so desperately wanted to hear for weeks. Anything to show you did well, to show that he enjoyed you, or at least your pussy, in a way he would never say. You’d forgotten, however, that shutting your eyes so hard contracted your cunt at the same time until he withdrew without warning and rammed back in to enjoy that tightness. You yelped in surprise but angled your hips to give him a deeper channel. The moans you tamped down for so long clamored to the surface. Ablaze, you couldn’t be quiet to save your soul. You mewled and yowled with each powerful snap of his hips and the way he pillaged you for every last centimetre your cunt had to offer. 

This was unlike any time he’d had you before. He kept your limbs immobilized and your body taut. He kept his pace persistent but unhurried, which had you pleading pitifully. And he kept his mouth on you, lips grazing, tongue tasting, teeth scraping. Enticing, sinful noises were pushed into your skin as though he didn’t want you to hear them but couldn’t contain them.

And then, it happened. The thing you wanted so passionately. The thing you dreamed about.

He snuffed out your cries with a fiery kiss, blasting through the last of your willpower. 

His mouth was heaven, delicious and plump and divine. He knew exactly how he wanted to kiss you, and he led you to it expertly. He tipped your face precisely the right way and wrecked you with the spice in his spit. And when your lips trembled, agitated by sadness and relief and passion, he bit them, as though to chase those things away and replace them with himself.

Abruptly, it all came to a halt. He pushed up to his knees, lifting the lower half of your body in the doing. He didn’t pull out, not willing to surrender his occupation of your body. Nor did he relinquish his rigid grasp of your wrists, opting instead to splay his free hand across the soft swell of your belly, pushing down to trap you there. Your head swam, and you groaned because you felt more full as he pressed on your abdomen. You knew he waited for you to look at him, but you blundered, destroyed and witless.

“Do you want to die?” 

His normally razor sharp tone lilted into something you could not name. Your eyes struggled to settle on one particular feature because he was hypnotically beautiful. His eyes shone brilliantly bright; a soft pink blush blossomed across his nose and cheeks from his arousal.

Punctuating the question, his hands found the magic he laid upon you at your forearm and thigh. He rubbed through the ever-looping blood, which, somehow, made your insides shiver. It was a wicked sensation, a stroke to your very veins that pulled a carp from the depths of your being.

“Tell me.”

Your eyes stung. It was cruel of him to ask you this while buried to the hilt inside you, while he was in the middle of obliterating the walls you tried so hard to build between you. But it wasn’t a threat. As you peered up at him, charting a course from one irresistible mole to the next, you saw he asked in earnest. He offered you the escape you hopelessly sought.

Strange how you weren’t so sure you wanted it.

Your loved ones still lay unavenged. Your call for the annihilation of The Resistance still had not been answered. You fought so hard to make it here, sacrificed so much of yourself to that end. What would it say about you if you abandoned it? Weak. Childish. Unworthy.

Beyond that, you had to admit he was right. It was too late to pretend your feelings for him didn’t complicate the issue. You weren’t so stupid as to think he loved you, but you burned for his kind word. You craved his touches even when they weren’t kind. He lit a fire in you and made you feel, a feat you’d not accomplished on your own since the death of your people.

Not yet trusting yourself, you worried the inside of your lip and sought his eyes, but you weren’t prepared for the way he looked at you. He was primal desire manifested, ragged and raw need encased in the skin of a man. The first man. The only man.

But what if he died? What if he found Vader and walked off his own cliff? You’d be here, alone and lonely, with only whatever semblance of a child he produced to stop you from going mad.

How you answered would change the arc of your life irrevocably. If you said yes, this teetering on the edge of begrudging coexistence ended. You could slip into nothing and be done with all of this. If you said no, he would have his hooks in your spirit for eternity. No matter if he never loved you, you wouldn’t be able to refuse him. Ever.

“N-no.”

It was a jittery, hesitant sound, but it was true. He accepted your supplication by pulling you close so he could lift you up. He guided your fingers to his shoulders and settled back on his haunches, holding you closer than ever before. Your weight sunk you down onto his cock and you whinged from the way it nudged your sensitive cervix. You crossed your ankles and tried to inch upwards for a bit of relief.

One chiseled arm held you aloft, while the other traveled your length, winding from the nape of your neck to wrap around your generous hip. He found the spot between where your thigh ended and where your ass began and made a handle, using it to move you up and down, forward and back.

In mere moments, he had you wound up and ready to combust all over again.

“S’ansur yien,” he crooned into your neck, a murmur more profound than thunder. “Tyor ilohira.”

“Kylo? I…”

The way he growled into your neck and slammed his hips up into yours when you said his name settled your curiosity. There was no doubt he enjoyed hearing you say it, and you wondered if he’d ever heard it on another’s lips before. You clung to him as his pace quickened. Over and over he said those eloquent, alluring things into your neck, your hairline, your shoulder. Things you'd never heard before; things it seemed like he couldn't not say.

Tyor ilohira. Yie ilohira. S’ansur yien.

His presence expanded, saturating the room with a consuming euphoria that addled your mind. All while he worked you on his cock in much the same way he did that first day, using your body for his pleasure. Unlike before, he was as deep in your cunt as he could physically be without ripping you apart, and he strained at the seams to keep from doing so.

You quaked. There was nothing for it but to brace. Your pussy stung, and each subsequent shove of his dick tore at your cunt more. You bled for him, as you had so many times before, and you knew he could certainly smell it tinting the air with the slightest hint of iron. It roused him to a roughshod railing every time.

His mouth lined up with yours in a kiss that could only be called a brand. It was fierce and full of urgency, lusty and skirting frantic. His grip turned brutal, possessive; and then, it was your turn to swallow the indecent sounds he made as he flooded your battered cunt. He rode the orgasm out, pumping his hips slow and insistent until his satisfied hum abated.

You swayed, coiling your fingers in the hair at the base of his neck to not topple backwards. You were wary but content to stay here however long he might like. You traced the line of his scar down to his shoulder blade with a skimming fingertip. He was ethereal, holy, and you wanted to pray to him, to exalt all that he was and would ever be, though you didn’t know why. He hadn’t exactly earned that level of worship.

He didn’t meet your stare. Instead, his luscious lips rolled together as he pieced his indifferent veneer back together. A gasp lodged in the back of your throat because he had been affected. You saw it; here was your proof. He’d ridden that whirlwind with you, the result of which was plain as day on his face.

“Kylo?” You dared a whisper, not wanting to break the moment, but your ludicrous need to know things simply would not allow the niggling question to go unasked. “What was that you said?”

His lips lifted at the corners, an entertained huff that won you a nudge of his nose to yours. His eyes softened slightly. And you thought you might fly out of your body.

“No more talk of cliffs,” he said, blatantly dodging your question.

An almost affectionate kiss to your forehead closed the book on the topic, but you’d remember what he said forever, the secret he accidentally shared. You’d already begun plotting the rooms you’d ransack for the language texts you found while he was battling Solo.

