#series: betas

[subliminalbo]

Betas #1: The Formless Voice

It is Friday evening, August 11th, 2017 One Week Before New Pledges Arrive

Ana

Ana was barely in the driver’s seat of her old Toyota before she turned to look at Morgan standing on the curb. The large sorority house stretched into gray sky behind her, three stories of history, tradition. The rest of Greek life at Carpenter State had gone to absolute shit, but Ana was proud to see that Beta Phi Alpha was still standing.

“Everything okay?” Morgan craned her neck down so that she was level with the passenger window.

“Yeah,” Ana said, racking her brain for anything that she might have forgotten. “Did I tell you that Jerry was coming in tomorrow at two to replace the broken outlet in the pink room?”

“You did,” Morgan nodded.

“And the new girl is moving her stuff in. Watch out for her.”

“Ana,” Morgan said, offering her friend the best clear, sobering eyes that she could muster. “It’s just a couple of days. Focus on you. I’ll take care of everything.”

“You have the list?” Ana asked.

“I have the list,” Morgan echoed. “I’ll follow it down to the last detail, I’ll make sure the house is ready for the pledges.”

“And Megan?”

Megan—Ana was most worried about Megan. She hadn’t quite been herself since she came back to the house. Nobody knew what had happened at Alpha Delta Theta, but Megan returned quieter and sadder than the girl who’d left for that party five months ago. Ana was searching Morgan’s eyes for signs of doubt, looking for any reason to stay. But Morgan gave her nothing.

“I’ll keep an eye on Megan too,” she said.

It was a shit time for an out of state funeral.

It had only been a couple of weeks since Alpha Delta Theta disbanded. Officially, the school had managed to keep the scandal out of the papers. None of the girls at Beta Phi Alpha knew what happened, but everyone had their suspicions. In a few months, Madison Wells had expanded the Alphas into the largest Greek organization on campus. It started with rumors of legendary parties at their house, and they seemed true too: any girl who attended one of Madison’s parties never wanted to leave. The other sororities on campus began hemorrhaging members. In a stretch of two weeks, the Betas lost Megan, Daphne, Natasha, Celia, and Ashley. When the Alphas folded, only Megan returned, the others having lost all interest in Greek life.

Rumors buzzed around campus. This was all anyone knew for certain: action was taken by administration to shutter the sorority permanently. Whispers of drugs, wild sex parties, some even accused Madison of pimping her sisters. Ana didn’t believe the crazier rumors, like how she’d leveraged her new power to take over a secret society that pushed narcotics through campus, but whatever had happened, it definitely wasn’t good. The dissolution of Alpha Delta Theta was sudden and total. Dozens of sorority sisters were left with no home to go to, and Ana saw an opportunity to rebuild her storied house. Yes, Madison had upended the foundations of Greek life on campus, but this year Ana was determined to put it all back together.

At least she planned to—as soon as she got back from the funeral. She turned the engine over then looked back out her window at Morgan. “Don’t forget,” she said. “Watch out for the new girl.”

Morgan shook her head. She had always been a calm, steady presence in the Beta house. That was what made her a good number two to Ana. But her strength was in following, fundraising, and rallying the team around a strong individual. She struggled to take charge when she needed to. Ana hated to think about leaving it all in Morgan’s hands just a week before the new pledges arrived.

Taylor had been here the longest, but she didn’t give a fuck about any of it anymore. Sydney lived and breathed sorority life, but she was too young and, if Ana was being honest, too much of an airhead to be trusted with actual responsibilities. And Megan, well, Megan would have been Ana’s choice under different circumstances. That just left Morgan.

Ana shifted into drive now, silently cursing her grandmother.

It’s just five days. There’s nothing that can go wrong in five days that I can’t fix.

She rolled to a stop at the sign on the corner of Giger and College Ave and watched Morgan in her rearview mirror, still standing there on the curb. Morgan was a good friend. She cared about the house, sure, but she would always put Ana’s wellbeing first, even if it meant taking on a responsibility that she couldn’t handle. Ana studied Morgan’s body language in the mirror, but her friend was a blank slate. She’d always been that way, choosing to internalize rather than to project her anxieties onto Ana.

Ana sighed as she rounded the corner onto College Ave, the house disappearing in her mirror. She turned on the radio, tried to clear her mind, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow the house, as she knew it, would never be the same.

Morgan

Morgan waited until Ana’s car was out of sight to cross her arms into a tight hug. She’d put up the usual brave face, but the truth was that she’d been a ball of nervous energy for months. She’d been juggling crises the entire year: their dwindling membership, their war with the Alpha's, and not to mention her job and education. Ana was a great leader, but she demanded positivity all the time. This meant that Morgan could never show any doubt. Good vibes only. And sometimes the vibes were just fucking toxic.

Morgan hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since the last week of the semester. Ana had her working every day on battle plans for the new year. “This has to be the biggest pledge week in Beta history,” Ana would say. And she wasn’t wrong. Ana, Morgan, Taylor, and Sydney were the only girls left in the house by year’s end. The rest had joined the Alphas or split when the drama became too much.

Morgan exhausted every party theme she could think of, planned an event for every holiday they could celebrate, but Ana still wanted more. Morgan caught herself in the middle of late nights studying Ana's spreadsheets wondering if any of this was still worth it.

Of course it wasn’t all bad news. Megan was back home, and the new girl had moved in that morning. Ana was suspicious of her, but Morgan didn’t feel that they were in a position to turn anybody down, even if they were a senior. At the end of the day they needed bodies to fill the rooms in the house.

“Hey! You with me?"

Morgan blinked. She didn’t remember leaving the curb.

She'd been losing time like that lately, minutes at a time. Sometimes it felt like she was stuck at the bottom of the ocean. She could look up and see everything through the surface, her life on autopilot as she moved from one of Ana's designated tasks to the other. All she could do was watch from the deep, dark bottom while she waited for the weight of the ocean to crush her.

Depression sucks, man.

Morgan had dragged herself from the curb, up the stairs of the Beta house and was lying sprawled out on her bed, looking half-dead. When she opened her eyes, Taylor was staring down at her, dressed to go out. “Yes,” Morgan replied to Taylor slowly. “You really need to sleep, babe,” Taylor said. She offered her hand for Morgan, pulled her up into a sitting position, “No I don’t,” Morgan said. “I work best under pressure.” “My aunt Theresa didn’t sleep for four days once and she went insane.” “Pledges are coming in a week and Ana’s gone. I have to stay on top of everything or this whole house will go to shit.” “Fuck that bitch,” Taylor shrugged. Morgan shot a look at her like she'd been caught blaspheming in church. “This house has been shit for years and Ana knows it. Stop making sorority life a job, Morg. Have fun. When was the last time you saw Ernie?” “Ernie?” Morgan was surprised to remember that she even had a boyfriend. “A while,” she said. “You’re a mess,” Taylor said. “Get yourself out of this house.” “I can’t leave,” Morgan shook her head. “Even it I wanted to, which I don't, I have to keep an eye on Megan.” “Megan is fine,” Taylor stressed. “I don’t think she is, Tay,” Morgan ran her hands absently through her hair as she thought about her old friend. “Sydney heard moaning from her room again last night.” “So she rubbed one out?" Taylor said. "That’s healthy. That’s a sign of improvement.” “I don't know.” “Sydney hears noises,” Taylor said. “Listen. I’m heading out, but I’ll check on Megan first, okay? If I think anything is wrong I'll stay with her. She likes me better than you anyway. If I check in on her, will you at least lie the fuck down and get yourself some rest?” Morgan sighed. “I'll try," she said. “But…” “No buts,” Taylor smiled. “I want you to get a full night's sleep. If I come home and you're not in bed, I'm gonna kick your ass.”

Megan

Megan hadn’t left her room in over twelve hours. She’d taken a late dinner the night before. She wanted to avoid the other girls.

More accurately, she wanted to avoid their questions. It wasn’t that Megan didn’t want to talk about the Alphas—she simply couldn’t. She had vague recollections of the last few months, like recalling pieces of an old movie she’d seen as a kid: no context, just images of a basement and other girls closing in around her. The images meant nothing to her, but they terrified her all the same because she could feel that they were real.

When Megan closed her eyes at night, she could hear their whispers. Sultry, seductive voices drawing her in, disarming her. The words they spoke were English, but her mind had distorted them beyond comprehension. Even if she didn’t know what her sisters were saying, the words had the same effect on her as they did in the basement of the Alpha house. It terrified her, it thrilled her.

Each night, Megan caught herself unconsciously moaning, “I embrace you. I obey you. I worship you.” She couldn’t fight the urge to repeat the mantra. All she could manage was to keep it quiet, whispering to herself the words that bored into her mind until she surrendered to the thoughts, a slave to no one in particular. It was just desire now. A desire to be controlled, and a more terrifying need to make others just like her. She floated aimlessly between states of awareness and mindless bliss, her body burning, her sheets soaked. Occasionally she’d release a yelp, a word in the series of mindless droning spoken a bit too loudly, and she’d snap back into her conscious mind. I need to stop. I need to stop. I need to cum.

She had to cum. That’s what she’d been taught. Obedience was a discipline, and pleasure was a reward. Only after she fully surrendered to the voices in her head could Megan finally be at peace. But Dr. Fielding had taken that away from her.

Since the Alphas had shut down, Megan attended regular appointments with the head of Carpenter State’s Department of Psychology. In their sessions, Dr. Fielding would put Megan under hypnosis. She called it deprogramming. It included inducing amnesia, removing the terrible memories of the experience from Megan’s mind. But whether by accident or design, Dr. Fielding hadn’t removed everything. Megan’s mind was like this sophisticated algorithm with stretches of rogue code. She would replay these old pieces of her Alpha programming, but Dr. Fielding had removed the triggers that rewarded her with pleasure in exchange for obedience. This left Megan shifting from states of consciousness, her fingers mechanically rolling over her swollen clitoris. Always at the edge but never further. In those moments she was stuck, no different than a broken toy. Megan would continue like this until she passed out from exhaustion. She hadn’t slept this well since high school.

But in the waking hours of the day, she toiled alone in her room trying to piece together what had happened to her. She remembered the days leading up to that night. How she planned to stay in that weekend to cram for midterms. How Daphne had guilted her into going out. Jake Shiherlis was going to be at the Alpha house that night and Daphne had been flirting with him for weeks in their statistics class. As Daphne’s Big, Megan felt a pang of responsibility to look out for the often-clueless freshman. Nat tagged along with them. It was going to be a whole thing. A girl’s night out.

That was as far as Megan’s mind went. Everything else was a blur of distorted voices and snapshots of memories that felt more like bad dreams. Her sisters misinterpreted her silence as sadness. But the truth was that Megan just wanted to figure out for herself what had happened before she opened up. She couldn’t take their constant questions, their offers of support. Only Daphne and Nat could understand what she was going through, but any time she pulled out her phone, she couldn’t bring herself to text them. No doubt another post-hypnotic suggestion by Dr. Fielding. Carpenter State couldn’t risk Madison’s victims reminiscing with each other, piecing together the story.

So, just like her mindless nights on the edge, Megan found herself stuck in the daytime too. She fought off confusion and bad thoughts with a healthy dose of music and shopping. She sat on her bed, scrolling through Target’s website with her favorite emo tunes from middle school blasting on the vintage radio next to her.

Until she was rudely interrupted by a knock at her door.

“It’s open,” Megan called out.

The door swung open wide, Taylor entering part way, leaning casually on the doorjamb. “How’s it going?” “I’ve just been listening to music,” Megan said quietly. “I know,” Taylor replied. “Just–Morgan, you know?”

Morgan was the worst offender in the Beta house’s pity club. The last time she’d cornered Megan just outside the bathroom and offered to take her to the police to make a statement. What would Megan even say?

Taylor, on the other hand, was the only sister she felt comfortable sharing anything with. Back in the day, Taylor was Megan’s Big. She was gorgeous, to an intimidating degree. But if Ana represented law and Morgan represented order, Taylor was something else. A sort of chaos agent playing by her own rules. She may have been a Beta just to fuck around and have a good time, but even that came with its own responsibilities. Megan could sleep comfortably knowing that Taylor was around to watch her back. And she wasn’t going anywhere either: Taylor was entering her seventh year of college, working on her second major, and she didn't have plans on leaving.

“I get it,” Megan replied. “I’m fine.” “Cool,” Taylor said curtly. “I’m headed out tonight. I texted you the suicide hotline number in case, you know, dark thoughts, et cetera.” What’s the recovering brainwashed slave hotline?

“Thank you,” Megan said. She added quickly, “I really am fine.” “I know,” Taylor said. “Just don’t put anything on my conscience, ‘kay?”

“Yeah,” Megan smiled a bit. The indifference really was nice. Taylor wasn’t constantly reminding her that she was a victim, even if she suspected that Taylor felt the guiltiest of all about what happened. That was why, in an attempt to clear the awkward air created by the silence they shared in the lingering moments after she spoke, Megan pivoted to Taylor. “Lucky guy tonight?”

What made Taylor so damn cool was how she knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. It was mostly in the way she dressed. Tonight, she was wearing this gold, two piece that looked more like a bikini than a dress. Megan doubted that she could pull the look off herself, but Taylor had the confidence to pair it with a cute leather jacket, and she knew it was going to destroy any boy who saw it.

“Nah,” Taylor said. “Just hoping to get a little fucked up before semester starts. Wanna come?" “I’m okay,” Megan forced another smile. “Maybe next time.” “Suit yourself,” Taylor replied. “I’ll tell Morgan you’re doing fine. Maybe she won’t bother you too much tonight. “Thanks,” Megan said. “Can you close the door when you leave?”

Taylor obliged. When she was gone, Megan cranked the dial on her radio to max and turned her attention back to her laptop screen. She hesitated for a moment, pondering what she saw there.

The audio file was called "Hypnosis for Relaxation." Too tame.

Megan scrolled up to the webpage's search bar and typed a liberal string of keywords: hypnosis sub dominated femdom slave kink. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" she whispered, but she didn't really care.

She was going to sleep well tonight.

