#the disgusting blindingly painful feeling as it rips off my body when.

[thecranewivesrpf]

they should invent like. A way to kill yourself without dying

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Set  Yourself On Fire

Word Count: ~1550

Warnings: Depression and suicidal thoughts. No, seriously, this is not a happy fic. It centers on Sam and his mental state between seasons three and four, so. Yeah. Demon blood, sad Sam, self-loathing, etc. Some mentions of Sam x Ruby, but the pairing is not the point. 

A/N: For @idreamofplaid​‘s “Thanks For The Memories” Challenge.  My episode was “I Know What You Did Last Summer.” 

I snagged bits from a drabble I wrote called “Might As Well,” which was about this same time in Sam’s life, and worked them into this. 

Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67​ and @fookinghelljensensthighs​ for read-throughs, and to @stunudo​, @thoughtslikeaminefield​, and @lastactiontricia​, who helped me work through the fine points of the psychology that was going on here. 

Title from the Stars song Your Ex-Lover Is Dead: “When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.”  

The whiskey stings when Sam splashes it over the cut on his arm. It’s a good kind of pain, blindingly sharp and clean, and for a moment it takes his mind off the slimy ache in his chest and the filthy squirming guilt in his gut. 

Dean’s looking at him again, searching and suspicious.

“Why do you trust her so much?” he asks, and Sam doesn’t want to meet his eyes. 

“I told you.” 

“You got to do better than that. Hey, I’m not trying to pick a fight here. I mean, I really want to understand. But I need to know more. I mean, I deserve to know more.” 

He does. Dean deserves that and so much better. 

Sam tilts the bottle again, watching the booze wash away the blood as it burns him clean, and he takes a sip, as if that’ll do the same thing to the ugly wound in his chest. There isn’t enough whiskey in the world to sanitize his insides. 

He knows he can’t tell the whole truth, but Dean deserves to know more. The question is, where does he start? 

He could start with the moment the dirt closed over the grave. Sam, Bobby had said, so quietly. Sam, don’t. And it was funny, how much Sam had always wanted that; he always wanted a father figure who would ask him to stay. I can’t, he told Bobby, and he lurched away, staggered to the car, started driving.

He can’t tell Dean about the days that followed, because he doesn’t remember much of them. Two, three, maybe four days slipped away while he hid in a shitty motel, drinking, and the memories that remain are disjointed flashes in his mind: the ugly floral duvet under his cheek as he collapsed face-first into the bed, the cold white bathroom tiles and the bruises they left on his knees, a ceiling fan distorted through salt-swollen eyes as he watched it spinning lazily overhead, the taste of bile, the blood on his knuckles, the broken shard of mirror that he picked up and turned over in his hands for longer than he’ll ever admit. 

No. He can’t start there.

“She saved my life,” he says hoarsely, and Dean waits while Sam tries to find the words. 

He still hears John, sometimes: Why are you crying? Be strong. Be brave. Get over yourself. Other people got it a lot worse, y’know. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. 

He’s gotten better at ignoring John’s voice, over the years, but it’s harder to ignore his memories of Dean. Dean blinking back tears, forcing a smile. It’s going to be okay, Sammy. I’m fine, Sammy, don’t worry about me. He’s always wanted to be like his big brother, and his big brother wouldn’t let himself wallow the way Sam had. His big brother would’ve found a way to fight back. 

The crossroads demon had been his only real hope. 

Just take me. It’s a fair trade. 

The worst part was, that no didn’t really surprise him. Of course his life wasn’t worth the same as Dean’s. Of course it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t enough, to save his brother the way Dean had saved him. 

Sam wasn’t sure who he was without Dean, without a mission, without anything to hold onto. 

He’d gotten in the car and started driving. He thought about heading West, out to the cliffs and curves of Highway One; the guardrail was so flimsy, and the Pacific would be steely-grey and welcoming. He thought about heading East, all the way to Maine; the shoreline was rocky and rough, and the crabs would find his body. He could go to Florida, drive into a swamp, let the muck swallow him slowly. He could go to the Dakotas, drive out into the desert, park there and wait, and the vultures would descend eventually. He wondered if anyone would notice that he was gone. 