The mesmerizing crest to which he carried you ebbed further and further away. A fatigue seeped into your muscles and bones. At his withdrawal, an altogether bleak vacancy infused you with doubt, right down to your marrow. You tried to curtail the childish grumble, but it escaped through the harsh way you chewed the inside of your cheek. 

Had you been conquered or consecrated?

What you wanted at the moment was sleep. Whereas he needed none, you still required it daily, a marker of your human fragility. The bath, and its healing ripples, could wait until tomorrow. He did not see fit to allow you this luxury, however. Instead, he scooped you and the blanket you tried to wrap about yourself up. He stepped into the hallway and turned in the opposite direction you expected. You peered over his shoulder forlornly, having decided that a bath would be preferable to whatever this would be.

He walked towards the doorway that started this insanity, dousing the embers inside that had you believing you might make it through today. You shrank more and more into yourself the nearer it drew. A blind terror took over, but you couldn’t move a single cell to save yourself.

The choice he asked you to make meant less than nothing. His decisions were the only ones that mattered here; and having debased you, having obliterated all that you were, he intended to throw you out anyway.

You dared yourself to be furious, to find indignation and hate in the cavity where your heart should be, but there was none. There wasn’t fear either, only resigned acceptance. A heavy sigh sunk your shoulders down, and you closed bleary eyes. You might not fight your fate, but you wouldn’t welcome it.

But the blast and crackle of the portal opening did not come.

To your dismay, he set you on your feet in front of the free-standing obsidian wall in his throne room. The disturbing looking glass you tried so hard to avoid these days. The temptation to lose yourself to memories of Nona was too great. Scowling, you refused to face it. When he attempted to tip your face up, you stubbornly shook your head and crossed your arms over your chest.

It was his laugh that drew you out of what you were quite aware was a fit.

You amused him, and it might have annoyed you had it not been for your outright astonishment. It wasn’t a smile so much as a smirk, and it wasn’t a full laugh so much as a chuckle, but it was a thing you had absolutely no idea how to process. You’d only seen him angry, lewd, or uncaring. You didn’t know how to process…. affable.

Disregarding the flabbergasted look on your face, he turned you about, but you were so afraid of what you would see that you stepped backwards, trying to dodge what came next. His trunk-like arm cinched about your middle, anchoring you in place as he leaned over your shoulder on the right. He shushed your uneasy chirping and placed his hand upon the cool rock.

“Kylo,” the warble in your voice betrayed your apprehension, “I don’t…”

The picture burst onto the surface, cutting off the woeful entreaty you planned. It took a full minute before you understood what you looked at — the destruction of a world. Your hands flew to a throat filled with fiberglass. Revolt roiled in your stomach and turned to chalk in your mouth.

“No!” You yelled and thrashed. “I don’t want to see this!”

The aggravated rumble in his chest didn’t dull your attempt to look anywhere but where he wanted. His fingers at your side dug in painfully, cementing you to this spot. It wasn’t that you feared for your safety. With him engulfing you like this, there was no safer place to be. The concern was that you didn’t want to see what annihilation truly meant. You wanted that to remain as nothing you could imagine, the scope of it too far beyond your insipid, idiotic mind.

He wouldn’t let you go until you obeyed, though, and you knew it. The tears that had been threatening to spill for hours broke loose, rushing over your horrified flush. The devil at your ear spoke, but it was lost to the dreadful cinema playing out before you. There was only the ringing in your ears as you watched blackness detonate and spread outwards across a lovely land that was so alive before.

If he hoped to stun you into a stupor, he succeeded.

Your thunderstruck neglect allowed him to slide the blanket from around you and toss it aside. The next time his mouth found your pulse, it was with the press of his bare body to yours. He plied the back of your neck with slow kisses until you exhaled. You didn’t remember stopping, but a burn in your ribs forced the issue.

“D’Qar,” he said quietly as the dead planet faded.

Another took its place, and your mouth went slack. You couldn’t help but place your hands there to gag yourself or to foolishly forestall what already happened. It assuaged your own guilt by little more than a fraction. The next planet met the same gruesome end.

“Yavin Hoth.”

Your brow knit, and you tilted your head to hear him better. Taking advantage, he licked a stripe from his thorny collar to behind your ear.

“Dantooine.” 

The picture shifted once more; the devastation coming quicker and with less and less mercy. Your eyes shot open, bulging out with understanding. He begat a war inside of you with this burdensome lesson because you knew those planets. You recognized them from the miserable, despondent plight that led you here.

“Takodana. Ilum.”

Resistance planets.

Your knees buckled, the weight too great to bear. It was only his sturdiness that kept you from hitting the floor. With his ghastly slideshow finished, his hands were suddenly everywhere. Around your throat, squeezing your ribs, hauling you onto your toes with fingers in your sticky pussy.

“Is this not what you asked me for?” 

His dramatic declaration did not match the reality of what he was and what he did. He took your request, your dying wish, and hideously warped it. You asked for The Resistance to be exterminated, but what he’d done was use your heartbreak as an excuse to further his own cause. He wiped out entire worlds with you as his unwitting muse.

Worst of all — You couldn’t tell him to stop.

What did that mean for you?

You dropped into him, a sack of flour against marble. Torn between two truths, you choked on an appeal, unable to get it to leave your lips. The first was that you did this. You were responsible. There was no separating from the fact it was likely you who sparked the idea for his crusade. You’d unknowingly unleashed him upon the Galaxy when you asked him to avenge you.

The second was that you didn’t regret it. With all that happened, with the icy isolation, the bruises you bore for him, and the devastating fact that you’d snuffed out billions of lives, you regretted no part of it.

Disgust clogged your mouth and fattened your tongue. Many of those people did not deserve to die. The overwhelming majority of them did not deserve that fate. But The Resistance did. In the darkest pit of your heart, you were glad. Glad those planets were gone. Glad The Resistance lost so much. Glad he’d done what was in his nature and wiped so many of them from existence.

You were so mired in the swampy feelings and cloudy thoughts you didn’t feel the slide of his lips over your shoulder. It wasn’t until he pushed you face first into the thing that you broke from your reverie. Just in time for his mouth to connect with the bottom of your spine. You shot up to your toes when he bit your ass and hauled your hips back towards him.

Before you could protest, or think of why you ought to protest, he planted his face between your thighs and directly into the center of your cunt. You barked a curse, arching and squirming under the sinful slither of his tongue. At your front, his insistent thumb found your throbbing clit and pressed in, eliciting the most abject whine you’d ever produced.

It wasn’t the first time he’d tasted your blood, nor the first time he’d enjoyed toying with the rips he made in your fragile flesh. It was simply the first time he seemed to care if you enjoyed it.

You’d been in his bed for weeks, maybe years given Hosnia’s disparate slog through space and time; and though the first few encounters were decidedly more patient and mild, he’d long since tired of waiting for you. Lately, he fucked you hard and fast, and he didn’t care for anything other than filling you as many times as necessary for his seed to take root.

But now…

Now, Kylo Ren, Death, the embodiment of all endings, was on his knees. For you. 