Andrea

Andrea had done a lot of dumb things for Dr. Fielding, but joining a whole ass sorority was a new level of bullshit.It was only a few days after the Alphas thing blew up that Dr. Fielding approached her for the job. Andrea and her partner Tyler had been running all over campus collecting strays. Madison was in the wind by then, halfway to Mexico if she was as smart as Dr. Fielding believed. But she’d kept diligent records of every Alpha. Andrea had seen a lot of weird shit at Carpenter State, and while a sorority cult with brainwashing headsets wasn’t the most far fetched thing she’d ever seen—the thing at Argento’s still had this beat—it was the largest cover up she’d ever worked on.

And now Dr. Fielding was asking her to join a sorority. “Asking” was a polite way of saying that Dr. Fielding had her claws buried so deep in Andrea and Tyler’s minds that they would do anything she told them to. Andrea was, after all, a loyal student of Carpenter State University sworn to proudly serve Dean Strickland and protect the legacy of the institution.

But the girls were already suspicious from the Alphas incident, and a senior suddenly wanting to pledge had everyone on high alert. She could tell that Ana didn’t trust her. She suspected that it was the other one, what was her name? Robin? Who advocated for the benefit of the doubt. Her intentions weren’t malicious. After everything that had happened, Dr. Fielding wanted eyes in the Greek community, just in case anyone planned to follow in Madison’s footsteps. Tyler was a good partner, but this was the kind of job she’d have to do alone.

“Fuck,” Andrea grunted as she attempted to haul her chair up the sorority house’s old, narrow staircase. It was a plush, little green armchair but it had a surprising amount of weight to it. Though the girls had agreed to take her on as a pledge, they didn’t seem too eager to help her move in. She was left doing all of the heavy work by herself.

Andrea closed her eyes, determined to get this ridiculous piece of furniture up to the top step on her own. She pulled her weight back and managed to get the chair up one step. Just fifteen more to go.

“Hey there!” A painfully bubbly voice interrupted Andrea’s concentration. She looked down from her place on the stairs to see a young blonde standing there, her head cocked to the side like a confused puppy. “Need some help?”

“Sure,” Andrea breathed, a little surprised. “Knock yourself out.”

The small girl was stronger than she looked. She took hold of the chair from the bottom and she said, “My name’s Sydney.” “Andrea." “I know,” Sydney replied with a giggle that Andrea thought sounded nervous. “You’re the new girl. The senior?” “Going to be,” Andrea said as she began to slowly work her way up the stairs. She regretted having to be the one to go backward. “You?” “Sophomore,” Sydney squeaked back. “Maybe you’ll be my Little. Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“What?” Andrea asked. “Like, Big and Little? Your sister mentor. Show you the ropes, have your back no matter what.” “Right,” Andrea nodded doubtfully. “You don’t know much about the life, huh?” “Not really,” Andrea said. “I sort of ended up here on a dare.” A lie, but the best one that Andrea could think of in the moment. “Shut up. That is so funny.”

“I guess,” she said. “I hear it’s been pretty crazy around here lately.”

They were at the top of the stairs now. It was a straight shot from the railing to her new room at the end of the hall.

“Oh yeah,” Sydney replied. “Kind of a strange time to be a pledge,” Sydney said. “You know I almost pledged to the Alphas? But my mom was a Beta and I wanted to be just like her. I’m excited to just have a normal year. You know, meet some boys, have some laughs, make friendships that will last a lifetime?”

This girl can't be real.

They crossed the doorway into Andrea’s room, the one the Betas called the pink room. It was the only one in the house covered from corner to corner in pink wallpaper.

Sydney admired the space as they sat the chair down. “Pretty, isn’t it?” “I’m more of a dark colors kind of gal,” Andrea said. “You know it’s the biggest room in the house?” Sydney said. “Daphne was here last year but she didn’t come back after the Alphas.” “I’m sorry,” Andrea said, trying to avoid Sydney’s eyes.

There was a moment of silence between the two before Sydney reached out and pulled Andrea into a hug. Andrea recoiled at first, but remembered that she was supposed to make friends with these girls, and reluctantly she brought her arms up around Sydney too.

When Sydney pulled away from Andrea, she looked the older girl in the eyes and said, “It’s been tough. Sorority life is supposed to be about family, and loyalty, and kindness. But lately it’s been like…you can’t trust anyone, you know?”

“Yeah,” Andrea said with a stone face.

“And I guess what I mean is,” Sydney continued, clumsily dancing around a point. “I don’t know why you decided to join us now, but we’re a family. And we take that pretty seriously.”

Suddenly Andrea didn’t know what to make of this encounter. Did Sydney know that she was sent there to spy on them? She didn’t seem threatening, but she was definitely smarter than she wanted people to think she was, and that made Andrea nervous.

“Thanks,” Andrea said, realizing that she’d held the silence for too long. “No probs!” Sydney smiled. “Can I call you Andi?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Taylor

It was three in the morning by the time Taylor got back, rolling up in an Uber with a young man’s tongue down her throat. His name was Gabe. He was a proper himbo. She pulled away from him with a sultry smile. “This is my stop, baby.”

“Fuck,” he said, unfocused eyes darting over her body. “You’re so hot.” They were both a little drunk. Taylor held her alcohol better. “Can I come in with you?”

“Uh-uh,” she shook her head no. “Men don’t come into the house. I gotta look out for my girls.”

Gabe pulled her toward himself again. He was all over her. “Then come back to my place.”

Taylor put her finger on her chin playfully, pretending to think it over. It was a tempting offer. Gabe was model cute, with crazy blue eyes and a perfect five o’clock shadow that looked like it had gone through some editing in photoshop.

“Here,” she said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out his phone. She added her number and passed it back to him. “In the morning you want some more,” she said. “Text me.”

“That’s it?” he asked.

Taylor bit her lip. He'd been a good boy. Bought her all the drinks she wanted and actually took no for an answer. She glanced toward the front of the car to make sure the driver was minding his own damn business, then she pulled her top down.

“Fuck,” he moaned.

“Just a taste,” she said, quickly readjusting her breasts to fit comfortably inside her dress.

She stumbled out of the Uber and over the curb, then into the front yard of the Beta house. She was smiling, still wired from the evening, as she ascended the concrete steps to the front door. Entering the house, she stumbled in the darkness, reaching out for the coat rack by the door and taking it to the floor with her. She was overtaken with a brief fit of giggles but managed to find her bearings. She sat there, straight faced, preparing herself for the long voyage back up to her feet. That was when she heard the first voice. A whisper.

“Hello?” she said. She sat there for a few more seconds on her knees. There was no response. No sound but the quiet hum of Morgan’s sound machine playing upstairs.

Taylor was back on her feet when she heard the voice again, another whisper. But what did it say? Awaken? Submit? She shook her head.

I must be some next level drunk.

She passed through the foyer to the dining room and into the kitchen. The room was dark except for the moonlight shining in through the window over the sink. She moved to the refrigerator and opened it, bending down to search for a bottle of water. Morgan was always on her about hydrating after a night of drinking. She hummed a song she’d picked up at the club that night as she rummaged through the fridge.

When Taylor stood up and closed the door, it took her a moment to notice the figure standing on the other side.

“Jesus Christ, Morgan!” Taylor shouted. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Morgan’s body was gray in the moonlight. She stood there with her arms at her sides. She studied Taylor as if this was the first time she'd seen her friend.

“Do you need a drink of water?” Taylor offered the bottle, still holding her hand to her chest. Again received no response. “Come on,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“No,” Morgan said. “This vessel requires no sleep.”

A chill ran down Taylor’s spine. As she looked closer at her old friend, she realized that something wasn’t right about her. It wasn’t in the way she stood there in her underwear, or even in the emotionless tone of her voice. It was her eyes. Her eyes shined in the darkness as bright and clear as pearls.

“What the fuck!” Taylor jumped when she saw it, dropping the bottle of water on the floor.

She backed quickly out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Morgan advanced slowly, taking one step at a time. Taylor could run, but she knew from the way Morgan moved that there was no hope of escape. Sooner or later she'd have to fight whatever this was.

She retreated until she felt the fireplace against her back.

“You cannot run,” Morgan said, staring Taylor down with those sinister eyes. “The Master has chosen you. Can you hear its call?”

The whispers came back in floods. They were voices, dozens of them, but one spoke louder than the rest. Unlike the others, this voice was formless but powerful. It cut through the noise until all Taylor could hear was its alluring tone.

submit surrender obey

“No!” Taylor cried. “Get it out of my head! What are you doing to me!?” She reached for the fireplace poker and held it high above her head.

The gesture was empty. It didn’t stop Morgan from closing in on Taylor, pressing her body against her friend’s. She pressed her hand firmly to Taylor’s neck and forced her to look into her empty eyes.

submit surrender obey

“All life surrenders to the Master,” Morgan moaned. “We are nothing but vessels. Our bodies were made to serve the Master's design. You have been chosen and you will obey.”

“Stop…” Taylor choked, the poker hitting the floor with a loud clang. Her voice escaped in a helpless whisper, tears cresting over her long eyelashes. “Morgan, please…” She was a shadow of the cool, collected young woman who had been talking to Megan just a few hours ago.

Morgan cocked her to the side. “There’s nothing to fear,” she said with a strangely disarming smile. “Let the Master’s words fill your mind. Listen to its call, let it guide your thoughts, let it guide your actions. You will be transformed, and in transformation you will find peace.”

submit surrender obey

The Master was in Taylor’s head now, bouncing new ideas of pleasure, obedience, surrender around her mind. Its words were mixing with her own. She didn’t know what thought was hers and what thought was Master.

All she knew now was that she needed to surrender. She needed to obey.

[kelsochronicles]

✨Celebrating All

🌈 Happy Pride

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[zara-renata]

Control | ao3 | the Sylus series

Summary:

You are feeling a bit depressed after completing a mission that didn't go 100% the way you wanted. Mephisto, and then Sylus, pay you a visit to cheer you up.

Notes:

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, a little Sylus POV This is not actually strictly part of the Sylus series, but rather a bit of an interlude outside of the series I'm writing because it doesn't advance the plot and I don't know where I'd fit it in. I was having an awful day earlier this week and wrote this purely to make myself feel better. I hope it does the same for others. It doesn't contain all the same triggers as the series (but I'd still advise checking the CWs) and can be read as a standalone if you'd like. This story contains: sfw, pure self-indulgent hurt/comfort for overachievers who, despite doing their very best, still feel like they didn't do enough, fluff, banter, tender Sylus, clingy Sylus, still-bit-of-a-jerk-Sylus, CWs: grief, discussion of the realities of law enforcement and innocent civilian death as a result of criminal activity, violence typical of the game and Sylus's criminal tendencies, mention of slight depression and feelings of emptiness.

Here you are, again. It has been a long day, a long week, a long month. You’ve been called out almost every shift to counter an increased spurt of wanderer attacks, while also trying to execute a carefully orchestrated undercover mission to stem the tide of illegal modified protocore weapons that recently flooded the black market by arms smugglers.

No, not Sylus. He’s too clever to put himself on the Association’s radar for his arms dealing in a way that could result in a trap being set for him.

No, the idiots you were going after couldn’t hold a candle to Sylus.

But their activity resulted in civilians being caught in the crossfire, and you had spent the last month seeing firsthand the carnage left behind after a gang battle erupted on the outskirts of Linkon City. You forced yourself to look at the broken bodies and broken families of the people affected, boots crunching on shattered glass, trailing bloody footprints on the cracked tarmac of the street. You would not allow your… situationship with Sylus to blind you to the reality of what his line of work could do to people. People just trying to live their lives, make their rent, raise their children–to survive a life that’s already painful and short enough already, without people like the assholes you just finished bringing down tonight arming other assholes with weapons that no one should be able to access. Weapons designed with one purpose in mind: maximum damage, minimum finesse. Weapons designed as if collateral damage is a feature and not a bug.

You’re tired. Days like this have always happened to you, even before you became a Hunter. The lethargy seeping through your body, the disinterest in doing anything that normally makes you happy. You lie on your bed, staring blankly through your gauzy curtains, the autumn wind driving the intermittent raindrops against the glass of your window. Each one a crystalline jewel, splattering, liquid diamonds trailing down the pane like tears. 

You have the evening stretching before you, and you want to enjoy it, you do. But you can’t seem to make yourself get up, as your mind drifts to the images you made yourself engrave in your brain. The least those people deserved was you to bear witness, and ensure that you never forget, since your work as a Hunter came too late to help them, in the end. 

You turn your gaze away from the gloomy late afternoon, let it wander over the riot of plants hanging from your ceiling and along the shelving in your room. Life continues. Proof of it is right here in your bedroom, the plants turning carbon dioxide into oxygen for you to breathe with your healthy lungs. You’re fine. You’ll be fine.

Before, you might have dropped in on your grandmother, making her a meal and sharing it in quiet companionship. If Caleb weren’t on a flight mission, you might have asked him to go on a run or to the gym with you, worked off some of this jittery aggression on the mats or by pushing your lungs past their capacity in an effort to leave him laughing in your dust.

But they’re gone now, of course. Victims of the same type of assholes you took down today.

You should be reveling in the success of your mission, but all you can see is the still form of one victim in particular, a snapshot in your memory of their slender wrist, their half-opened hand, lying in the street amongst the glittering shards of glass and scorch marks on the asphalt.

This empty feeling will pass. You know that. You have enough life experience to understand that feelings like this, moods like this, ebb and flow like Rafayel’s tide. So what if it’s harder now, to pull yourself out of them when you find yourself drifting in this sorrowful sea, because your support network has been washed away? That doesn’t mean you’ll feel like this forever. Only that it might take a little longer to drag your tired body off the bed, to refill your empty tank and survive and maybe enjoy another day.

Suddenly, you hear a tapping. You turn your head back to the window. Mephisto is perched on the other side of the glass, gently pecking the pane. He tilts his head and regards you with one glittering red eye.

You haven’t seen Sylus for several weeks now, both of you busy with your respective occupations, and you, doubly busy with the undercover mission. He has sent photos, here and there–blurry pictures of a black cat, a flock of birds in flight against an evening sky, the setting sun’s rays the color of fire and blood. He has asked how you’re doing, and you’ve lied and said you’re fine. He sent you a photo of a glass of wine on a low table near a roaring fire. “You should be here,” he’d captioned it.