He can’t tell Dean that.  

So he doesn’t tell Dean about the directionless days. He starts with the day Ruby found him. 

He doesn’t tell Dean about the relief he felt, when he thought Ruby was going to kill him. He doesn’t tell Dean about the cold crush of disappointment in his chest when she stabbed the demon instead. 

He tells Dean about her new body, “100% socially conscious.” He tells Dean about the plan to find Lilith: “I wanted to go right away.” 

Sam had asked, What do you want from me? 

A little patience. And sobriety. 

Sobriety made it harder to sleep, and insomnia made it even harder to remember what was real. He didn’t feel real. He felt like a faded, dull husk of a person, a sunbleached copy of a photograph instead of a breathing human with a heartbeat. Ruby told him to use his strength, but he didn’t have anything left. 

Sam didn’t much care if he died, and some days he wasn’t even sure he was still alive. 

He can’t tell Dean that. 

He sees the way Dean looks at him sometimes. He sees the exhaustion in Dean’s eyes, the worry flickering behind that, and Sam doesn’t want to add to the weight on his big brother’s shoulders. 

Ruby said, Just give it time, Sam. It'll get better. I'm not talking about pulling demons. I know losing Dean was…

I don't want to talk about it. 

The anger tasted ashy in his mouth. It burned, but in a purifying way, like a forest fire clearing the land for new growth. The anger helped him focus. He balled his hands into fists, imagined punching her, imagined that pretty face swollen and bleeding. 

He doesn’t tell Dean about that. 

You know what? Where do you get off slapping me with that greeting-card, time-heals crap? What the hell do you know? I used to be human. And I still remember what it feels like to lose someone. I'm sorry.

He almost did punch her, at that. 

When she kissed him, it was Dean’s voice in the back of his head saying, this is wrong. He shoved her away. 

“I knew it was wrong,” Sam confesses, and he can’t meet Dean’s eyes. “But…” 

He didn’t care, in the moment. It was his brother’s opinion that had always mattered; he always wanted to make Dean proud. But Dean was dead, and Sam had been drifting for so long, and Ruby’s skin was warm and soft and real under his hands.

It was more like a battle than a kiss. It was teeth and claws, ripping each other apart, but every bite and every scratch felt like a reminder that Sam was still alive. 

“Sam?” Dean snaps. “Too much information.” And there it is, there’s the disgust Sam knew was coming. Dean’s lip curls and Sam feels like a child again, clumsy and stupid next to his strong, steady anchor of a big brother. 

The half-truth sits uncomfortably in his throat, and Sam has to work to get it past his lips: “I’m coming clean.” 

There’s something monstrous inside him, something warped and wrong. There’s always been something wrong with him. 

He thinks of the vial in his pocket, the burst of copper on his tongue like a mushroom cloud, the silent dare in Ruby’s big dark eyes and the way she sighs when he slices her open. It burns a little hotter every time he drinks, and he must be charred and black inside by now. 

He hasn’t felt clean for a long time. 

That’s the thing about fire, though; it cleanses, purifies, and maybe he’ll burn up hot enough to take Lilith with him someday. Self-immolation seems inevitable, at this point. His life doesn’t mean much, but maybe his death will. 

“Pretty soon after that,” Sam says, “I put together some signs. Omens. Lilith was in town, and I wanted to strike her first.” Ruby had looked so goddamn concerned, when she realized, and Sam had hated her for it. You don’t want to survive this. This isn't what Dean would've wanted. This isn't what he died for.

“She came after me,” Sam says. “She saved me.” 

He hesitates. 

He doesn’t tell Dean about the blood. 

Sam remembers the night after that failed attack. He remembers watching Ruby cut herself for the first time: his stomach roiling and his skin crawling, the blood welling up and beading into shiny pearls of red. He imagined it sliding down his throat and staining his guts that same dark crimson. 