He laved your cunt with his saliva and sucked your plasma-tinted slick down like candy. You vibrated each time his tongue delved into you and scratched at the infernally smooth surface to keep from tangling your fingers in his hair. His nose rubbed indecent parts of you that had never received such attention. His teeth tugged the engorged meat of your labia until it popped loose with a squelch. Your cunt pulsed around his probing, and he moaned in what sounded like delight.

Like a bitch in heat, you twitched in exquisite agony.

You pressed your forehead to the wall, barely upright, blinking heavily, and hardly seeing the floor. Overwhelmed was not an apt description for the moment, but it was the only one you could latch onto.

What you could see, however, what you could make out between your legs and just past his punishing hand, was the bob of his cock, recovered and standing tall, proud, and ready. The thought of him rendering you further asunder dropped you off the edge, and you shuddered. You couldn’t muster a moan through the orgasm; it was too entrenched in your guts, too laden with emotion.

But he knew. He knew, and he claimed it all with sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss to your exhausted lower half. Cunt. Thighs. Hips. Ass. Vertebrae. You hissed when he slid two impatient fingers into your well worn core to scoop out the very last remnants of your downfall.

He did it. He won. Conquered, not consecrated.

The tangy aroma of you wafted close by when he collected you in a new embrace. He folded you into his dizzying gravity, covetous of his prize.

“Kylo?”

Your brow crinkled because a strange flutter disrupted your equilibrium. You struggled to identify it because it had been so long since you felt it. You pressed a hand to your hot forehead, to your belly, to your ear, trying to uncover the source. Was it fever? Exhaustion? Had you pushed the limits of his spellbinding too far? 

Untroubled, he hummed his response into the side of your head, no doubt expecting another of the endless questions you produced.

And then it was there. This bodily function you’d forgotten because you didn’t need it here. 

“I’m really… hungry.”

Whatsoever The Ren offers me, I shall accept. He will carry me across dark waters, guide me to the distant shore, and bear me hence to my ancestors.

And I will praise his name for all my time there.

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth - I.X: Was it Worth it in the End? Part One

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, very heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting, blood and gore, mentions of death and murder, mentions of trauma, some satanic themes, etc.

word count: 7,1k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

A/N: It’s finally here! Thank you all for your patience and support! Please enjoy! 

“—this plan is fucking insane!” 

“You said anywhere was better than the mansion!” 

“That was before I knew you were claiming sanctuary with the very people that sent Teenage Chewbacca to maul Jinyoung and I!” 

“It was Minho who turned Changbin! How many goddamn times do I have to say that to get it through your thick skull!?” 

The incessant bickering of the two voices gradually lifts Jinyoung from his slumber, reintroducing his mind to the workings of reality. He flutters his eyes open, surprised at the lack of light, and forces himself to sit up. At his sudden movement, his head roars with pain, sending a dizzy spell through his limbs. He manages to swallow the temporary vertigo and keep upright, quickly realizing his current position in the backseat of a car. 

“Jinyoung?... Oh thank god—he’s awake.” 

“It’s about fucking time.” 

“(Y/N)? Jaebeom-hyung?” Jinyoung squints, attempting to map out your and his brother’s silhouettes through the blackness. He manages to pinpoint the annoyed glare of the latter in the passenger seat, thus concluding that you are probably driving. “What happened? How did I get here?” 

“While you were taking a snooze, that fucking superwolf broke into our home and nearly ripped my throat out.” Jaebeom snorts, “Of course, not until after he impaled me with my own landscaping.” 

“I managed to stake him before he hurt Jaebeom.” You pipe in, “But we don’t think it killed him—only slowed him down long enough to let us get away.” 

Jinyoung shakes his head in both confusion and shock, immediately regretting the decision when his brain pounds like a bass drum. He allows himself a moment to pass the ache before cautiously speaking, “And… where exactly are we going?” 

“Yeah, Wonder Woman. Why don’t you tell my brother where your brilliant idea for refuge is?” 

Jinyoung can feel the intensity of your glare from the back seat. 

“I’m taking us to the wolf pack.” You murmur softly, “If anyone has a chance of talking Changbin down, it will be his own people.” 

“And as I was explaining to our dear (Y/N), the wolf pack also has a pretty large bounty over our heads.” Jinyoung hears Jaebeom release a heavy sigh before leaning back in his seat, “We’ll be attacked the moment we step foot out of this car.” 

“Would you stop being so damn paranoid?” Your frustrated demand echoes throughout the car, “Not everyone is out to kill you—”

“I’ve made a lot of enemies over the centuries, little dove… Killed a lot of people—pissed off even more.” 

“Maybe, but I know you didn’t kill Jackson Wang.” 

The car grows dead silent minus the heavy breathing of who Jinyoung assumes to be his hybrid companion. He tries to make out Jaebeom’s expression, but it’s too dark. His imagination will have to do. 

“Everyone says you did, but I know there’s more to the truth.” You say, “I may not know what exactly happened, but Jackson’s death wasn’t your fault—either of your faults.” 

“And how exactly do you know this?” 

“That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that the pack is our only viable option at the moment, and I need you to trust me on this.” 

Jaebeom sighs, “Good God—this is not happening.”

“I trust her.” Jinyoung answers without hesitation, reaching across the council to lay a hand on the hybrid’s shoulder. “We have no reason not to, hyung.” 

“And why the hell not?” To his dismay, Jaebeom shrugs away from Jinyoung’s touch. “Give me one good reason why I should trust you with my life.” 

“Because I could have let Changbin kill you… but I didn’t.” 

Jaebeom grows silent again. And although no words are said, Jinyoung knows—and knows that you know—that the conversation ended in your favor. Jaebeom may be a paranoid, narcissistic sociopath, but even he is capable of hope in the darkest of moments. 

A sudden gasp disrupts the hushed atmosphere, resonating from beside Jinyoung a mere foot away. For the first time, he notices a third body propped in the seat next to him. The figure writhes and releases a set of whimpers before growing still once again. 

“We have another issue.” Jaebeom murmurs darkly, “Changbin bit Tzuyu during our fight, and when I tried to heal her with my blood… it didn’t work.” 

Jinyoung raises an eyebrow, “What do you mean it didn’t work?” 

“Minho transformed Changbin into a weapon that would have the power to kill you and Jaebeom—the only two invincible beings in existence.” Your explanation causes Jinyoung’s heart to sink, “His venom can’t be cured by Jaebeom’s blood, so…” 

“So Tzuyu is going to die unless we find a cure.” Jaebeom finishes with a hum, “We better get to it fast cause the hallucinations are already starting.” 

“The pack will help us.” You affirm. “I know they will.” 

Jinyoung truly hopes that your confidence is well placed. Afterall, it is his, Jaebeom and Tzuyu’s lives all on the line. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do this.” Mark stresses, flipping through the grimoire with enough force to tear the pages. “This spell needs a lot of power—” 

“Can’t you do what Youngjae does and channel something? Like a celestial event?” 