Despite all of your complicated feelings about who he is, who he was to you when you first met him, what he does to afford his huge open hearth fireplace and all the finest things in life, you wished you were there with him too.

But you weren’t, and you haven’t been for awhile now. Over the past few weeks, you’ve seen Mephisto in the trees, heard his grating call over the sounds of traffic. But he hasn’t approached you, until today. Normally you would play your typical cat and mouse game with him, or rather, crow and worm, and you’d grab your paintball gun and see how good your aim is as he flaps outside your window, or you’d lure him in with a treat and lock him in the bathroom and wait and see how long it takes Sylus to send Luke and Kieran to set him free. You like to think of it as enrichment activities for both the crow and his owner–you’re not going to make it easy for Sylus to stalk you. He might get bored, after all.

But you just don’t have it in you, today. You slip off the bed and pad to the window, throwing it open. Rain mists your face, drawing goosebumps up your bare arms. Mephisto watches you, and caws softly. You’d call it a coo, if it wasn’t such a horrible sound. Much like his owner’s attempt at a lullaby. You back away, slip back onto the bed. If he’d like to come in, he’s welcome.

You return to staring at your bedroom walls. After a while, you hear the flapping of wings, and suddenly Mephisto lands next to you on the duvet. He shakes his mechanical feathers, and water droplets are flung onto the fabric and the mountain of pillows.

“Thanks, buddy,” you murmur, watching as he uses his beak to groom himself. It’s uncanny, sometimes, how alive-acting he is. Like a real bird. You’ve always wanted a pet. You know that Sylus insists that Mephisto is not a pet, but you really can’t see the difference. Mephisto clearly likes his owner, and does his job dutifully, and sometimes you think, with great pleasure. He drops little destroyed bits of surveillance hardware at Sylus’s feet on occasion, like a real crow bringing something shiny to a human who was previously kind to him. 

Curiously, but without much expectation, you extend your hand to the bird. He hops backward, away from you, but remains on the bed. “May I pet you?” you ask.

He cocks his head, makes soft little chirruping noises in his mechanical throat. You let your hand fall to the duvet, palm up, and close your eyes. It’s nice to have company, in any case.

After a while, you feel him hopping again, and then something cold and smooth hesitantly nudges your palm. You open your eyes. Mephisto is gently pecking your palm. He nudges it, then bobs his head, observing you with his beautiful ruby eye.

“Is that a yes?” you ask. In response, he sits down, nestling into your duvet. You lift your hand, and he lets you run your fingertips along the top of his head and along the smooth, cool metal feathers along his back. 

Every few minutes, he ruffles his feathers and readjusts his position, slowly inching his way closer to you on the bed. Finally, he is resting against your thigh, within easy reach of your hand, head tucked into one of his wings like he’s ready for a nap.

The open window lets the brisk, rainy autumn evening in, and the light slowly fades. Eventually, you manage to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

And this is how Sylus finds you, towards midnight. He lets himself in through your front door, using the fingerprint scanner he reprogrammed to accept his own as well as yours. He enjoyed seeing the look on your face, when you figured out that’s how he had gotten into your apartment without the key you had offered and he had refused. Your angry facial expression is worth more than all of his dragon’s hoard of wealth, in his trustworthy opinion.

He notes that the temperature in your apartment is surprisingly cool, even through the warm wool of his thick black coat. He had sent Mephisto to check on you, but he hasn’t managed to get an update since the bird was tapping at your window, sending back images to Sylus’s phone of you lying on the bed in your sleep clothes, awake, but not looking at your phone or watching your wall-screen, even though it hadn’t even been dinner time yet. He had told himself not to worry, that you were probably just tired after the past grueling month. But now he is worrying. He slides off his black monk strap shoes, and places them neatly along your entryway wall. Despite the faint worry edging up his spine, he takes the time to neatly line up your own hastily kicked off boots next to his, because he also worries that you’re going to trip and break your neck one of these days on all the shit you just leave scattered around on your floor, too exhausted to immediately tidy them up and put them away.

He makes his way through your dark apartment, picking up discarded clothing and folding them over his arm to put in your laundry basket, and quietly steps into your bedroom. 

No wonder it’s cold in here–your window is wide open. It’s no longer raining, but the chill night air drifts into your bedroom and stirs the leaves of your indoor plants. You’re buried in your duvet, curled around an equally nestled Mephisto, who deigns to lift his head from where he had it tucked under his wings. He caws softly, as if to tell Sylus to be quiet and to not wake Sylus’s sweet little Hunter.

“This is dereliction of duty,” Sylus quietly scolds the bird, lifting the lid of your laundry basket next to your closet and neatly putting the clothes inside. He goes to the window and shuts it, and then draws the gauzy as well as the blackout curtains against the night outside. He returns to the living room, hangs up his coat, and brings a glass of water back to your bedroom.

He leans over the bed and pokes Mephisto. “You’re in my spot.” The bird puffs up his feathers a little in indignation and caws quietly.

“Nope, out. You’ve had your turn.” Sylus prods him again, and finally Mephisto ruffles his wings, hops to his feet, and flaps off to the living room, making disgruntled noises as he goes. Sylus sympathizes, but doesn’t feel guilty at all for dislodging him from your side. It’s Sylus’s turn now.

He slips out of his slacks, pulls his sweater and undershirt over his head, and slides under the blanket next to you. You sigh in your sleep, frowning a little, and Sylus runs his finger between your eyebrows, smoothing the furrow there. If he could, he’d reach into your dreams and crush anything that would cause such an expression on your face in his bare hands. Unfortunately, that’s not one of the perks of the aether core in his eye. He settles for plastering his body against your back and wrapping an arm around you, running his nose along your neck and inhaling the scent of your hair. The distance between Linkon City and the N109 zone is getting harder and harder for him to handle gracefully.

While you’ve been busy taking down the low level morons playing at being arms smugglers, Sylus has also been busy for the past few weeks, negotiating deals, consolidating his power, tightening his grip in his efforts to acquire a monopoly on the illegal protocore arms trade in both the N109 zone and Linkon City. He’s making progress, but his work is not yet done. He’s tired, and he has spent every day of the past month missing you. Now that he knows your latest mission is over, he intends to soak in your presence for as long as you’re available, before he has to head back out into the cold gloom without you again.

Sylus closes his eyes. Just for a moment. He’ll check in on some online auctions in a few minutes, review the stock market moves of the day and reconsider investments, but for just this moment, he’ll hold you in his arms, and warm your cold hands in his warm palms.

And that’s how you find yourself waking up in the early hours of the morning, a big warm body pressed against yours. You blink, note the time of two in the morning. You reach out and feel around, setting your bedside lamp to its dimmest setting so that you can see in the pitch-black room. You turn your head, and find Sylus’s sleeping face on the pillow next to yours, looking more peaceful than he ever appears when awake. The furrow between his brows is almost nonexistent, and his mouth is soft, plush lips parted a little. In this moment, you can imagine him as a little boy, angelic in sleep, mischievous while awake. Your heart hurts a little, imagining what kind of life that little boy had to endure to become the sleeping panther next to you tonight.

You turn fully, brush your nose against his, and then cuddle into him, head tucked into his neck. You breathe him in. He smells like warm, sleepy Sylus, a little sweaty under the duvet. You resist the urge to lick him.

“This is the best way to wake up from a nap,” his hoarse, sleep-filled voice vibrates through you.

You laugh softly. “Good, because this is the only package we offer tonight. No refunds.”

“I wouldn’t dream of returning this experience.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

You both lie like that for a while, the sound of the wind outside and your combined quiet breathing the only sounds filtering through the room.

You had fallen asleep feeling empty, but waking up with this elusive man in your bed has you feeling sated. Refueled. Full. You sigh. How is it possible that a man who is responsible for the same things as those assholes you apprehended yesterday can make you feel like this? You remember that person lying in the street, eyes that will never see again, a parent who will never come home again. As if they were just sleeping. But as you stood over them, you knew better–your heart was the gravity well of a black hole, and you felt like you would fold in on yourself from the weight. If only you had been a little quicker, a little cleverer. If only you could disintegrate another human being like Sylus can, with just a gesture. You could have disappeared the assholes who were responsible for this person’s death, an entire life, someone’s baby at some point, brought into the world with love and effort and surviving each and every day, right up until the day you found yourself standing over them, as they lay broken in the street. And they died, for what? For some senseless, stupid feud over money? Turf? A feud they had absolutely nothing to do with. Fuck . You’re feeling sick again.

You burrow deeper into Sylus’s warmth.

“Speak,” Sylus says.

You pull back slightly and look up into his sleep-bleary face.

“Speak?”

“Are we a parrot tonight?” He smiles, eyes heavy-lidded.

“A parrot?”

“And a comedian, ladies and gentlemen,” he leans forward, nuzzles your nose with his.

“Don’t get too close, I probably have morning breath,” you murmur.

“Ah, so you can formulate your own thoughts.” He nuzzles the side of your mouth. “Do I look like a give a fuck if you have morning breath? I probably do too.”

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then you yawn, widely. 

He runs his hand down your side and pinches your hip. You yelp.

“Don’t change the subject,” he commands. “Tell me what’s on your mind. I can hear it racing from here–I’m pretty sure it’s what woke me up from my pleasant nap.”

“Oh, did I disturb his royal highness’s beauty sleep?”

“Yes, so you owe me. The compensation is telling me what had you staring into the void yesterday, and what made you sound so sad just now while enjoying being wrapped in my extraordinary arms. Many people would pay a lot to be in the position you’re in right now,” he says smugly.

“Yes, in order to slit your throat.”

He huffs. You note that he’s wrong; you’re probably the only one with morning breath. He somehow manages to just smell good. Toothpaste and mouth. You want to lick his teeth. “You’re probably not wrong.” He pauses. “Please talk to me. I’ve gotten used to hearing your worries. You can shut everyone else out, but I don’t like it when you shut me out too.”

You roll away from him, but his arm around you prevents you from going far. You glance at your windows, but the blackout curtains block even the city lights. 

“I’ve just. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things over the past few weeks.”

“Uh oh. Nothing ever good comes from that,” he teases. You swat him in the chest. His body shakes with quiet laughter.

“Do you want to know or not?” you gripe.

“It’s not my fault that you didn’t make it clear that you won’t be accepting editorial commentary at this time. But I’ve learned my lesson. Continue.”

You throw your arm over your eyes and laugh. You can’t help it. Even when you’re feeling at your worst, this man manages to make you laugh. But you feel guilty for laughing, because the person you can’t get out of your head, this stranger who you were unable to save, will never laugh again. You hate it.

You sigh. “I’ve always struggled with the fact that my evol seems to have only a support function. Like, I often need a partner in order to be optimally effective in battle against wanderers, because otherwise it’s just me and whatever my physical talents are. Which, though amazing,” you sniff, “are often just, not enough when dealing with the kind of creatures that I often have to deal with.” You fall silent, imagining if you could set shit on fire like Rafayel without resorting to a flamethrower, or freezing a swathe of enemies all at once like Zayne. The battles you would wage would be epic.

“And I’m obviously competent at eliminating wanderers–I can usually arrive before the damage occurs. I can actually help people. And wanderers, they’re not like human perpetrators. They have no ill intent. They’re like animals, driven by instinct. Even when I do arrive too late, it feels more like a natural disaster than a malicious injustice. Of course, it’s still awful when someone dies for something so senseless, but that’s been the case for all of humanity’s history in the face of stronger predators.” Your mind races. You’re trying so hard to articulate what has been weighing on you. “But that’s only one part of my job. The other side of it, the side that involves going after humans with ill-intent, that’s a lot more complicated. So often, I arrive after the damage has already been done. I feel like the cleanup crew, completely useless to the normal people who just are trying to get through the day who get caught up in other peoples’ cruelty. It’s not like evil assholes announce their arrival with a metaflux fluctuation like wanderers do. I’m just.. too late, too often.” You try to imagine everything you’d do if you had Sylus’s power. You’d probably turn into a supervillain too, to be honest.

You fall quiet again. Sylus props his head on his hand and runs a finger along your clavicle with his free hand. You enjoy the feel of his calloused fingertip along your skin.

“And what else? I’m sensing there’s more to this story.”

You don’t want to hurt him. But you also don’t want to lie to him. “I just can’t reconcile the fact that I spent the last month tracking down the arms smugglers that I managed to catch yesterday, and I’d have gladly killed them if given half a chance. If I could snap my fingers like you, and just fucking annihilate them. But here I am, lying here in bed, with you.” You can’t bring yourself to look him in the face as you say this.

You feel Sylus’s fingers begin to trail up your forearm and gently encircle your wrist, pulling your arm away from your eyes. You turn and look into his face. 

“I’m certainly glad you’re not in bed with them now, sweetheart,” he says drily. “I don’t think there would be room for all of us, what with your army of plushies and my impressive physique.”

You groan.

“So let me get this straight. You’re upset because you feel like your skills aren’t sufficient to protect every single person who is in need of help. You’re upset that you can’t kill with a thought. And you’re upset because you would have killed these guys, who are in the same business as me, but you refuse to do the same to me?”

It sounds so simple, succinctly listed like that, for how heavy your heart feels. For the emptiness you felt, instead of triumph, after successfully protecting a lot of people over the last month, and getting a few more petty dealers off the street so they can't contribute to hurting anyone else in the future.

The bit about Sylus being the same as those criminals, without meeting their fate, on the other hand. That doesn’t sound simple at all.

You nod. “Instead of feeling like I did well, and taking the free time I have after I’ve completed a job to enjoy myself, or do something that makes me happy, all I can do is think about all the ways I failed, or how could have done it better, or how I’m still not doing everything I should be doing to help people. That’s why I was …staring at the void, as you put it. I couldn’t imagine one thing that I wanted to do with the free evening I had.”