He doesn’t tell Dean about the way it sizzled on his lips, crackled and sparked inside him, lit him up in a whole new way. He doesn’t tell Dean about the next demon, the way the black oily smoke poured out all at once, faster than he’d ever seen it leave a human before, and the way his veins sang with the power. 

He doesn’t tell Dean about the too-hot shower afterward, when the fizz was long gone and he scrubbed himself raw trying to get rid of the itch that it left behind. 

He didn’t like the way he felt with Ruby, but at least he felt something again. 

“If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here,” he tells Dean quietly. 

He doesn’t ask, Do you regret dying for me? Was I worth it? 

He’s not sure he could live with the answer. 

.

.

.

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[yourdeepestfathoms]

Out of The Hive, Into The Cocoon

[Wing AU]

Wing Reference

Word count: 2284

Prompt: “Wow, there’s a big surprise. I think I’m going to have a heart attack and die from surprise.”

--------------------

  “I don’t feel that well…”

  “Wow, there’s a big surprise. I think I’m going to have a heart attack and die from surprise.”

Jane rolled her eyes at Joan’s wounded expression. She canted her harpy eagle wings away, as if she were afraid the Flightless’s presence may dirty the pristine, shiny feathers. Joan noticed that, too, and looked even more hurt.

  “What’s going on this time?” Kitty asked loudly. Her glass butterfly wings are blindingly iridescent in the overhead fluorescent lights and make Joan feel even more dizzy and nauseous than she already was.

  “None of your business.” Joan snapped. She rubbed her wrists, which haven’t stopped burning since the night before. Her stomach was all cramped up, too, like something was trying to claw its way out of her.

  “Must not be important then,” Kitty said with a shrug.

  “Kitty’s right,” Jane said. “Don’t waste our time, Joan. We’re going to perform in an hour and don’t need you distracting us.”

  “But--”

  “If you felt bad, then you should have called in sick or left sooner.” Jane cut her off coldly.

She whisked away after that, leaving Joan alone in the hall to stew in embarrassment and increasing discomfort. Joan sighed and trudged to her dressing room to get ready, but was stopped by a sharp twinge in her wingbuds. She winced and reached back, but a pain in her wrists halted the movement. She yanked her arms forward again.

And her wrists burst open and silver came exploding out.

Silk.

Joan let out a cry of pain and jumped back, but the stuff pouring from her followed like starved snakes. It began to wrap around her arms and legs and chest, and she desperately tried to tear the silk off of her, but not only was it sticky, but it was also really strong and refined. She scratched and pulled, but it either stuck to her hands or just didn't come off. She frantically covered the slit in one of her wrists, trying to stop the flow, and the strands merely wove around her fingers and consumed them.

She tottered backwards and sunk to her knees, overcome by an intense feeling of nausea like she hadn’t eaten in years, every energy source in her body--fats, carbs, calories, sugars--were being burned away by this hellish process. She opened her mouth to scream or cry for help, but found that she couldn’t even muster up a mere squeak of noise. Cramps seized her stomach in a vice grip, like all her organs were being shredded inside of her. Her vision was starting to fade out as the silk wrapped around her neck and face and she wondered if this was how she died. She suffocates because of some mutation she doesn’t even understand.

Joan doesn’t want to die, not like this, not again, not without flying at least once, not without a single person who cares about her…

Then, blackness. The silk wrapped around her entire body until she looked mummified, and then spun itself larger and larger and larger.

The last thing she heard was someone stepping into her dressing room, telling her she was needed by someone on tech, and then nothing.

She prayed they would help her.

------

Everyone stared in shock at the silvery-gold cocoon sitting in the corner of the dressing room. It was the shape of an egg lying on its side and was so thick with silk that none of them could see the music director inside. It just sat there, glowing faintly, not showing any signs of breaking open anytime soon.

  “She did not…” Maggie said, trailing off, flabbergasted.

  “She did too.” Maria affirmed.

  “What the fuck?” Jane said. “I thought she was Flightless. She is Flightless. What happened?”

  “You sound disappointed.” Bessie commented. Her big bat ears were swiveling around, as if she were trying to listen for any signs of life inside the cocoon.