Mark shakes his head. “Even that won’t be enough. I would have to channel the power unnaturally… through black magic.” 

“It’s only one spell—what harm could it do?” 

“Black magic is dark magic, Jack.” Mark directly addresses his werewolf companion, shaking his head even more feverishly. “It’s unpredictable… We could offset the balance of nature and—” 

“I don’t give a shit about the balance of nature, Mark!” Jackson cuts in, “This may be our one and only chance to get rid of the Primes—to protect our town and the ones we love… Don’t you think that’s a little more important than upsetting the magic gods?...”

“You don’t understand—magic always comes with a price.” Mark says darkly, “I can’t trust what will happen if I use black magic… For fucksake, Jackson—I could kill you.” 

Jackson places his hands on Mark’s shoulders, staring deep into the witch’s eyes. “I trust you with my life, Mark… and I know you won’t let me down.” 

Mark debates with himself, attempting to find a solution past the chaos of his thoughts. His gut tells him it's a bad idea, but Jackson, his best friend, is telling him otherwise. He’s right—it is only one spell—and like he said, Jackson trusts him… 

Mark just has to trust himself too. 

“Alright.” He finally nods, “I won’t let you down… I promise.” 

“Mark-hyung—Mark!” 

At the call of his name, Mark’s mind springs from unconsciousness. His eyes snap open, discovering multiple familiar faces staring down at him. He releases a pained groan, just now recognizing the ache running through his entire body, before murmuring softly: 

“What… happened?”

“How much do you remember?” 

Mark attempts to pilfer through his memories, recalling his argument with Minho that resulted in the theft of his magic and the moments thereafter where said witch transformed Changbin into a super werewolf. He closes his eyes shut and leans back with a huff. 

“How long have I been out?” 

Youngjae hums, “At least a couple hours. Minho locked us in the old crypt after you passed out, so we really don’t have any sense of time.” 

“Sounds fucking fantastic.” With a deep moan, Mark forces himself into a sitting position. His spine wails at the movement, but he pays it no mind and instead stretches his arms over his head in an attempt to work out the knots in his bones. He also takes the time to survey his surroundings, discovering, just as Youngjae said, to be inside the dingy, crumbling underground cavern beneath the mausoleum. He can’t remember the last time he’s been down here—how ironic. 

“I’m guessing Changbin made a beeline for the Project Estate?”

“Didn’t even hesitate.” Youngjae answers, “You don’t think he got them… do you?” 

“I honestly could care less about the Primes right now.” With Youngjae’s help, Mark manages to push himself to his feet before finding purchase against a stone pillar. He takes a second to catch his breath, then continues, “There’s an exit down here that leads into a bunch of old tunnels underneath the graveyard. If we can find it, there’s a chance we might—” 

“I wouldn’t think about it, hyung.” Mark’s suggestion dies on his tongue as his favorite witch emerges from a dark corner. Beside him, Youngjae releases a surprised gasp while seeming to shrink in on himself. Mark, on the other hand, doesn’t budge. 

“Enjoying this villain complex a little too much, don’t you think?” 

“You don’t seem very happy with me, Mark-hyung…” Minho smirks.

“Okay—you’ve had your damn fun.” Mark sneers, “Let us all go before I really start to get pissed.” 

“Like you can do anything about it anyway, without any magic and all—” The witch wiggles his finger in which the ancient ring still rests. “—and don’t worry. Once the blood moon fully passes, you’re all free to leave.” 

“You’re a real fucking psycho, you know that? You really think Changbin is gonna manage to kill both Jaebeom and Jinyoung by himself?” 

“I could care less if he does.”

Mark’s eyes narrow, “Why are you keeping us down here? What else could you possibly want?” 

“Well, I want to make you suffer as much as possible… but that was already kind of obvious, don’t you think?” 

“I’m serious, Minho!” Mark’s hiss echoes between the stone walls of the crypt, bouncing back in his ears like a record on repeat. “Why go to all this trouble to kill the Primes? To mess with me? Are you really that desperate for revenge? That you’d hurt your own people trying to get it?” 

Minho shakes his head with a growl, “You all made it very clear that I was never a part of this coven.” 

“That is such bullshit!” Mark peers over his shoulder to find Lia emerging from another part of the cavern, followed closely by a quivering, wild-eyed Jisung. “You just never got over the fact that we chose Mark as coven leader—not you!” 

“At least I could have kept Nayeon alive!” 

“Nayeon’s death wasn’t Mark’s fault! It wasn’t any of our faults!” Lia screams, “Why are you so strung up about this anyway!?”

“Because I loved her!” The atmosphere grows strangely tense at the young witch’s confession, effectively forming the beginnings of a large lump in Mark’s throat. That mass only grows as Minho continues on, “She was the only one who understood me! She believed in me when no one else would!” 

Through the corner of his eye, Mark can see the same shock and pain spreading along Youngjae’s features as his own, as well as Jisung’s. 

Lia’s expression, however, does not change. “I think you forget that all of us loved Nayeon—all of us are still grieving. It’s not just you.” 

“You don’t understand—” 

“Then make us understand for crying out loud!” Lia exclaims while throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “You go on about all this bullshit that we never try to include you, when it’s you who never tries—it’s you who always pushes us away!

“We’re supposed to be a team—a family… We are all that’s left of this coven, and look at us now.” 

Minho remains silent. 

A single tear cascades down Lia’s cheek as she shakes her head. “Nayeon-unnie would be so disappointed… in all of us.” 

At her words, Mark feels his heart practically sink into his stomach. He notices the blank expression etched across Minho’s face, wondering what could possibly be going through the young witch’s mind. For a moment, he has hope that Lia’s speech actually knocked some sense into him—that he’ll actually make amends and set them free. 

But alas… he speaks too soon. 

“Apné sà mene…” Mark immediately recognizes the incantation for a boundary spell, attempting to hurry toward the doorway in which Minho retreated towards. His chest smacks into an invisible barrier, sending his body sprawling back to the crypt floor. Both Youngjae and Lia rush to his side to help him back to his feet—a new pain lingering in his side. 

He glares at the retreating witch with all his might. 

“You’re gonna regret this.” 

“Not as much as I regret ever looking up to you.” Minho waves his hand one final time, making sure to flash his ring, before disappearing up the staircase that leads out of the crypt. With a bitter taste in his mouth, Mark watches as he goes, continuing to do so until he hears the familiar sound of a closing door. 

He turns to the trio. “Any chance one of you can break the boundary spell?” 

“I might be able to siphon enough power from Lia and Jisung to take it down—” Youngjae shakes his head, “—but it will only be temporary. Maybe ten seconds or less?” 

“That’s better than nothing.” Mark nods, “When Youngjae breaks it open, you guys will go through the passageways and head to the Wang Cabin to warn the wolf pack—” 

“No.” Lia interrupts his explanation, “Minho will be able to sense our magical energy the minute we step foot out of the boundary. You, however, do not have any magic at the moment.” 

“You need to warn the pack, hyung.” Youngjae agrees with a nod, “You’re the only one that can get out undetected.” 