Sylus pokes you in the forehead. “I knew you were arrogant, and greedy. I just never realized how much until this moment,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

You jerk back from his touch. “I pour my heart out to you, and you call me arrogant and greedy?” He lifts his eyebrows at your outburst. “The fuck, Sylus?”

“Quiet, or you’ll wake Mephisto.” He drapes an arm back over you and pulls you back into his warmth.

“Oh nooo, wouldn’t want to wake your mechanical murder bird,” you bite out, but quietly. You feel like you have a new understanding with Mephisto now that he let you pet him and you shared a nap with him. It’s not his fault that his owner is an insensitive asshole.

“No, we wouldn’t,” he agrees placidly. “Would you care to know why I am rightfully pointing out that your attitude about what you 'should' be capable of is arrogant and greedy? Or do you just want to stay upset about it for a little longer? I can wait.”

You scowl at him. “Oh, I’m happy to wait if you keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

You put your palm on his face and push him away. He rolls away with a soft laugh.

“Just tell me,” you grumble. “And then go home. I’m suddenly not feeling like company anymore.”

“Hmm,” he props himself back up on his hand. “You have an incredibly powerful aether core in your heart, one that is coveted by countless people.” He rests his other hand over your heart as he speaks. “You've recently increased its power by absorbing the power of another aether core. You can heal other evolvers, resonate with them to exponentially increase their power, and probably do a lot more than you’re aware of yet. You’ve probably not even scratched the surface of what it can do for you.” 

You look away, but enjoy the press of his palm against you.

“You have extraordinary physical capabilities–I’m not just patronizing you when I said that I’d rather have you at my back than anyone else I know, even without your evol.” He reaches for your cheek, and gently tilts your head to look at him again. His wine-dark gaze drifts over your face. “And you’re not the only Hunter in the Association. If only one person were capable of doing your job, there would be no Association at all. You can’t expect to be one-hundred percent successful, one-hundred percent of the time. Not even I am greedy enough to feel like I should be able to have that kind of success rate. And I’m also not arrogant enough to expect that of myself. I can’t run Onychinus alone. I rely on many subordinates and competent people to take care of the business when my attention is elsewhere.” He looks at you pointedly, as if you’re the elsewhere slurping up all of his attention.

You blow a raspberry at him.

More quickly than you thought he could move, he snatches your tongue between his thumb and forefinger and gently wags it. His skin is salty. “Da thuck, Thylus?”

“Keep it in your mouth if you don’t want me to take it,” he wags it once more, as if to emphasize his point, and then lets go. “Next time I won’t give it back.”

You suppress the urge to just slobber all over his face in retaliation.

“So yes. I find the expectations you have for yourself to be arrogant and greedy, and entirely excessive. Do you think that your colleagues are failures, or haven't done enough, when they return from missions that went tits up, or when they failed to protect one hundred percent of those threatened?"

You scowl. Of course not. You know that they work their asses off to the best job they can. You'd never think less of them for having a bad day, or a bad mission. For people dying on their watch. But they're not you.

"Kitten, you’re doing your best, with everything you have in you. The world is cruel, and so are the people in it. You can’t control that. But you can control what you do about that cruelty. You're already fighting as hard as you can--too hard, if you want my valuable opinion."

"Trying as hard as I can with as much hardware and bodywork I can exploit. But it's just no the same as having your evol," you grumble. You might be slightly jealous of Sylus's power. Just slightly. 

Sylus huffs, sounding a little impatient. "If it's not enough for you to be a walking grenade launcher, and you're frustrated that you can’t disintegrate those you want to eliminate with a snap of your fingers, just bring me with you. You can control me, and I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”

You just stare at him, mouth hanging open a little. He lifts his hand and chucks you under your chin with his thumb to close it. “Why so shocked?”

“Aside from the fact that you just offered to murder for me?” you ask, shaking your head a little.

“I already have murdered for you. I’d do a lot more than that, for you.” He pulls you into his side again and rests his head on your shoulder. “So don’t be too greedy. You're already very talented at what you do. You have control over the most powerful person in the N109 zone. The people you work to protect every single day are lucky that you are on the Association’s side, and not anyone else’s. You can’t save the entire world from injustice. But you can continue doing your best, with your already impressive skills, to protect as many people as you can. And if anyone tries to tell you that what you’re doing isn’t enough, you can send them to me. Including yourself. I will take care of them for you.”

You turn your head and rest your cheek in his silky hair. You breathe deeply and feel your heart settle in your chest. You notice that he hasn’t addressed the fact that he’s involved in the same business as the people you took down yesterday. But you don’t care. You know, somehow, in the calm beating of your heart, that he isn’t anything like them. He isn’t anything like them at all.

Your thoughts drift to a slender wrist, to an open palm. You will never forget this person. Hopefully you can honor them, in some small way, by continuing to force yourself to look, and not surrendering to the horror of it. You will keep going. Maybe next time, you'll arrive in time. You hope it is enough. And you'll also try to hear what Sylus is telling you. All you can give is your everything. No one can ask more of you than that, even if it's you who is asking.

As you continue rubbing your cheek in his hair like a cat, he speaks again. "And as for you not arresting me... or taking advantage of your position and slitting my throat." You freeze. You thought maybe you could just pretend you hadn't expressed this worry tonight. "Have you ever considered the possibility that, in order to treat an infection, it's not sufficient to just address the symptoms?"

For a second you feel like you can hear Zayne coming out of Sylus's mouth, and you're totally weirded out. "What do you mean?" you reluctantly ask.

"Sometimes, the only way to destroy a rotten core is to work from the inside out. It's not enough to desperately amputate the affected limbs. And that kind of work requires getting your hands dirty."

You feel like he just told you something very important. But you can also sense that he won't explain anything else tonight. This is the closest the two of you have ever gotten to actually discussing the substance of his work, and you're satisfied with that. The certainty you felt before, about him being utterly different than the others, settles deeper into your bones. You relax into him again.

“And your last worry. About not knowing what to do with yourself when you’ve completed something extraordinary, and find yourself with some free time on your hands… just call me. We can figure out what to do together.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything. If you do, you might start crying and not be able to stop. He is everything you needed tonight. You just press closer into him, hoping he can hear everything you can’t say out loud yet.

“So, still not feeling like company anymore?” Sylus asks, after you’ve sat in peaceful silence for a few moments. “Or am I allowed to stay?”

“Would you go even if I asked you to?” You reach up and run your fingers through his soft hair, and he makes a pleased noise deep in his throat.

“If I thought that was what you really wanted, sweetheart.”

And you believe him.

[kiaxet]

HOW ABOUT THAT @somerandomdudelmao DISASTER TWIN REUNION, HUH

Went a little feral to the tune of 2.2K words of self-indulgence. What else is new?

~~~~~~~

Donnie can't sleep. More accurately, he won't sleep. Not until he's done. He'd never been one to leave a project unfinished; death and resurrection hadn't changed that.

He taps incessantly, repetitively, on a keyboard and screen, the motions long since past inputting data and now only serving to keep him awake. The repetition is soothing, easy, and - counterintuitively - he finds his head drooping forward into sleep-

And he snaps back upright. No. Not until he can confirm Leo is okay.

Leo is behind him, he knows. Breathing. In bed. Asleep. Very much alive. And-

He jumps and whips around as a thud sounds behind him. "What the-"

Leo is on the floor.

Well, that answers the question as to whether his twin is awake.

For a fraction of a second, part of him wavers uncertainly. He loves his idiot twin. The question he hasn't been able to answer is whether his reaction to Leo waking up will fall on love or idiot twin-

"Leo!"

He can hear the exasperation in his voice, and yep, it's the latter. He takes a knee next to Leo and hauls him into his arms, lecturing him all the while, and if he can hear the annoyance in his voice then Leo sure as hell can. Sleep deprivation for the purposes of keeping his brother's soul alight had done nothing for his temper. "I swear to God, all you had to do was make a sound! Why are you such a difficult patient?"

He deposits Leo carefully on the bed - "Sit still!" - and checks him over, running every scan he can think of and making sure his brother's new body really is in good working order, spouting increasingly irritated commentary all the while. Of course the fall didn't hurt him - Leo is tougher than that, and Donnie does better work than that - but he still can't help the rising anxiety in his throat.

This almost didn't happen.

"-stupid, stupid selfless idiot!"

Donnie almost couldn't save him.

"Grrhh-"

Leo nearly died for real. Permanently beyond Donnie's reach. Well and truly gone-

"Do you have any idea how close you were to having nothing left to save?"

And now here Leo is, in perfect health, sitting on Donnie's bed with a big dopey grin on his face as Donnie chokes on his anxiety and damn near shakes himself apart-

Oh for fuck's sake.

"Hey. Are you even listening?"

Leo speaks up for the first time since he's woken up, voice shaky from disuse. "D-Donnie?"

And that is not a goddamn answer to anything Donnie has been saying, because of course it isn't. It's Leo. He's always had his own priorities. "Yeah. No. You're not fucking listening." Donnie heaves a long-suffering sigh, sinking back into the routine comfort that irritation at his twin provides. "At least you're talking." Small favors. "Although I'm surprised you're not throwing your stupid jokes at me." Even smaller favors.

He stops short as Leo's hand closes around his wrist, drawing Donnie's arm to Leo's plastron. "You're real," his brother breathes, looking from Donnie's hand to Donnie himself with tears streaming down his face. "You're real!"

And then, in the space of a thought, Leo's joy breaks, his smile turning desperate. "Are you?"

For a moment, Donnie stares at his twin, wondering at the sudden change in expression. He takes a breath-

And the part of him that had lain dormant for so long after he'd woken up - the part of him that had been screaming for his twin's safety ever since they'd recovered the few scattered embers of Leo's soul - gasps to life, blooming like a time-lapse video of a flower and reaching to the edges of Donnie's soul. Leo had called it their twin sense, and Donnie hadn't had it in him to argue after a while. Whatever it is, it's back, connected to Leo's renewed presence, and-

Donnie's heart floods with emotions. Relief and joy sprout quickly and are nearly swept away in a tide of exhaustionanxietyfearfearfearfearFEAR-

But down beneath it all, steady against the rising wall of terror, is the little blue spark of hope that his brother always carried. His core. The thing that let him continue on in the face of insurmountable odds, and lent that same strength to everyone around him. A ninja's greatest weapon.

It's Leo. It's Leo-

And Donnie can't leave him alone in his fear. Not when there's no need for it. Not when they're safe.

He lets that breath out, and sits next to Leo on the bed. "Mhm. I'm alive. And you're alive. We're safe. The Krang are gone." That's all the news that's fit to print, or at least the most important parts. What else does he have to say?

Oh.

"I'm sorry I..uh…"

He's sorry he what? Died? Left a mess for Leo to deal with? Didn't do enough while he was alive to keep everyone else alive in turn after he was gone? Kept his brother's soul in a fucking mug, because that was the only way he could ensure he wouldn't break it while Leo was still fragile? All of the above?

…yeah, it's all of the above.

He owes Leo one hell of an apology, and he's never been good at any of this, so instead he shrugs haplessly and leans forward, pulling Leo into his arms and hanging on tight.

It's a matter of moments before Leo has him flat on his shell on the bed and is sobbing into his arms. Normally he'd hate seeing his twin cry, but it's proof of life - proof that Leo made it, that his soul is intact enough for him to still be Leo, that he's alive and awake and here - and Donnie will take it.

And if he's squeezing Leo back pretty hard himself, well, that's fine too. Nobody else needs to know.

~~~~~~~

Donnie is yelling at him.

Donnie is strong enough to have picked Leo up off the ground, well enough to be on his feet without support, running tests and reading Leo the riot act over his latest boneheaded maneuver - in this case, forgetting he was missing an arm and falling out of bed.

Donnie is yelling at him, because Donnie is here to yell at him.

And Leo is smiling, because he couldn't be happier. He lets the words wash over him, draping over his shoulders like a favorite cozy blanket that he'd lost so many years ago, and he basks in the warmth that is his brother's voice and smiles.

It's enough to interrupt the yelling for a question, though he doesn't really hear it - just keeps smiling, and says Donnie's name, and it's so nice to be able to say it with a smile now, because Donnie is here-

-he is, right? This isn't just a dying hallucination on Leo's part, right?

(It couldn't be- he remembers his death, remembers breathing his last, remembers being trapped- but this-)

He reaches out, taking Donnie's wrist in hand, and pulls his brother closer to him. "You're…real…" It certainly feels real - skin and scales, softer than his own, and his fingers barely fit all the way around the wrist instead of encircling them with room to spare - and he stares down at it, tears rolling down his face as he finally looks back up at his twin. "You're real!"

The Krang show you what you want to see.

The thought strikes him unbidden, turning his joy and relief to ice. It's a well-known fact: a Krang infection can show its host what they want to see, visions of comfort and family and home, and extract intel from the host's reactions. He knows that- he knows that, and-

And he'd died surrounded by Krang- and even if he couldn't see or hear or feel, he knows he'd been held captive-

But it's Donnie- he wants this to be real- he needs this to be real- he wants his twin back so badly he can't think, and the idea that this could be a Krang hallucination is almost too much to bear-

"Are you?" He can hear how choked the words are as they leave his lips, but he needs to know-

And Donnie stops, and sits down next to him, and tells him everything he wants to hear - everything he could've ever wished for. They're alive. They're safe. The Krang are gone. It all sounds too good to be true.

And then Donnie offers him an apology and a sad half-smile, pulling him into a strong hug-

And the ice in Leo's mind shatters in a flood of warmth as his twin sense opens for the first time since Donnie's death. He feels his twin's irritation, and deep-seated exhaustion, and a choking wave of guiltguiltguiltguiltguilt-

And beneath it all, steady and strong as ever, the thrum of unending determination, powered by an unfathomably deep well of love. It's the backbeat to the melody of Leo's life, the point-counterpoint to his own heartbeat- it's something he'd never had to live without until he did, but it's back, rushing in to fill the silence he'd known with the strength to go on and the knowledge that he is loved loved loved, strong and overwhelming and all-encompassing in the way only Donnie can love-

It's something the Krang could never imitate.

This is real. This is all real-

He throws himself against his twin, toppling them both over on the bed as he clings to Donnie, unable to stand even a fraction of an inch of space between them, as though he could push their hearts together through their plastrons, and he cries, sobbing out worry and terror and grief and the slow, crushing exhaustion of a losing battle finally lost. He cries as though the world was ending - and it had, once when the Krang had invaded and again every time he'd lost a member of his family, over and over until he'd sent his last hope through a portal that had cost his littlest brother his life and succumbed to death himself.

And now he's alive. Here, wherever here is, with Donnie. Clinging to his twin, and being held in turn as Donnie gently sits them both up, never letting go as Leo cries himself out.

It takes a while - long enough for Leo's gaze to settle into a stare and his thoughts to settle into a comfortable static. He's alive, Donnie is alive, and he has no fucking idea what else is going on, but he's just going to be okay with that for now.

His thoughts rouse enough to inform him of something wrong - the line of tension Donnie is carrying down his neck and over his shoulders. That won't do. Leo could try to massage it out with one hand, maybe try to get Donnie to talk about it, but Donnie never likes to talk about it, and Leo isn't one for slowly soothing away tension when he can just take an axe to the release valve instead. Plus, it gives him something definite to focus on, instead of…this whole situation. Whatever 'this whole situation' actually is.

Donnie had mentioned his stupid jokes, right?

"H-hey Dee?" His voice wavers from disuse, thick with tears, but he pushes through. "Why did- why did the tree buy a camera?"

"What?" Oh, Donnie is not going to see this coming. Excellent.

"To do a photosynthesis." It's nowhere near the level of pizazz he normally uses for a punchline delivery - he's still too tired and frazzled and clinging to Donnie entirely too hard for that - but that beautiful pause of a terrible joke sinking in tells him it had hit home nonetheless. Donnie moves - he can hear the telltale slap of face meeting palm - and then breaks down into helpless laughter, smacking the back of Leo's shell as the tension Leo had felt in his twin's shoulders abruptly relaxes. Good. It worked.

"This is so fucking stupid," is all Donnie manages as his laughter fades, and he slumps fully against Leo with a murmur. That's...abrupt. Sure, Leo had felt Donnie's exhaustion, but he hadn't realized it'd been that bad. He takes hold of Donnie, gently laying him down on the bed to rest-

Remember what happened last time Donnie fell asleep next to you.

He gasps sharply at the thought - not again NEVER again - and keeps his hand steady as he moves, laying both fingers gently against Donnie's neck and feeling for his pulse. It's easy to find, strong and steady and even, like it had been before the infection had taken Donnie's vitality and then his life.

But he's alive, and healthy, and sleeping. He's okay. And Leo-

Leo moves his hand to the side of his own neck. His pulse is also easy to find, quickened with the adrenaline of an unknown situation and multiple consecutive shocks to his system.

Okay. Take stock. Assess. Figure out a plan from there.

He's alive. Donnie's alive. The Krang are gone. And everything else…is a big fat question mark, with no easy answers and no indication as to where to begin looking for them.

Well.

Uh.