Mark feverishly shakes his head, “There’s no fucking way I’m leaving you three here. It’s not happening—”

“Don’t worry about us.” Lia says, “I have a plan to stop both Minho and Changbin.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Minho bound Changbin’s power to his own in order to complete the transformation.” She explains, pointing up toward the ceiling. “Once the blood moon is over, Minho will no longer have the power to uphold the spell, so Changbin will no longer be able to remain in his enhanced form, which means…” 

“Which means we have to stop the spell before the night ends.” Mark breathes, “Okay… How do we do that?” 

“Youngjae can siphon Minho’s magic which should give us enough power to counteract the spell completely… that is, if we can get close enough.” 

“Once Mark-hyung warns the pack, we’ll have more than enough backup to take him down.” Youngjae adds, “We need to do this now, before he comes back.” 

Mark shakes his head again, “I don’t know about this—”

“We can do this. Trust us, Mark.” 

Lia’s determined gaze strikes a chord deep within Mark’s chest. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so serious and resolute… 

He’s never seen her look so much like a leader. 

“Fine.” He reluctantly agrees, “Let’s do it.”  

“Lia? Jisung?” At Youngjae’s call, both of the younger witches offer their hands for the siphoner to take. His own hands glow as he begins the counter incantation, gesturing for Mark to make his move with a nod of his head. Mark does as requested, carefully sliding past a crack in a nearby pillar to enter the secret passageway. 

He spares one final glance at his coven mates, admiring the fierce passion along each of their features, before turning into the tunnel and becoming one with the shadows of the night.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Sometimes you forget life even existed before your time in Moon Dye Bay. Maybe it’s a result of your newfound interest in supernatural existence, or possibly due to the close relationships you’ve made throughout your stay. In the entirety of your time of living, you’ve never once called anywhere home, and while you still refuse to commit yourself to such a description, you can’t deny that this strange, little town has come pretty damn close. 

Before you moved to Moon Dye, you lived in Chicago for about a year while finishing up your graduate work. Not quite in the city, but in a borderline rundown suburbia on the outskirts. There, you rented a decent condo for dirt cheap and found a well-paying, easy office job right down the street. It was every college student's greatest dream—until it wasn’t. 

To this day, your mind still doesn’t recall the event as vividly as it should. Probably in an effort to ease the underlying trauma and fear. Even so, you don’t like to think back on it too much… Who would—when you’re the only survivor in a massacre of dozens of innocent people? 

But even so, if it weren’t for that day, you would never have ended up in Moon Dye Bay… nor learned that fairy tale creatures aren’t quite fictional afterall. 

You push the thought away to focus on pulling into the nonexistent driveway. The passenger beside you releases a rather loud groan as the car rocks back and forth, but you choose not to comment on his obvious distaste of your driving. You’re too exhausted… and frankly, you just don’t care at this point. 

“You guys stay in the car.” You say while killing the engine and shrugging off your seatbelt, “I should talk to them first just in case, so try not to get yourselves in any more trouble while I’m gone.” 

Jaebeom clicks his tongue, “Says the one who can’t seem to go one day without being attacked.” 

“Hyung—” Jinyoung goes to scold his brother, but your voice beats him to it. 

“Last I checked, it was your girlfriend, your proxy vampire minion, and, surprise, surprise, you who have all tried to turn me into a human blood bag.” You exit the car before throwing one final glare at the hybrid, “Keep treating me like some sort of liability, and the next time someone tries to kill your pompous ass, I won’t be so kind as to save your fucking life.” 

With that, you shove the vehicle door shut with a little more force than necessary and storm toward the cabin, attempting to push the annoyance from mind. You wouldn’t usually waste your breath on something like Jaebeom’s pettiness, but with the combination of the stress of the current situation and fear for everyone’s lives at stakes, you really don’t want to deal with the hybrid’s need to make you feel like the dumbest person on the planet. 

You eventually reach the front door, lifting a hand to knock at the wooden surface. The ominous silence of the nighttime tugs at your nerves as you wait—hopefully one of the wolves is actually up at this hour… maybe you should have called beforehand? 

As each minute passes, your patience grows thinner and thinner. Even after another series of rather obnoxious knocks, no one opens the door. You debate returning to the car and discussing a Plan B with your undead squad, but decide to check the backyard first. Maybe the pack is having some sort of late night bonfire…? 

You carefully navigate your way around the cabin, using the light of your cellphone as a guide through the darkness. Minus catching your toe on a loose board in the decking, you manage to make it to the back of the cabin unscathed. However, the sight that you find is definitely far from that of the bonfire: 

From what little you can see, the yard is completely trashed. Picnic tables lay in splintered halves while other pieces of furniture are either smashed to smithereens or tossed to the side. Even Dahyun’s clothesline is no longer standing, and is instead strewn carelessly across the grass along with its collection of unfolded laundry. A particular sweatshirt catches your attention, appearing somewhat dirty in the minimal light. Once you’re close enough, you take the garment in your own two hands to better identify the mysterious stains… and you almost wish you hadn’t seen it in the first place when the realization settles in your head: 

A large splotch of fresh blood is decorated across the fabric like an unfinished painting.  

“Shit…” You curse, searching the area for any other possible clues of the pack’s whereabouts. Near the edge of the pond, you discover what seems to be an array of footprints in the mud, leading into the black of the quiet forest. There are multiple sets, you find, and you hope they all belong to the werewolves in question… 

You know you should return to the car and report your findings to Jaebeom and Jinyoung, but something in your gut tells you that someone is in trouble. 

Before you can dwell on the cons, you push forward into the woods, following the muddy footprints as best as you possibly can. Between pushing away mischievous branches and stepping over lazy logs, you’re almost reminded of the path you traversed before you met with Mina… You can only hope the events that follow this time aren’t as horrific. 

“Yugyeom!...” You call softly, trying not to mistake each tree trunk as the silhouette of a person. “Bang Chan!... Anyone out here!?...” 

The screech of the nightly breeze is your response. You eventually lose the footprint trail, unable to base your path off of anything but intuition. Your desire to turn back is strong, but you’ve come this far… and you doubt you’ll even be able to find your way back to the cabin at this point. 

Your body tenses as a high-pitched wail enters your ears—a wail that sounds oddly similar to that of a human. Against the siren in your head screaming red flags, you head in the direction in which the noise came from. The silence pesters you as you go, practically electrifying your nerves from the inside out. 

Out of nowhere, your foot catches some kind of large branch or rock, sending your body sprawling toward the earth with a loud gasp. You manage to break your fall with your arms, ignoring the gentle ache in your wrists, and scramble to grab the phone you dropped on the way down. Your anxiety is practically through the roof by the time the device is back in your grasp, but you muster up the courage and move to continue your search. However, the reveal of something that looks oddly like a human limb freezes your muscles. 

It wasn’t a branch you tripped over… it was a leg. 

“(Y/N)...” 

It takes you a moment to identify the voice between the shock and fear, but all at once, your uneasiness shifts to concern. 