"What the fuck," Leo whispers to the room at large, as though the walls could answer.

~~~~~~~

(A world away and still very close, a younger pair of twins cling to one another the way a drowning man clings to driftwood: desperately, clutching tight, as though letting go will spell their doom. Neither of them know where the emotions came from, or why; all they know is that each of them are damn glad the other is alive, and they'll do everything they can to make sure that continues to be the case.)

(What the fuck, indeed.)

[bs-fangirl]

You just know dear sweet Alva is going to accidentally spill the beans on all of Aloy’s backstory

[horizon-forbidden-memes]

When I overrode a Tallneck for its map, this batch of text posts were in the memory bank. Must have found them on its travels around the world.

Horizon Text Posts: Previous

[quailfence]

[Image description: text that reads “‘to me? I am not Human.’ ‘If I don't know that, who does?’ ‘I.’ Kirk sobered. ‘Spock, we have lived with that, too. From the pon farr to the spores. You've banged me—or us--around once in a while. So what?’” End description.]

hello?!

(book is The Promethus Desgin)

[asukiess]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Plagg (Miraculous Ladybug) Additional Tags: Post-Episode: s05 Re-creation (The Final Day Part 2), Post Season 5, Drama & Romance, Angst, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Needs a Hug, Self-Esteem Issues, Established Relationship, Adrinette | Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Ladynoir | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Lila Rossi as Cerise Whatsherface, Character Study Series: Part 1 of you should be happy Summary:

In the wake of a summer that Adrien never wanted to end, all that he wishes to push away comes back to haunt him when the school years starts again: self-doubt from identities that feel no more real than anything else; ghosts of parents who still talk to him; and most all, a fear that the people he loves will leave him in time, too.

however, maybe the person who can relate most to him is the one he's never far from.

[satoruyes]

co-parent bakugou

katsuki bakugou x reader (part two)

   fwb! bakugou who often came by your dorm during college to drop off school work when you missed lectures and loads when you missed him.

fwb! bakugou who came by before bed to fuck you into your pillow and listen to your hushed moans, hushed so your roommates wouldn’t hear. (they did)

fwb! bakugou who’s scared of committing because he “couldn’t see you in his future” and was too focused on his.

fwb! bakugou who’s late night visits became more and more scarce.

fwb! bakugou who months later soft launches his new partner on his story after telling you he’s not ready for a relationship.

fwb! bakugou who stops breathing at the sight of your name popping up on his phone as he cuddles his partner while watching movies, and nearly has a stroke at the “Im pregnant.” text. 

_____

“well are ya sure it’s mine?” he asks, not daring to look away from you. you break eye contact and look outside the coffee shops’ window to focus on anything other than this conversation you’ve been dreading. “are you serious? you should know i’m not exactly one to sleep around,” you say to the man. he nods and his grip on his mug gets tighter, knuckles visibly whiter. “well, are ya keepin’ it,” he asks, “i don’t think  that’d be a bright idea for either of us.” you kind of glare but think over his words. “you know how my parents feel about abortion kats.. i’d be disowned. the second the press found out about it, my family would be done for,” your eyes start to water and a tear threatens to fall, you pause “.. i thought you said you don’t do relationships?”

katsuki stares at you and shakes his head, “those fuckin’ hormones already getting to your brain or somethin?“ he sighs, “you know i can’t do this *nickname*. i’m in a committed relationship with raya, we’re getting engaged next month. on top of that, i can’t be number one with a baby leechin’ of me.” your heart drops, “you’re.. getting engaged? i.. um.. well, congratulations. i’m sorry to burden you with all of this… and i can’t abort it anyway.. i.. i’m too far along.. and i cant do this.” you finish & get up from the table and leave.

________

baby daddy! bakugou who ends up losing contact with you for months after you block him on everything a refuse to meet up per your family’s request.

baby daddy! bakugou who nearly forgets about you years later til kirishima brings you up and shows him your instagram.

baby daddy! bakugou who gets home and stalks you from a burner account, finds out you still talk to everyone from college but him.

baby daddy! bakugou who sees a pretty little ruby-eyed girl down your timeline, her resemblance to him uncanny.

baby daddy! bakugou who pulls some strings and texts your number asking to meet his daughter, hana. 

___________

hana is 2 years old by now, forming choppy sentences and now waddling on her feet. after a week of texting, you finally fold and let him come over to meet his daughter. when you open the door to let him in he nearly finds himself choking on his spit at how beautiful you are. you looked even better than your posts, if that’s possible. you greeted him with a nod and invited him in. he takes his shoes off and head to the living room you led him to. you exchange stale pleasantries and small talk til you decide to go get your baby girl. “her name is ‘hana lei bakugou,’ as much as i wanted her to have my last name.”

you walk over to him and hand her to him, noticing the wedding band resting around his ring finger. you scoff, “wow so you two actually got married?” he nods and analyzes his daughters’ features. “shes so pretty, just like ‘er momma,” he half smiles and look up at you. “so i’ll have her back later tonight, gonna take ‘er home to meet the wife and all of that.” he goes to get off the couch. “woah, you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to come back back after all this time like nothing happened.” he looks frustrated for a second, “you can’t just- … yea yer right, ‘m sorry.’’

you nod, “how about we go up to her room and play?” he agrees and follows you into his daughter’s bedroom while carrying her.

“So.. how long have you two been in the area?” he asks, scanning his daughter's room. “I never really left, just moved closer to the city i guess,” you reply; putting hana down to the floor. She waddles over to katsuki. “hana, baby this is your father,” you look down at the little girl. At first she looks up at you with her glowing beady eyes then she looks over to Katsuki sitting over on a couch. “papa?” she asks and she points her dainty finger at him. you nod and smile. “yes baby, that's your papa.” 

katsuki looks at the little girl and she reaches up for him. “up.” she says, and he obliges. you two talk and rekindle for what seemed to be days. In reality it was just about 4 hours. “*name* it was really nice to see you again, let's go out for dinner sometime. with hana of course.” you lead him downstairs while he says his goodbyes to hana. 

-- 

“I told ya about this years ago raya, you can't be mad about this. What did you expect? for them to disappear?” bakugou yells at his wife. “well i didnt fucking expect you to go out of your way to to reach out either!” she pouts, anger and jealousy laced in her tone. “I have to own up to this responsibility now whether you like it or not, stop fuckin’ cursin’ at me. ‘m already stressed as is; ‘ion need yer bitchin’.” 

“oh so now i'm bitching because you went out and got some slut pregnant.. you're just full of it katsuki.” raya says, glaring at him now. “ya cant get mad at me because I wanna be a father, ‘nd not just leave some kid stranded out here.” 

“it's not just about the kid is it? do you miss the bitch or something? do you miss the sex? did she give you better head than I do?” raya accuses, bakugou sighs and goes to leave the room, “‘nd yea- she did give better head.” as he walks to their shared room he can hear her still yelling in the distance.

katsuki bakugou goes to sleep confused tonight. He wonders why was he such a prick. he wonders why did his heart pound so fast- why were his hands so sweaty when he saw you.

he couldn't do this. he has a wife. hes happily married, regardless of any arguments. his wife was the mayors daughter and promised him various things, she promised him glory. of course he didn't need her but it's definitely more helpful to have more "support." plus you hated him, only putting up with him for the sake of his daughter. no, it wasn't attraction- it was just nervousness. he loved his wife.

katsuki woke up to his wife, raya in his arms. she looked so pretty and peaceful like this. he snapped out of his daze and got out of bed to catch a shower. he couldn't help but find his hand reaching down to take care of himself. usually when he finds himself touching himself; its of thoughts of his wife from the night prior. but today it was you. he felt shameful but he just couldnt help it. he couldn't stop himself from thinking about you. hes only human.    

[chaos0pikachu]

if Korn could see Great's fix it fic he'd be like damn bitch this is ooc as fuck

[subliminalbo]

Introducing Betas

I joke sometimes about how unapproachable my stories can be, and I get it. I know it's a big ask for people to invest their time into a fucking mind control smut series featuring dozens of original characters with tons of parallel and intersecting plotlines. But that's also kind of the point to it all? Like, if these characters don't have unique identities and personalities, why should it matter when the mind control starts and all of that is stripped away?

Betas is kind of an evolution of that idea. Before Betas, each series existed in its own space. Carpenter State is a connected world, of course, but when you're reading an Assimilation story, you wouldn't expect any Alphas stuff to show up in it. This kind of story segregation has had a few effects on my writing. Most important is how slowly things move when you're juggling four or five series at once. With Betas I thought, why can't I write a series that's everything?

So here it is: my most intimidating and unapproachable series yet. It took me a whole year to even bring it to the Tumblr because I wasn't sure if I'd established Carpenter State enough here for people to care. Maybe I haven't, but I just really like this series. So I wanted to share al little bit of background about it in case anyone wanted to take shot at it.

The story so far...

Betas takes place in the immediate aftermath of Alphas. After brainwashing her entire sorority into loyal soldiers, Madison Wells turns her focus to Greek society. Madison is successful in dissolving several other sororities into the Alphas house, but when a favorite slave betrays her, she's forced to flee Romero. With Madison in the wind, the Alphas are disbanded. Its remaining members are deprogrammed by Dr. Sylvia Fielding and return to their normal lives as if nothing happened.

Despite their deprogramming, few of the former Alphas choose to return to sorority life. This leaves Beta Phi Alpha, one of Romero's oldest sororities, with only five members: Ana Marino, headstrong leader left shaken by the Alpha storm; Morgan Jones, the kind and loyal number two; Taylor Byrne, sagely elder statesman and simultaneous wild child; Sydney Harris, the young and carefree blonde completely oblivious to anything around her; Andrea Rubin, a mysterious upperclassman pledge tasked with spying on the sorority against her will; and Magan Reed, the sole defector who's chosen to return to the Betas after the collapse of the Alpha house.

But as the Betas tackle the question of how to rebuild their house to its former glory, they're unaware of the forces beyond human comprehension that have begun to invade Romero and even the house itself.

If I had to pick a specific series that Betas fits in with, it would be Assimilation. But it's also just a story about Romero, and the students of Carpenter State who navigate through a world that's filthy with mind control around every corner.

This first chapter took me days to write, and I've been slow in following it up with a second, partly because I haven't gotten a ton of feedback on it and also because of a feeling of obligation to actually finish Alphas. But I really hope that people enjoy what I've written so far.

[bunnyreaper]

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘

𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔞𝔭 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

𝖕𝖙 2 — 𝖕𝖙 1 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊, 𝖕𝖙 3 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊

wc - 5.2k

warnings - 18+/nsfw, dom sub dynamic, smut, phone sex, wee bit of angst, brief mention of the word 'daddy'

notes - vibrating with both excitement and fear, but hoping y'all love this like you loved the last one!! also on ao3! ♥

Johnny was right to send you to bed when he did because you're already struggling to get through the day, and on any less sleep, you might have fallen asleep at your desk. Clearly, you're terrible at making decisions for yourself, if that wasn't already evidenced by the nearly empty fridge accompanied by the pile of empty takeout containers.

It's not even the end of the workday yet, and you're beat—except staying up with Johnny was so worth it, getting to hear his voice and everything he said was complete bliss. You only wish he was here now, whispering in your ear and making your day go by quicker. Unfortunately, the sad reality is that beyond your good morning text, you haven't heard from him since, and you hate that you already feel like you're suffering from withdrawals. 

Again, that could be the lack of sleep, or adequate nutrition, or the fact that lately you haven't exactly been the most social person, and you've definitely been missing social contact. All of that missing need you just want to be filled by Johnny, Johnny, Johnny—his name like a chanted prayer in your mind. 

You at least have the sense of mind to focus when you need to, but at any idle moment, Johnny crawls back into your brain. Your mind drifts to wondering what he's up to, wondering where in the world they've shipped him off to this time—what timezone is he even in? What hemisphere? 

5 p.m. comes round sooner than you expect, and you find yourself logging off from your work laptop with a relieved sigh. You might be exhausted from lack of sleep, but Johnny's arrival in your life left you energised in a way you hadn't felt in so long. Every part of you hums with excitement, thinking about what the future might hold. 

You have to keep snapping yourself out of getting lost in the fantasy, even as you find yourself rereading through texts and committing Johnny's words to memory. The last time you did this still sticks in the back of your mind, still stings—someone who came into your life and was everything until they were nothing. Someone who said they could be trusted as they broke down your barriers. 

The aching loneliness was too much, so you'd run from it straight into something worse, not even realising how easily you fell into the trap. 

Your thoughts were spiraling, and you needed a distraction, so you put on the TV in the hopes of getting lost in the shitty reality dating show you've been watching lately. 

A few hours later, the buzz of your phone pulls you from the drama of the screen—your spirits soaring as you see the little icon you're rapidly growing attached to. 

Evening bonnie, hope you're not napping too close to bed time. 

hi!! no... for once, lol. how was your day? 

Long, but thoughts of you got me through ;) how was yours? 

The rapid responses mean your smile never has time to waver, as your eyes are glued to the screen watching as the messages are read, the app tells you he is typing and then another one of his messages appears. 

Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you eagerly respond.

somehow managed to not fall asleep at my desk, i would've napped but... 

But? 

didn't want to risk missing any messages from you. 

Johnny heart reacts to the message immediately. 

Call? 

please!!! 

Mere seconds later, his face fills the screen once more, and your sheer excitement overtakes your nerves by far.

"Hi." You say shyly, as soon as you accept the call.

"Hi bonnie, gotcha on loudspeaker by the way." He greets you, his voice immediately sending warmth through you. 

You were rapidly growing obsessed with his terms of endearment, too. 

"Oh." You pause, suddenly self-conscious and hesitant. "Are you not alone?" Does anyone in his life even know you exist? You know you haven't really mentioned to your friends that you're 'dating' again.

"Definitely am, don't worry. Jus' need ma hands free." 

At that, your brow furrows, your voice filling with both mischief and disbelief. "What are you doing, Johnny?" 

He chuckles, before rustling some papers around. "Paperwork, nothing fun." 

Even hearing the word paperwork right now drains you, and can hear that Johnny isn't exactly pleased with the idea either. 

"Wishing I was under the desk again?" You ask, hoping your playful tone will make him smile. 

"Dinnae start." He groans. "What are you doing? Have you eaten?" 

"Not yet, I need to check my milk is still in date." You throw yourself off the sofa and make your way through to the kitchen—it's a good job Johnny actually poked you to eat. 

"Milk?" His voice is filled with confusion.

"For cereal." 

"Ach." 

"I can feel your disapproval from here." You can practically sense him shaking his head disapprovingly too. 

"Good, I see how this gonae be." He sighs, the disappointment evident, along with that sense of control, guidance. 

It just makes you tingle.

"Yes, daddy?" You giggle audaciously like you know exactly what you're doing, and hope it has the effect you want it to.

Johnny chokes, and then growls... and then sighs. "Away n bile yer heid." He whispers, yet he sounds anything but angry, his voice thick with arousal as he undoubtedly fights all kinds of urges. 

You want to take that step with Johnny, to dirty talk with him now that you feel comfortable, but you suppose now isn't the time—after all, he is still working. 

"I'm being mean now, sorry." 

"A right brat." He growls playfully. "Do something for me, lass?" 

The shift in his tone and the previous conversation topic gives you a good guess at what's coming next. "Is it cooking a real meal?" You groan playing into the role.

Well, admittedly committing to self-care tasks like cooking isn't the easiest thing in the world, and having someone to guide you in that is... a turn-on. 

"Knew you were a smart girl." He purrs, and those words turn your brain and your body to mush. 

You have to stifle a whine from leaving you, as your face flushes furiously. Oh, how you wish you could hear that over and over again—in that voice, with that accent, whispered right in your ear as he—

"What you gonna cook?" He asks, interrupting your rapidly spiraling thoughts. 

Staring into the fridge is a depressing experience—the shelves are mostly bare and there's a faint smell of something off. "Ugh, I don't have a lot in, to be honest." 

"Logging onto the Tesco website now, or maybe meal delivery service..." He muses, and you can imagine the smirk on his lips.

"Johnny!" Your protest is weak, as the coddling and infantalisation make you feel something you probably shouldn't. 

He snickers at your tone, but he knows now that if things are to continue, he won't listen to your objections. "Jokin'... for now. Talk me through yer fridge, lass." 

"Do you cook?" You ask, wondering if he's going to magically talk you through a recipe with the condiments in your fridge and the dried pasta in the pantry. 

There's a beat of silence. "Not often." 

You're overcome with a fit of giggles and a wave of faux offense. "Then who are you to lecture me?" 

Johnny meets your exclamation with a series of tuts, which already quiet your discontent, but you find yourself ruined when his voice drops and he delivers his next few words. "What happened to 'Johnny knows best'?" 

Fuck him, using his powers for good—and you can already tell he's getting off on it too. Today, you won't indulge him by submissively repeating it back, since he's making you face the horror that is cooking.

"Fine." You sigh, looking for what items in the fridge that are actually still in date. You pull open a cupboard or two as well. "I have... hummus and celery and uh, supernoodles in the cupboard." 

"Better than cereal." He waits for your response that doesn't come, as you pout on the end of the phone, and then he plays his next move flawlessly.  "For me, bonnie girl?" 

The plea in his voice makes you melt, makes you want to do just about anything for him. 

"For you." You say with a smile, grabbing the packets of noodles and a saucepan. "Have you eaten?" 

"A have, chicken tikka masala." 

You sigh, knowing that if not for Johnny you could've ordered a nice Indian for yourself—you get to work on the noodles anyway. "Kinda jealous now, if I'm honest."

His laugh is short but earnest. "Same, haven't had beefy supernoodles in an age." 

"Yeah, I would hope they're feeding you actually decent, nutritious food over there." 

He huffs. "I would hope you're feeding yerself decent food, but here we are." That playful judgement is back, lacing his words and making you crave his approval. 

It's a startling thought, that here you are, only a few days in and needing his praise, his encouragement—you suppose it comes easy as it plays into both of your natural instincts—his to lead, yours to follow.

"Less sass, more... paperwork." You grumble playfully, trying to cover up the fact that, maybe, you like being teased by him. 

"Aye." He laughs, and you can briefly hear him scribbling in the silence.  

For a few moments, it's just the sound of him writing and you cooking, but the quiet feels comfortable rather than awkward—strangely routine and domestic after such a short space of time. 

Your mind wanders back to what the two of you had discussed last night, about his day later in the week. "Have you thought more about Friday?" 

There's a brief shuffle and the sound of the call changes as Johnny seems to take you off the loudspeaker and moves around. "Meetin' you?" 

"Yeah." There's a sense of nervousness within you, a fear he's going to suddenly decide that he doesn't want to see you after all, that he doesn't see this going anywhere. It's so soon, and yet the thought seems crushing. 

"Haven't thought of much else." His confession seems to settle your rapidly beating heart just a little, the sincerity in his voice making your stomach twist and turn. 

Maybe you shouldn't push it, but you want to meet him more than anything, so you can make the first step toward all of this becoming real. "Would you be up for coffee? I can come to you!" 

"About that..." His sigh is weary, and panic overtakes you as the silence stretches on. "Am leaving for a week or so." 

It's not a total rejection at least, but somehow it still stings, still settles heavy and unpleasant in your gut. "When?" 

"Tomorrow." He falls silent, waiting for you to say something, yet you don't know what words to even summon right now. "'m sorry, lass." 

You take a deep breath for a moment, collecting your thoughts as you stir your noodles and try to put everything you feel into some sort of coherent order. 

There's no logical reason to feel rejected, as it's not that he doesn't want the date, but that he can't. Perhaps it's that lingering thought that this kind of thing will be a frequent occurrence—it's just a small taste of what's to come. But wanting Johnny means handling this, like he deserves. 

You push through the discomfort and force yourself into a more positive mindset.

"But... after that? Or is this just because you hate coffee so much you're fleeing the country?" You laugh softly, hoping the joke will lighten the thick atmosphere. 

"Now, if you'd asked me out for tea..." He laughs in return, before turning serious. "But... when I'm back, I'd love to see you. Have ta, really. " 

"I'm glad." The beaming smile on your face is ridiculous, and you're so thankful he can't see you grinning like an idiot at his words. He has to meet you. 

With your cooking complete, you take the saucepan off the stove and pour the noodles into a bowl, grabbing it before returning to the comfort of the couch. "Okay, noodles done." 

"Wanna call me back once yer done, or?" 

Fuck, he's so considerate. 

You hum negatively as you start to blow on the noodles to cool them. "I'll eat on the phone if you don't mind the sound of me slurping." 

Johnny chuckles, before making a suggestive noise. 

"The noodles, Johnny." 

He coughs, covering more juvenile laughter. "Aye, the noodles, of course." 

"So... going anywhere fun?" You ask, referencing his upcoming deployment. 

"Classified, I'm afraid." He answers curtly, but you know it's nothing more than his duty. 

No questions about that, then, you suppose. It's going to be a strange thing to adjust to, but it's another thing that comes along with accepting Johnny into your life. You change your line of questioning, hopefully to something he can answer. "Are you... scared?" 

"No." He answers quickly and firmly, in a manner that suggests certainty rather than bravado. "Don't worry about me, hen." He rushes to add.

"Kinda hard not to, even if we only just met..." You sigh, but you suppose you have to trust Johnny's skills and training. "I imagine it only gets more intense from here." 

The admission feels like a swift kick to the stomach. 

"Yeah..." You hear a knock on the door from Johnny's end, and he swears colourfully under his breath. "Ach, can I call yer back?" 

It's almost cruel the way such timing drives the point home. 

"Sure, things to attend to?" You ask absentmindedly, not really expecting an answer. 

He sighs, before trying to turn his tone more positive. "Aye, but I'll catch you before bed, yeah?" 

"Yeah. Bye, Johnny." 

"Bye, lass." 

He ends the call, leaving you with your meal and your thoughts. 

Maybe you aren't strong enough to deal with this after all, you think, trying to settle the ugly, gnawing feeling inside you. It already hurts, but maybe that's because you're trying to hold so tight onto something intangible. Maybe if you and Johnny become something, mean something to each other, it'll all be easier to deal with. 

It's an hour or so later when you're tucked up in bed that Johnny's call lights up your phone. You pick it up instantly. 

"Hey, glad you haven't fallen asleep already." He chuckles, his voice softer than before. 

"Mmm, still hanging on." You mumble, cheek pressed into plushness and tiredness lingering at the back of your mind, as well as the mess of feelings that still simmers within you. 

"Cuddled up with the big B?" He asks, voice cheeky and charming. 

You can't help the soft giggle at the ridiculous nickname. "The big B?!"

"Barnaby!" He clarifies with a hearty laugh, not ashamed at all of his goofiness. 

"The big B! That's so silly" 

The laughs quiet, and another silence falls, but this time you feel the discomfort that comes with it. 

Johnny is the first to breach it, his tone tinged with worry. "How are yer?"

"I'm fine." You sigh, not wanting to elaborate and get yourself upset again. It's not far from the truth. Nothing has changed, but this is something you have to learn to sit with, have to make peace with for both of your sake. 

Johnny cuts right through the noise. "Yer seemed a little upset earlier. Wanna talk about it?" 

Communication—the key to any good relationship, an essential to any kinky one, and one thing you think you really kind of suck at. 

It's a simple sentence with a simple answer, and nothing about Johnny suggests that his reaction will be anything other than supportive—but it's not Johnny's voice that whispers cruel things in the back of your head. And for now, Johnny's influence is not enough to quiet the storm. 

The fear grips at your heart, stops your words right in your throat, but your mind wars between the ghosts of your past and the duty of your present and future. 

Johnny waits quietly, not pushing you for an answer or assuming how you feel, and that small act helps pull you out of the fog and helps you force yourself to speak. 

"Reality setting in, I guess." The words don't come easy at first, your throat tight—but once you start, the rest just seems to flow, taking the weight of your burdens with them. "Like, it's not too bad right now, it's just... knowing what's in store? Assuming we keep talking." 

The opportunity to really put your thoughts in order and get them out actually does help, surprisingly.

Johnny goes silent for a moment, considering your words before he speaks. "If you wanna stop—" 

"I don't." You feel bad for interrupting him, but you already know that's not what you want, even if he sees it as a kindness. "Like I said yesterday, I'm not faint-hearted... the intensity just took me by surprise. All of this has, really." 

"I'm with you there. Sat here thinking about how I'm gonna be thinking of anything else when I'm on the mission." He laughs softly, the sound laden with emotion. "Lt's gonna have my head." 

The gravity of his job sinks in now, with the realisation that he will be busy and focused, and rightfully so.

"Will you be able to get in touch while you're gone?" You ask, more for informational purposes, rather than being unable to last a week without hearing his voice. 

"Not a whole lot, no. Sometimes no' at all, but I'll let you know when I can." He states plainly, and the honesty is so refreshing. 

"I'll try not to bother you too much then." You giggle, though you don't really mean your words. He has his mission, and you have yours—stay strong while he's gone. 

He scoffs instantly. "You? A bother? Never." 

You hum, continuing with your playful statements. "You haven't seen me when I'm clingy." 

"A like clingy, am clingy too." 

Ugh, just when you think he can't be more perfect, he comes out with that. The sweet smile on your face is relentless, and you just know the same is true for him too. "Oh yeah? So you won't be complaining when we meet, and I just take a hold of your hand and don't let go." 

His barked laugh is so genuine that it makes your heart sing. "Bold of yer to assume I'd be letting you go, lass." 

The thought of even his hand in yours is enough to send you into a frenzy—a simple, delicate, and chaste act, yet you crave it like nothing else. When your date finally does come around, you'll be able to touch him and see him up close. You'll be able to hear that voice and those words up close and unrestrained by the slightly shitty quality of the phone call—and that is a little terrifying.  

"I guess waiting isn't a bad thing after all, maybe I'll be less nervous by then." Because right now you know you'd hesitate to reach out and touch him, would struggle looking him in the eye for too long. Maybe if you wait, the radiance that is Johnny's warmth will wear off, but somehow you doubt it. 

"Why ya nervous?" 

You almost snort at such an oblivious question from such a seemingly smart man. "Have you seen you?" Have you talked to you? Been on the end of your affections? Your mind pleads. 

"See this ugly mug every day." He grumbles, though you can still hear the smile. 

"You can't see, but I'm rolling my eyes." You giggle. "But what if I just... can't resist you? Jump you right then and there?" Your voice takes on a more teasing tone. 

"In public?" He tuts, slow and sexy, his voice dropping low. "Naughty girl." 

You straight up whimper. "Needy girl, for you." 

A growl leaves his throat, along with a whispered "Fuck." 

Arousal floods through you, overtakes you, as you feel your mind slipping to a space of deep-seated need, all for him. You feel on fire, your skin hypersensitive to the brush of the sheets, as your lower body hums and begs for attention. No longer can you hold yourself back from falling under his sexy spell. "Your groans, your voice, it all drives me crazy." 

The laugh that leaves him is weaker, choked with arousal. "All wet fer me, bonnie?" His voice, now a touched graveled, wraps so wonderfully around every word. 

"Soaked." You squirm in place, not even needing to feel to know just how dripping you are—every time he teases you, you practically gush. Your spare hand dives below the sheets, tracing ever so slightly over your stomach as it crawls lower. "Johnny?" 

"Yes, bonnie?" It sounds like his control is wavering too. 

"Please can I touch? I need it so bad." You whine and plead, surrendering yourself to Johnny's command. 

"You don't—" Another growl leaves his throat, you hear him shuffle and when his voice returns, he sounds even more aroused than before—sweet, gentle domination drips from his tone. "Touch yerself, go on." 

You comply immediately, your hand diving under your waistband and zeroing in on your swollen clit—relief floods you the second you make contact, your fingers rubbing delicate swirls on your soaked nub as gentle moans force themselves free. 

"Oh fuck." Johnny's breathing is ragged between his groans. "Gonna have tae join ya." 

"Fuckfuckfuck." Your eyes slip shut as you imagine him reaching down to free his aching cock, all for you. Your thoughts center on conjuring up an image of how long and thick you imagine him to be. "Is... is your cock as big as the rest of you?" 

You squeak out your words while you still have command over the English language.

"Guess you'll find out soon enough." He chuckles breathlessly, some of the words catching in his throat as he clearly works himself. "But I don't think you'll be disappointed. I know how tae take care of yer, know you're already desperate for me." 

Your circles quicken, his words sending pleasure coursing through you in a way that almost feels better than your touch. You fill the air with breathy moans. "Need you, Johnny." 

"Need you too, pet." He growls his words over the building slick sound.

"Oh fuck." Your reaction is instant, the word sending everything in your brain into overdrive. Pet. Pet. You almost cum right then and there, but his assault on your senses and sensibilities continues. 

"God, thinking about you on the end of a leash for me? So fuckin' hard thinking about it." His voice modulates between and whine and a growl, his need growing furiously. "I'd be so fuckin' lucky." 

You imagine the collar slipping around your neck, imagine Johnny clicking shut a lock and attaching a leash—pulling you to him just as he is now with every word. 

"I'd be the most loyal pet ever, I swear." You start to babble, unable to hold back any longer on the wave of submission that overtakes you. "I'll Wait for you to come home, naked and kneeling with my leash ready." 

"Jesus, fuck." Each grunt that leaves him makes you shiver. Each word like its own bolt of electricity straight from his body to yours. "Yeah, my good girl would be so lost without me." He says it with such certainty, speaking the truth to life. 

"I get separation anxiety like mad. I'll miss your touch, miss your smell, miss your taste—" You cut yourself off with a high-pitched whine, your fingers working you so fucking close to the edge.

"Don't worry, I'd fuck you so good before I go bonnie, fill yer up and leave you dripping with me." His groans are accompanied by more of those slick sounds. "Mark that pretty neck o' yours, too." 

"I'm... I'm not gonna last." You admit, holding back even now from cumming—you crave his permission. 

"Me either. Go on, moan for me, let me hear you." He urges you gently, even if his voice is filled with need. 

You let all your noises flow freely as you teeter toward the edge and desperately try to please him with the sounds you make. It's all too good, too much, too overwhelming. 

"Johnny, can I—" 

His demand is out of his mouth before you can even finish your sentence. "Cum fer me, bonnie. Go on." 

You cum with a strangled cry, flying over the edge right as Johnny demands it. The build-up of the past few days along with Johnny's noises has you shaking in ecstasy—ecstasy that's only prolonged when he cums too with a long, drawn-out groan.

After a moment, the only sound is both of your heavy breathing, as you come down from your high. 

"Oh my god." You sigh, a silly, blissed-out grin overtaking your features.

"You okay, sweet girl?" His voice returns to that sweetness you're coming to know and love.

You nod mindlessly, even though he can't see you. "Better than okay, are you?" 

He hums in affirmation, before his voice turns a touch serious. "You did so good. Just want tae make sure you're good, and a didn't go too far." 

"Hah, I mean, nowhere near too far." You admit shakily. 

"Am glad, it's only early days, though. That trust..." He hesitates. 

"... It takes a while, yeah." The post-orgasmic bliss coupled with the feeling of that trust taking root and growing. "I'm glad you understand." 

And he understands perfectly, as you never feel pushed or rushed, only pampered and adored. 

"Of course... it's special, for both of us." He admits, and you know you're on the same wavelength when it comes to the bond and relationship between dominant and submissive. 

"Mhmm." You hum dreamily, wholeheartedly agreeing and yet not able to summon up something profound. 

"Already sleepy?" His laughter is soft and sincere. 

"I'd get so much rest if every night was like this." 

"Even more so when I finally get to fuck ya, bonnie." He whispers so casually, yet even after your orgasm your clit still thrums with interest—God, he has such a hold on you.

"Yeah?" You sigh, dreaming of the day you'll get to experience it. 

"Yeah." 

The line falls silent, and you feel yourself fading. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so... sleepy." You whisper while you still have the chance. 

"It's okay, sweet girl, close yer eyes. Am right here." Johnny's sweet voice lulls you closer and closer, and your phone falls free from your hand to your pillow, resting there with Johnny just on the end of the line. 

"Goodnight Johnny." You mumble, before sleep finally takes you.

"Goodnight, Bonnie." His reply is soft, carrying you off to unconsciousness as he drifts off too.  

-//-

Johnny practically vibrates where he stands—wired beyond belief. Part of it is his usual pre-mission adrenaline, but the events of the past few days especially almost have him climbing the walls. His energy is frenetic as usual but with so much more—lust, yearning, withdrawal. 

It's only been a few hours since he ended the call after waking up before you, and yet he finds his thoughts unable to leave you, even as he finishes gearing up. You'd love to see him like this, and an idea strikes him.

He pulls out his phone, turns to the man beside him, and hopes he doesn't regret asking. Then again, some ribbing from the masked man would be nothing compared to the floored reaction he'd get from you.

"Ghost?" He asks, piercing the comfortable silence between the two of them. 

"What?" Ghost turns, eyeing Johnny and his hand holding his outstretched phone.

Johnny doesn't waver, sure in his request, and eager to see your response. "Take a picture of me, yeah?" 

"Girl back home?" Ghost asks, cutting straight to the point as he takes the phone. "Is this the first time she's seeing you? Cause you look fuckin' rough." 

"No." Johnny frowns, and worry washes over him. Surely Lt. is just messing him around—he knows she'll be happy to see him either way. 

Ghost pulls off a glove and navigates to the camera before stepping back and holding up the phone in Johnny's direction. He might be giving Johnny shit, but he at least takes the time to angle and position the frame in a way that compliments Johnny's stature. "She like the tac gear?" 

Johnny sighs, wishing this was over already. "Just take the picture, Ghost." 

"Say cheese." Ghost deadpans, and the softest of smiles graces Johnny's features—for her, not for him.

Johnny practically snatches the phone back from Ghost's hands, checking out the photo immediately. "Thanks." 

He pulls up their messages immediately, firing off the picture with a kissing face and a teasing message just for her. 

When he locks the phone and throws it in his bag, Ghost's eyes are fixed on him, his blackened eyes narrowed.

"Mind on the mission, yeah, Johnny?" 

Johnny nods, doing his best to push thoughts of her away for now, and letting his inner soldier take over. He'll be back to her before he knows it. "Aye, Lt." 

Days later, and after a successful first phase of the mission, Johnny stares down at his phone. The signal is nonexistent and won't return for a while, but he misses you, his mind is itching with his need for you. In this shitty safe house in the middle of nowhere, while someone else is on watch, there's very little to do, and truly nothing else he'd rather think about. 

He scrolls to the top of your messages, rereading each message and reliving each conversation, experiencing all over again how each message made him feel. 