“D… Dahyun!?” 

After moving your light for a better view, you discover the female wolf slumped against a tree and covered head to toe in what seems to be a combination of blood and sticky mud. Her clothes are practically stained crimson, which you quickly realize is the result of the large jagged rock protruding from her abdomen. 

“Holy shit… What happened to you?” You drop to her level to better assess her condition. There are more wounds embedded across her arms and chest—wounds that resemble claw marks…  

“It was Changbin…” Your heart practically plummets to your stomach at her revelation. Dahyun pauses to cough—a couple projectiles of blood spewing from her lips—before continuing, “He attacked the pack… but he—he was different… Super strong and super fast and—and… It’s almost like he was—”

“Upgraded.” You finish, “Minho transformed Changbin into a weapon to kill Jaebeom and Jinyoung—the same spell Mark tried to use on Jackson.” 

“It was more than that, (Y/N)...” She shakes her head, “Changbin wasn’t… wasn’t like himself…” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He was a monster…” You allow the wolf to grab your hand, ignoring the sticky feel of her blood against your skin. “I don’t—I don’t even know if anyone else is still alive… I don’t—I mean, I can’t—” 

“Shhh.” You hum gently, reaching up to push away the hair melded to her sweaty forehead. Dahyun somewhat calms at your touch, but just from the wild expression along her features, you can tell the poor girl is scared out of her fucking mind. 

“We’ll deal with that later, but right now, I need to get you out of here—”

You don’t have the chance to finish your sentence before she’s practically lurching away from you. 

“No! You’re the one who needs to leave!” 

“Dahyun—”

“He will kill you, (Y/N)!” She hiccups, “You need to run before he finds you!”

“I’m not just going to leave you here to bleed out—”

“She’s right.” You whirl around at the new voice, and to your surprise, discover a disheveled Yugyeom emerging from the darkness. Similar to the female wolf, gaping claw-marks decorate his face, chest and lower abdomen. His arm also seems to be broken and his knee badly dislocated—you can almost see the bone peeking out of his skin. 

You hurry to catch the wolf before he collapses, carefully lowering him to lean against the same tree Dahyun is propped against. A pained wheeze passes his lips, but his expression remains as stoic and as determined as ever. 

“If you care about your life, then you’ll run.” 

“And if I care about yours and Dahyun’s lives?” 

“We’re already as good as dead.” 

“No—” You shake your head feverishly, “—I refuse to let you throw yourself to the big bad wolf like some fucking martyr, so you either start moving or I’ll drag you by the skin of your teeth.” 

Yugyeom’s expression softens. “You sound like Jackson-hyung…”

If it were any other situation, you would have allowed yourself the time to respond to the newcomer’s comparison… but you’d rather not stay and risk the chance of encountering any more surprises. 

“C’mon.” You carefully throw Dahyun’s arm over your shoulder, mindful not to push the rock deeper into her abdomen. Once you’re sure she won’t buckle back to the forest floor, you offer your free hand to the third party. “None of us are dying tonight.” 

A familiar, malicious chuckle has your limbs growing numb.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Like a creature of the night, a smirking Changbin saunters into view. His clothes are torn and tarnished with blood, yet there’s no trace of injury along his skin. With the little light you have, you can just barely make out the black veins decorating underneath his eyes—the magic is already starting to consume him. 

“Listen to me…” You murmur cautiously, maneuvering your body so Dahyun is safe behind and out of reach. “You’re under the effects of dark magic, okay? You’re not yourself—” 

“I’ve never felt more like myself than I have now.” Your eyes dart around the area as Changbin leers closer and closer, attempting to find something sharp or heavy enough to knock him out. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be any tea mugs or large branches in sight—

“I don’t want to hurt you, Changbin…”

“Really? Cause I sure want to hurt you…” He smiles devishly,  “In fact, I’m just dying to rip out your fucking throat after that bullshit stunt you pulled back at the manor—” 

“Leave her out of this, Bin.” Yugyeom hisses, clutching his chest while keeping himself supported against the tree. “If you have a problem, then take it out on me… Not her.” 

“Oh, don’t worry… I’ll get to you next, hyung.” Changbin suddenly approaches, providing you no preparation as he snatches your wrist and pulls. With the little strength she has left, Dahyun attempts to defend you, landing a couple heavy hits against the attacker’s head. However, it only takes a good shove to send her flying to the ground—leaving you helpless in the arms of the beast. 

You try to throw your own punches, but Changbin is both stronger and faster by miles. In the blink of an eye, he has your figure pinned to the ground with a calloused hand around your throat. Your lungs immediately go into a frenzy as the superwolf cuts off your oxygen supply. You claw at his fingers, breaking skin and fighting for breath, but his grip remains as firm as steel.

“…Think of…” You choke—your eyes beginning to roll to the back of your head.  “…J-Jack…son…” 

“What the fuck did you say—!?” 

A loud bang erupts through the area, drowning out Changbin’s demand. Through the dark spots of your vision, you notice a gaping hole in the center of his throat. Another bang sounds, and this time, his head is blown to shreds of brain matter and skull. His grip immediately loosens, permitting your intake of oxygen once more. You quickly scramble away from the now unmoving corpse, gasping for air and clutching your swollen neck. 

You’re almost glad it’s dark, so you can’t see the extent to which Changbin’s head had been mutilated. 

Your ears are still vibrating when someone takes your shoulders.

“Jinyoung…?” 

“Are you hurt?”

“No—no… I’m fine.” You allow the vampire to help you back to your feet. “Is… he?” 

“For now.” Jinyoung hums, leading you into a nearby circle of light. To your surprise, you discover Mark carrying Dahyun with one arm and supporting Yugyeom with the other—a large shotgun splayed along his back. “Mark is a remarkable shot… I don’t think you wish to see, but Changbin won’t be bothering us for at least a couple hours.” 

You release a sigh of relief. “Great… But now what?” 

“Yugyeom says the rest of the pack is holed up in a secret bunker deeper into the forest.” Mark speaks for the first time, “We should head there… We all need to talk.” 

“There’s no time like the present.” Jaebeom pipes up, emerging from the shadows with an unconscious Tzuyu in his arms. “I don’t know about you guys, but I really don’t want to be here when this guy wakes up…”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jackson is floating, aimlessly traveling through a white fog in which reality doesn’t quite reach. The Other Side is funny like that—Jackson doesn’t exist in the eyes of nature, therefore, when he’s not visiting the land of the living, he’s merely suspended in a state of nonexistence with nothing but the company of his own thoughts. He’ll spot the spirit of a fellow supernatural every so often, but even then… he’s completely alone. 

Until he found you. 

A wave of fondness spreads through Jackson’s veins—as if he had drunk a comforting cup of hot tea. In all the time he’s spent in the neverending nothingness, he never once thought he’d be able to feel again… but like a firework in the black of night, you sparked every bit of hope and passion and liveliness lingering within his mortal spirit. Maybe it was your determination that reminded him of his past self, or maybe it was your eyes—so bright with the stars of mortality—that made Jackson want to live again, to experience the warmth of your smile and the chill of your gaze in the depths of a true beating heart. 

Something about you just makes him feel so… human. 

Jackson snickers to himself before peering over his shoulder, having previously noticed some kind of blurred silhouette in the distance. It’s too far to tell, but he can just barely make out the approaching shape of another spirit—likely a newly deceased supernatural. He prepares to retire back to his thoughts, but is, however, interrupted when an ice-cold feeling overtakes the entirety of his being. Jackson freezes, both from the cold and his realization: 

The witches know about his plan… and they’re not happy about it. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ �� ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“—so once Youngjae siphons Minho’s power, he’ll be able to reverse the spell and turn Changbin back to normal.” Jaebeom keeps his focus on the witch as he relays his explanation to the many other audience members scattered around the bunker. He never thought the day would come where he would actually be working in tandem with Mark Tuan, the motherfucking magician himself, but here he is—

“What if Youngjae can’t perform the spell in time?” The pack’s beta, Yugyeom speaks up from his seat at a small, cardboard table stationed in the tiny kitchenette. He stretches his newly healed knee out in front of him before sparing Mark an inquisitive glance, “What happens then?” 

“Minho’s power is the only anchor keeping Changbin alive, most of which he's drawing from the eclipse. Once that power runs out, then Changbin’s form will give out, which means—” 

“He’ll die.” Dahyun finishes, pacing from one end of the underground shelter to the other. If it weren’t for the blood stains on her clothing and the large bandage encompassing her exposed abdomen, it would be impossible to tell she had been stabbed only minutes ago.

Being a werewolf certainly does pay off. 

Mark nods, “Yes.”  

“How long do we have then? Roughly?”

“‘Til the moon goes down, so about an hour and a half. Two hours at the most.”

“Shit.” She curses, “We’re so fucking screwed.”

“Let’s not jump to the worst of all evils so quickly.” Jaebeom fights the urge to roll his eyes as his brother, always the hero, appears from the next room before assuming his perch beside your sitting figure. He hands you an ice pack while still speaking to Mark, “You’re certain Youngjae will have enough strength to disarm the witch?” 

“Not really, but it’s the only option at this point.” 

“While this pathetic excuse of a plan is super great and all, there’s still a pretty big fucking elephant in the room.” Ignoring the harsh glare the witch sends his way, Jaebeom continues, “There’s a cure for werewolf wonder’s bite, right? Some sort of witchy antidote or spell—?”

“As sorry as I am for your vampire girlfriend, I never thought of a cure when I designed the spell.” Mark’s eyes flash with something akin to resentment, spilling amusement through Jaebeom’s veins like a toxin. “When I want something—someone dead, I want them to stay dead.” 

Jaebeom snorts. “Still the same punk ass kid you’ve always been, Tuan… It’s nice to see that nothing’s changed.” 

“You’re a fucking prick—” 

“Mark-hyung. Don’t.” Yugyeom places a calming hand on Mark’s shoulder, stopping him from storming over to where Jaebeom is currently smirking like a fool. The wolf glances at the latter before shaking his head, “We have bigger things than petty rivalries to worry about.”

To Jaebeom’s disappointment, Mark agrees with a sigh. 

“Right… It’s just been a real shitty night.” 

“For all of us, it’s safe to say.” Jaebeom doesn’t miss the warning look his brother sends his way, shaking his head scoldingly before turning to the witch-werewolf pair. “Could Changbin’s blood possibly reverse the venom’s effects? Similar to Jaebeom?” 

Mark shakes his head, “Changbin isn’t a hybrid like your asshole of a brother. His blood has no healing properties whatsoever—”

“But there has to be something.” Your voice immediately cuts the former off, allowing Jaebeom some time to suppress the urge to fly across the room and tear the witch’s tongue from his mouth. “Youngjae once told me that magic always has a loophole, so a cure has to exist—we just have to figure out what it is.” 

“I admire your positivity, little dove, but we don’t exactly have the time for trial and error.” Jaebeom peers over his shoulder at a sleeping Tzuyu—who is still showing no signs of possible consciousness or life in general. Her skin is flushed and sweaty with fever, but he can sense how her limbs tremble beneath the poison coursing through her veins. His chest tightens for a moment, only until he returns his focus back onto the conversation at hand: 

“Minho might have an idea, but it’s a long shot.” Mark exhales, “Once we take him down, there’s no guarantee he’d tell us—if there is a cure, that is—and with the combined effects of your and Changbin’s venom, I have no clue how long your girlfriend has until—” 

A sudden clatter has everyone leaping from their seats. Yugyeom flies to the bunker door in mere seconds while Mark snatches his shotgun from the kitchen counter behind him. Through the corner of his eye, Jaebeom notices Jinyoung usher you behind his form before pressing a small pocket knife between your fingers. The blossoming of the black bruises along your throat sparks rancor through the hybrid’s veins, and he readies himself into his own fighting stance. 

“Yugyeom!?... Are you in there!?” 

Yugyeom’s hostile expression transitions into one of relief—the tension melting from his body like snow. Although the voice is apparently familiar to the rest, Jaebeom remains tense as the beta goes about unlocking the bunker door. He almost expects a cackling Changbin to come bursting through the trapdoor, but is pleasantly surprised when a new figure comes into view—another limp body thrown precariously over his shoulder. 

“Oh my god! Chan—Felix!” Dahyun immediately rushes toward the pair. Her gaze practically alive with fear. “Holy shit—is he alive!?”

The newcomer, who Jaebeom assumes to be Chan, sets down the teenager, presumably Felix, on one of the bunk beds with the help of Yugyeom and Mark. He catches Jinyoung helping a third figure, a teenage girl who can’t be over eighteen, into the bunker as well. Judging by her glassy irises and quivering lips, she seems as if she is going to burst into tears at the drop of a thimble. The group’s collective ragged appearance, Jaebeom knows, signifies the aftermath of one hell of a fight. 

“What the hell happened out there, Chan!?” Yugyeom’s demand awakens the hybrid from his trance, forcing him to return his focus to the newcomer. 

“H-He found us…” Chan murmurs darkly, “I… I tried to protect them… but he was too strong…” 

“How is that possible?” Jaebeom frowns. “Sabrina the Witch over here blew his fucking head off—” 

“They had to have been attacked before then.” Jinyoung places a calming hand on his shoulder, which he is quick to shake off. 

The strange werewolf nods in agreement, “We took our time to get here—didn’t want to risk running into him again…” 

“Wait…” The room grows hushed at Dahyun’s exclamation. When Jaebeom turns toward the female wolf, his annoyance falters at the panicked expression etched along her pretty features. “Where the hell is Chaeyoung…?” 

Chan remains silent and still, like a boy fresh out of war, but Jaebeom has witnessed enough in his many lifetimes to see the answer written all along his face. 

Yugyeom stands. His expression grim, almost sorrowful, as if he already knows too. 

“Bang Chan… Where is Chaeyoung?” 