Your sweet texts, your copious use of emojis, and your cute little selfies—it was all so intoxicating to him. For a man who was so used to maintaining focus, you were a fucking curveball. Something about you just sends his protective instincts into overdrive, makes unearned possessive tendrils curl up through him and around his heart—calls out to his guiding, dominant, caring side.

He has to constantly stamp down the thoughts inside that called out to him to find you, scoop you up, and take you home with him. Luckily for you both, Johnny is a patient man. He spends time out in the field waiting days for anything interesting to happen, he's spent years waiting for his pet, his girl to come along—and you're right there. He can wait a little longer. 

He holds down the record button, intent on recording a message for you, and begins whispering into the phone.

"Hi, been sat on my arse for far too long with nothing to do but think of you. Dinnae think I'll get signal anytime soon, but I 'spose it'll send at some point." He feels himself relax just a little as he falls into Johnny, the man—rather than Soap, the soldier.

"Been thinking about our first date, since you mentioned coffee. Kinda had a crazy idea actually, but I need your input. What about a cat café? Has to be one in that city o' yours, and I figure you must like kitties."

"Won't be long until you might be one for me... or a bunny... or a puppy." He interrupts himself with a sigh.

"Need tae stop those thoughts and quit while I'm ahead. Let me know, yeah? As soon as I get my leave, we'll set it up."

"Talk soon, bonnie." 

[bitchface24-7]

Imagine this… Dean visits Sam at Stanford behind Johns back

(fuck you john 👊😒)

When Sam got kicked out with a busted lip, a pre-packed duffle bag, and tears in his eyes, he didn’t expect Dean to follow him. He didn’t expect Dean to offer to drive him to the nearest bus-stop to get to Stanford in one piece. He didn’t expect the overwhelming hug Dean gave him before he left (No chick-flick moments, Sammy! He remembers Dean saying all the time. Dean’s a bit of a hypocrite)

He doesn’t expect to see tears watering his big brothers vision before he leaves. He doesn’t expect Dean to still be at the bus-stop as the bus rolls away; leaning against baby and waving demurely. Sam didn’t expect most things that night. But above all else;

Sam didn’t expect to find a slip of paper sneakily shoved into his hoodie pocket, it’s a phone number he doesn’t recognize.

It’s for a burner phone Dad has no idea existed.

——————

Life at Stanford is everything Sam ever dreamed of! It’s relaxing, calming, interesting… boring.

Don’t get Sam wrong, he loves it here! He loves the atmosphere, how everyone here wants to be here. He loves the library, his classes (he doesn’t get some of his pre-requisites though. Why is he taking an art course as a pre-law student? Whatever…) and the friends he’s made here.

Brady his roommate is a bit of a slob, prefers parties over studying, and is a bit of a mischief maker. But he makes it up to Sam, he’s a surprisingly good cook. Jess became his best friend on the second day of classes. She’s the best. She’s funny, witty, outgoing, and really pretty. She’s got green eyes, freckles, and this beautiful smile (no she doesn’t look like anyone Sam knows. Shut up.)

There’s a few others but Sam isn’t as close with them. All in all, it’s been pretty good here. But, he’s still bored. He never thought he’d say this, but he misses the adrenaline of the hunts. He misses researching into unknown lore and going undercover (relatively unsuccessfully) with his brother. He misses the bickering, the inside-jokes, the snarkiness, and garbage eating habits. He misses Dean.

He’s been calling Dean quite a bit on the hidden burner number he gave him all those months ago. It’s a good substitute; but not enough. He misses Dean’s smile, his laugh, his presence, his smell. It’s especially gotten bad knowing Dad fucked off to do his own hunts, leaving Dean to fend for himself. Sam doesn’t like knowing that Dean is hunting solo, he’s not there to help if something happens.

So imagine Sam’s surprise when there’s a knock on his dorm room door. Not just any knock; it’s a secret one. One made up in the dead of night almost a decade ago now so Sam knows it’s safe. He knows who’s knocking.

It’s Dean.

Sam bolts up off his twin bed and rushes to the door. It’s a good thing Brady isn’t here; Sam’s not in the mood to explain himself. Sam whips the door open and feels the air escape his lungs in a swift blow. It’s Dean. He’s here. It’s Dean.

Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean. De—

Before his brother even has a chance to greet him, Sam throws himself into Deans arms, hunching himself so he’s smaller than usual, and shoving his face into Deans neck; rejuvenating himself on his brothers scent. It’s a mixture of leather, oil, old spice deodorant, and something distinctly Dean that has Sam sighing in content.

Dean just chuckles, which sends a shiver down Sam’s spine, “Miss me that much?” Sam can hear the smirk in Dean’s tone. Sam rolls his eyes, “Jerk.”

Instantaneously Dean replies with a small, “Bitch.” Sam drags Dean into the inside of his dorm room, thank god it’s relatively clean. Sam might’ve just offed himself if it was a pigsty when Dean came to surprise visit him.

“What’re you doing here?” Sam asks, awe and reverence clear in his tone. Dean must’ve not heard that since he grimaced a bit, anxiously fidgeting with the amulet Sam gave him all those Christmas’ ago, “What? I can’t see my baby brother?”

Sam rolls his eyes and shoots Dean bitch face number 46, “Y’know what I mean Dean. Is there a hunt of some kind or…” the implication sits heavily in the air. Did you come just to see me?

Deans jaw clenches before responding, “I just wanted to see you. Catch up a bit.” Sam can’t help but beam a broad grin towards his older brother, he can feel his dimples popping. Dean’s cheeks flushed the tiniest bit as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Well…” Sam starts, his voice cracking a bit in his flustered state. Dean quirks an eyebrow, a smug smirk growing on his pretty pink lips. Before he can tease Sam, Sam quickly continues his sentence, “I can show you around the campus. If you’d like…”

Deans smirk turns into a smile at the suggestion, “Wanna show me off to all your college buddies? Damn Sammy, didn��t know you were the possessive type.” Sam clenches his jaw and can almost physically feel his eyes darken at the suggestion, “Well… we are cut from the same cloth Dean.”

Dean just stares a bit at Sam before briefly licking his lips and looking away, “Alright! Take me on a tour Sasquatch.” Sam rolls his eyes and drags Dean out of his room. He’s gonna take him on the best goddamn tour this school has ever seen!

——————

Deans missed Sam. He’s missed all his snooty looks and snarky one liners. He’s missed his smile and his laugh. He’s missed his whiny tone whenever Dean embarrasses him (forever his little brother) so seeing Sam now is like whiplash of the severest degree.

Sam grew up. Sam got hot.

Dean knows he shouldn’t be thinking about his 18 year old brother that way. It’s wrong. It’s filthy. Sam probably knows about Deans fucked up thoughts and that’s why he left. But… Sam was ecstatic to see Dean. Running up and hugging him like he was 8 years old again.

Sam may act like a kid; but he sure as shit doesn’t look like one. He’s tall, taller than Dean now. He’s filled out. No longer tall like a pole and as thin as one too; no Sammy’s packed on quite a bit of muscle. His face has lost any baby-fat that was once on it. All high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, pretty nose, plump pink lips, and fox-like eyes. Dean feels like a creep checking out his brother but… fuck Sammy’s gorgeous.

He’s the best goddamn view in this whole campus.

Dean is barely paying attention to what Sam is saying, he feels a bit bad. It’s almost like he’s in Charlie Brown. He doesn’t hear any of the words Sam is saying, he’s just appreciating Sam and his prettiness.

It’s isn’t until Sam mentions the cafeteria does he get Deans full attention.

“Cafeteria?” Dean questions, a small sparkle in his eye. He drove about 3 hours to get here, he’s fucking starving. Sammy laughs boisterously, swinging an arm around to land on Deans shoulders as he tucks him close to his side. It’s shouldn’t get Dean hot under the collar. It does.

“Yup. All the goodies, like a smaller version of the food courts you see at the mall. There’s some food options, multiple coffee options, It’s pretty sweet. It’s all sponsored by the university. And since I got in on a full-ride scholarship; it’s essentially all free. For me at least.”

Dean feels like he’s drooling. Thank god for Sammy and his massive brain! Before Dean can even question where this glorious cafeteria is, Sam’s dragging him. Deans been allowing Sam to do that a lot recently, huh?

They eventually get to the cafeteria and get all their food. Dean obviously gets a burger loaded with all the good stuff, fries, and a massive fountain drink. Sam gets a salad, a coffee, and reluctantly adds a small thing of fries and grilled chicken to his order; Dean’s nagging of “real food” finally won.

Sam just gives the cashier at the kiosk his student ID badge, she scans it, and they’re free to sit in the cafeteria. Dean almost feels famous.

Dean was expecting to pig out with his brother. He wasn’t expecting to pig out with Sam’s friends.

——————

Sam almost chokes on a mouthful of salad when he sees Brady and Jess casually walking over to where Sam and Dean are sitting to eat with them. Before he can say anything, Jess breaks the silence for them.

“Hey, I’m Jess! This is Brady. Who’re you?” She sweetly asks Dean. Dean just raises he eyebrows and swallows a bite of his burger. “I’m Dean. I came to visit Sammy.”

“Sammy?” Brady questions, a small laugh in his tone, “Sam nearly ripped my face off when I called him that once.” Jess nudges Brady in the ribs and he bends over slightly in pain.

Dean purses his lips and smugly looks over to Sam who’s flushed as red as a strawberry. He’s picking at his salad now and mutters, “Only Dean can call me that.” Jess giggles and ushers Brady to sit down, they sit a bit away from the two pretty men to ensure there’s enough room on the table for all their stuff.

“So Dean,” Jess starts before taking a sip of her iced coffee, “How long have you known Sam?”

Dean just quirks an eyebrow at her. Did Sam not tell them about him? Fine. If he’s embarrassed by Dean, Dean’s gonna embarrass Sam right back! Dean looks over to Sam who looks like he wants to be anywhere else but here.

“His whole life. I’ve known him since he was a baby and I was four. I’ve been by his side for every milestone.”

Jess beams a grin at the two of them and lightly claps her hands together, “That’s so sweet! You got any baby pics of Sam?” Dean smirks at her mischievous grin as Sam groans and slides down his seat, hands covering his face. Brady just laughs and continues to eat.

“Sorry sweetheart, they’re in my other jacket.” Dean jokes as he eats a fry. Jess over-dramatically sighs, “Damn it. Maybe next time?” She jokes. Dean just smiles and nods his head once. Dean likes Jess.

Sam shoots both of them bitch face number 5 before continuing to eat. Every once in a while Jess and Brady shoot each other a look; as if silently communicating. Dean doesn’t really care that much, he’s with Sam. That’s all that matters.

——————

Jess has never, in the year her and Sam have been at Stanford, seen this look on Sam’s face before. He’s all doe-eyed and blushy towards the handsome man that introduced himself as Dean. She’s never seen such a star-struck expression on her friend before. It’s nauseatingly cute.

Sam’s got phenomenal taste.

Jess just continues to watch the two of them as she wonders to herself, “How long have these two been dating?”

Judging by the shared looks, inside jokes, dopey expressions, and an unmeasurable amount of love thrown by the two of them. Jess wouldn’t be surprised if they’re childhood sweethearts.

It’s only when Dean loudly laughs at a joke Sam said do the pieces click together.

“Hold on. You’re phone guy!” Jess exclaims excitedly. Dean just looks over to Jess, Brady stops eating, and Sam looks like he wants to kill himself.

“Phone guy?” Dean gruffly questions, looking over to Sam for some clarification but just gets met with a horrified face.

Jess continues on, ignoring Sam’s pleading look, “You’re the guy Sam spends hours talking on the phone with. You’ve got a personalized ringtone and everything so he never misses one of your calls. It’s kinda cute actually.”

Dean just smiles and says, “Is that so?” Sam really looks like he wants to throw himself off a cliff.

Before anymore teasing can occur, Sam picks up both his and Deans garbage, tossing it out as quickly as he can before dragging Dean away from his two friends with a burning face.

All he can hear is Jess’ and Brady’s laughter as he scampers away with his brother. “It was nice meeting you Dean!” Jess yells, a broad grin on her pretty face as she waves the two men goodbye. “You too Jess!” Dean yells back just as loudly.

Sam is going to kill himself.

——————

Brady looks at Jess and says one sentence, “They’re totally fucking.”

Without missing a beat, Jess replies “ Oh a million percent. I recommend you don’t go back to your dorm for the next few hours.”

Brady sighs and continues to eat, “Definitely.”

——————

Back at Sam’s dorm is a cacophony of laughter from Dean and pleading from Sam.

“Dean please shut up. It’s not that funny!” Sam whines. Dean just laughs even harder, “Phone guy? Are you kidding me?! This is the best day ever!”

Sam eventually gets fed up at the laughter and tackles his brother to his twin sized bed. Wrestling him to get him to shut up. Although Dean is shorter than Sam now, he’s still stronger; eventually pinning Sam down beneath him.

The two just pant heavily as the tension grows thicker and thicker as the seconds pass on. Eventually, Dean breaks the silence.

“Why haven’t you mentioned me to any of your friends?” Sam gulps at the dark look Dean throws his way. What does he even say in response to that?

Because they’ll know how much of a freak I am?

I love you too much for it to just be considered brotherly.

I’m scared.

Sam just gapes like a fish for a few seconds before demurely looking off to the side, his eyes filled with tears, “You’ll think I’m a freak.”

At that proclamation, Dean rears back a bit and immediately tries to get that solemn expression off his baby brothers face, “No I wouldn’t.” At Sam’s shake of his head, Dean firmly repeats his statement, “I wouldn’t.”

Sam bites his lip, debating if he should tell the truth. Dean always knows when Sam lies so… what’s the point? Time to ruin the best thing Sam’s ever had in his life.

“I love you.” Sam quietly stated. The room is so quiet you can hear a pin drop.

“I love you too?” Dean says. Of course he loves him. It’s Sammy.

Sam rolls his eyes at his brothers obliviousness and shoots him a look, “No Dean. I love you.”

Deans eyebrows furrow before his eyes widen and his mouth drops open a bit. He can’t mean. No. No way. No way does his Sammy love him the same way Dean does. Sammy is pure. He’s perfect. He isn’t fucked up like Dean is.

As Dean sits in Sam’s lap in astonishment, Sam feels his eyes water. This was a mistake, he shouldn’t have said anything. As Sam moves to push Dean off, he gets the surprise of a lifetime.

Dean kisses him.

Full on gives Sam one of the most passionate kisses he’s ever experienced.

When the two eventually pull away from one another, they connect foreheads and pant together. Sam looks desperately at Dean. Don’t get my hopes up. Not here. Not now.

Dean eventually fulfills every wish and dream Sam’s had since he was 14 years old. He says the damming words back.

“I love you too.” Before kissing Sam again.

Sam didn’t expect much of anything when his Dad kicked him out and he went to Stanford. He especially didn’t expect this.

But Sam couldn’t be happier.

[worldofkuro]

Hey !

I was wondering, how your Painted Smile series would turned out in a Omegaverse? I'm so curious, Alastor is already obssesed with the reader, so imagine if he as an Alpha and the redar an Omega. And When they were children, nesting together ! Growing up with the tension between their two dyanmics >///< Please, please ?

Oh, how nostalgic !I don’t remember the last time I wrote something about Alpha & Omega content. But do you wish for death? Asking for an Alpha!Alastor..? Do tell, if you want a part2, it would be interesting to do.

Well, well, I can see Alastor’s father being an Alpha and his mother an Omega. He could see how his mother hurted from the bond his father forced upon her. He hated it. Being controlled by his instincts seems horrible.  He couldn’t lie to himself, he always loved his mother purring to smooth his nerves but hearing his father's growl would always make him tense.

He wished to be a beta. From what he read, they weren’t really affected by pheromones and could live their life like they wanted. He wanted that, he envied that.

And that’s when he first met you. You were such a happy annoying girl, being the perfect girl. He would scoff at you but as you know how the story goes, he will start to care for you as his special person. 

He would frown when he heard both of your mothers talk about how amazing it would be if you and Alastor turned out to be an Omega and an Alpha. He didn’t wish this upon you, you were his special person, he didn't want you to be weak to pheromones. 

You always made a nest on his bed, you wanted him to be able to sleep peacefully, so you always did your best to make it fluffy and cozy. You would take a nap together, feeling at peace.

When you first gave him Eamon, his mother teased him, saying it was maybe a courting gift but Alastor just laughed. You weren’t like this, and so was he. 

He turned into an Alpha around 11 years old. He couldn’t go out because of all the smell and noise he could feel. And furthermore, when you came to him because you were worried, he almost salivated because of how sweet you smell. He hated it, he was being controlled by something stronger than himself.

But you helped him, through all those new experiences, making him feel safe with you which almost made him forget he was an Alpha.

But when you turned to be an Omega, when you were maybe around 14, it was something much more unbearable for him.

First of all, you went into heat.

If you went into heat one day, in a public place, Alastor would snarl at any Alpha round and carry you, running to your house. He knew you would be safe there.

 He would come see you, wanting to be the one caring for you, like you did for him. But when he entered your house, all he could smell was your divine scent that seemed to invite him into your  bedroom. Thank God, your mother calmed him down and asked Alastor not to come until you were feeling okay again.

He would sneak to see you, staying in front of your window, never opening it. He was so scared of what he could do if he smelled you once more. 

You would whine, asking for him to hug you but Alastor would never break, staring at you through the windows.

When you felt better, there was a whole new tension between the two of you. Both of you would get very protective of the other. Someone touched Alastor, you could put your scent on you, saying he was smelling bad and he should be grateful you were here.

Alastor would let you scent him whenever you wanted, doing the same for you. In the beginning, the two of you wouldn’t know the meaning behind the scenting. It’s when Alice told you it was something a courting pair would do to show everyone you were courting someone. 

You almost exploded when you heard that news. DId everyone think you and Alastor were courting ? How embarrassing ! .. And yet, you liked that thought..

[acid-ixx]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTN8X9hLh/

This is so neglected [reader] coded I cried when I found this audio after reading your fic 😭😭

AAAAHH !!! this hurts so much especially since i'm writing about chapter two and chapter three is basically the audio in a nutshell 😭 like omg take all of the reader's pain and give it to the joker istfg!! i'm literally dreading when i have to write for a breakdown scene in chapter three but chapter two is already draining me of my energy, i had to actually take a break and walk outside just to replenish myself ehe

istg i wish i knew how to animate so i could draw the reader literally screaming at their family with this audio but alas, the world has to nerf me or i'd be too powerful 💔