“…she’s dead…” His whisper is barely audible, yet the hybrid can see how deeply those two words wound the crowd around him. “…bled out… there was nothing I could do…”   

“Fuck…” Dahyun shivers before burying her face into her palms and letting out an even louder curse, “Fuck!...”

“I’m so sorry…” 

Your soft voice carries over the female wolf’s sobs. Fascinated, Jaebeom watches as you maneuver your way across the bunker to kneel in front of a now sitting Bang Chan. You take his trembling hands between your own and peer up at the wolf with the most sympathetic gaze he has ever seen—his own heart can’t help but lurch at the sight. 

“I hate to add to the list, but we have another issue—” Mark groans, pulling his hand away from the incapacitated teenager’s neck to press it against his own perspirating forehead. “—Felix was bitten…” 

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” 

“Dahyun—please.” Yugyeom sighs, “I just—shit.” 

“We need to find that cure. Now.” Jinyoung steps forward, turning to speak directly to Mark. “I will go to the graveyard to assist your coven. With my help, it should be fairly simple to disarm the rogue.” 

“Don’t underestimate him. You’re still gonna have to put up a damn good fight.” 

“I can well manage on my own.” 

Jaebeom shakes his head with a sneer, “I seriously doubt that, considering you got yourself poisoned the last time you played goddamn Superman.” 

As much as Jinyoung puts up the invincible front, Jaebeom has known his brother for a long, long time—and also knows that the previous encounter with the superwolf left him much weaker than before. He can see it in the trembling of his hands and the pained lines etched along his forehead. He’ll get himself killed long before he reaches the graveyard. 

“Jaebeom should go too.” You rise from your kneeling position to join the group. “Two pairs of hands are better than one. You can protect each other.” 

“Absolutely not.” Jinyoung disagrees, “Jaebeom needs to remain here in case Changbin resurrects again.” 

“We don’t have the time to worry about that. The witches will need all the help they can get.” 

Jaebeom scoffs, “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but (Y/N) is right. We don’t know what we’re up against—better for us both to be there than just the one.”

Jinyoung stares at Jaebeom for a brief moment, as if searching his face for some hidden secret, before inhaling a deep, yet silent breath and finally nodding, “Fine. But if Changbin attacks—”

“We’ll handle it.” Yugyeom nods, “Thank you… for doing this.” 

“We all have something to lose.” Jaebeom doesn’t miss the glance Jinyoung sends in your direction before making his way over to the bunker exit. “I just wish to make sure that no one else dies.” The last bout of final farewells are shared along with the reminder for everyone to remain on their best guard. In an attempt to follow his brother, Jaebeom moves to climb the ladder, but is stopped by the call of his name: 

“Jaebeom, wait!...” He pauses—his interest piquing as you rush toward his temporary perch. Your gaze is shy, he notices, but still contains the fire of a thousand burning suns. “Just… be careful out there, okay?” 

His response is indifferent. “Not to worry, little dove. I’ll make sure Jinyoung returns to you in one piece.” 

“Promise me you both will return in one piece, please…” 

Jaebeom’s annoyance immediately dissipates at the stressed enunciation of your words. His cold expression melts into a mixture of surprise and astonishment, mirroring the conflict brewing throughout his chest. He clears his throat, attempting to expel the emotions creeping up his back, before nodding: 

“Y-Yeah, sure.” He gulps, “Can you… take care of Tzuyu? While I’m gone?” 

Your gaze softens. “Of course. Just please stay alive.” 

Jaebeom doesn’t respond, untrusting that his words will make sense if said aloud. After providing you a silent farewell, he climbs the rest of the way out of the bunker where Jinyoung is waiting. His brother offers a pointed glance when he completely exits the safety of the bunker.  

“I trust you’re ready for this, hyung?” 

“Let’s get this shit over with.” Jaebeom rolls his eyes, “I’m getting real tired of running from Teenage Chewbacca.” 

[laketaj24]

Thank you! And sorry for bothering you with this! A imagine with geralt x reader (cough! Me cough!) Where he and I had been close for years, even having a one night stand before, but nothing ever came of it because geralt and I thought we each had no feelings for each other ( but secretly we did. and years down the line we're fighting about my safety and his safety and he admits he loves me? And smut. Thank you so much, beautiful!. And if you dont want to, you dont have to! ❤ ilysm!

Small Admissions

Author’s Note: Working through some of the ones I’ve had in my computer and hadn’t finished yet! Thank you for the request!! I wrote a drabble for it!! I hope you enjoy love and I hope all is well!! Happy Reading.

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Warnings: It’s Geralt, so language lol.

Geralt knew that the chances of you actually doing what he asked were slim to none. It’s why he didn’t ask you often. “Could you stay here with Roach?” Geralt adjusted the saddle and pushed the velvet bags of oren into the holder. “It will not take long for me to take care of it.” And by it, he meant the alghoul in the crypt nearby.

“No, absolutely not. I need to be there with you. one wrong move and you could be eaten by that alghoul, and Roach has a new owner.” The dark graveyard was not the ideal place to kill a monster. Crypts were all around, not to mention the grey clouds veiled the light of the moon. It all seemed to eery.

Roach nudged Geralt as if she knew what I was saying, and he groaned in protest. “I do not need it from the both of you.” Geralt refused to make eye contact with you. He just turned away from you and tossed his swords over on his back. “Just stay here.”

“No!” You shook your head and pulled the small dials of white vinegar from your pocket. “We can easily defeat it together. Now except that I am your partner or when you return, neither one of us will be here.”

“You do not,” He paused and snatched the two vials from your hand. “Give me ultimatums.”

“Geralt.” You all but pouted, he didn’t listen when you whined; in fact, it only leads Geralt to believe you were losing the argument. YOu folded your arms over your chest and rolled your eyes. “Must we argue every time about my safety. I am not yours to argue over.” You said the words intentionally meaning to get to him. It had been over five years since you started to travel with Geralt. It was not the life you had pictured for yourself, but you could not imagine any other existence that would have suited you better. Every time you saved a life, you remembered some people just going around them taking them. While you were with Geralt, you found the balance of being a savior but also ruthless who those to deserved it. It was a perfect balance, so was Geralt.

There had been once you’d both succumb to the need of one another, but it never happened again, nor did you speak of it. But words weren’t needed, whenever you looked him in the eyes that night played through your head as if it was happening again. You could feel your knees buckle, heart pound, and breath hitch. He did all of this without even needing to be inside of you.

“Nice of you to remind me.” He knocked back the black potion he’d concocted yesterday, and his eyes glazed over black; he was going without you. “Now, wait here.”

“This is the last time you will render me useless, do you understand.”

“You are not useless, you are irreplaceable, and it’s fucking hard to try to kill this damn thing while looking back to the only woman in I am in love with, just stay here.” He said through clenched teeth.

“In love with?”

He grunted. “Stay here.” He said in finality. You said nothing, but your face contained a thousand words. “Hmmm.” He nodded his head, retrieving his sword. “And shut up.”

“I said nothing.”

“You said enough.” He retorted over your laughter.

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