Jane ruffled. “I’m--” Her tail feathers bristle, wings twitching in agitation. “I’m just confused.”

  “Uh huh.” Bessie nodded, deftly dodging the glare Jane shot her by wing her ears to block out the corners of her vision.

  “It’s definitely an insect avian cocoon,” Cathy said. She stepped forward and tapped the cocoon. “Maybe she was just a really late insect and not actually Flightless.”

  “There’s no way!” Kitty barked. She almost looked jealous at not being the only butterfly anymore.

  “Well, whatever it is,” Cathy went on, “it’s going to make performing difficult for the next week until she comes out.”

  “IF she even comes out,” Anne said, and Jane looked slightly wistful at that concept.

  “We could always cut it open,” Kitty suggested breezily. “Get her out early.”

Aragon shot Kitty a disgusted look. “Don’t your insides melt during metamorphosis?” She asked. “If we cut her out, she’ll probably die. And not entirely be a solid person anymore.”

  “Oh.” Kitty said, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Meh. Oh well.”

  “Well,” Cleves said, “we got a lot of waiting to do.”

------

Aragon resisted the urge to smash her wings into Maggie’s head when the magpie poked the fragile structure of Joan’s cocoon, and she wasn’t sure why.

  “How long will this take?” Maggie asked, already impatient even though it’s only been a day since Joan started metamorphosis.

  “A week, I think.” Cathy answered.

  “A week?!” Both Maggie and Anne yelped.

  “We’re never going to get our MD back!” Anne groaned dramatically, flopping out her wings.

  “What a shame,” Jane mused.

  “Yes we will?” Cathy tilted her head at Anne. “She’s coming out eventually.”

  “Yes,” Aragon agreed. “A week is fine. She can take all the time she needs.”

The others glanced at her strangely, but she ignored them. Just like how she was trying to ignore the weird maternal instincts welling up inside of her.

------

  “Is it now? It is happening? Is that a sign? What does that mean?”

  “I will throttle you if you don’t shut up.”

Anne snickered at Aragon’s annoyance, then fixed her eyes back on Joan’s cocoon. It was as plain and still and boring as the day before. And the day before that.

  “Nothing is happening,” Aragon added. “It looks exactly the same.”

  “Are you sure?” Anne said. She waved a parrot green wing at one side of the cocoon. “Doesn’t that side look a little crinkled? Hey, Kit!” She turned to her cousin passing by in the hallway. “Is this a sign she’s going to come out?”

  “Sure,” Kitty said, not caring.

  “This is so boring.” Anne said to Aragon. “I’m gonna go find something else to do. You were right.”

Aragon rolled her eyes in amusement at the bird, then fixed her eyes on the cocoon.

  “Come out when you’re ready, Joan,” She said. “I’ll be waiting.”

------

By the fourth day, most people stopped gawking at the cocoon. Only a few workers would stop by to look at it, but quickly went on with their work, not really caring anymore. The lump of silk was sort of just there now, almost forgotten. Just like Joan had been.

------

On the fifth day, Aragon found Kitty alone in the dressing room, staring intently at the cocoon with a look in her eye that Aragon did not like. When she was noticed, Kitty flicked her wings dismissively and walked out without a word. That night, Aragon dreamed of the cocoon being ripped open and Joan coming out in agony, horribly disfigured and screaming.

------

For the eleventh time on the sixth day, Aragon counted the food she had bought. Fruits and vegetables, cookies and chips, cheese strings and slices of sandwich meat-- She worried her talons in her feathers and hoped it would be enough for when Joan woke up. Cathy had said Joan was going to be extremely hungry when she woke up, so she was just preparing, that’s all. Nobody else was going to, so she just decided to do it herself. That’s all. There were no maternal implications going on at all. Nope. None.

Aragon stole a glance back at the faintly glowing cocoon in the corner. It looked exactly the same as it did six days ago. 

Or did it?

Aragon walked over to the cocoon, circling around it for a moment before kneeling beside it. She carefully placed both hands on the surface, folding her wings away, and pressed her head against the woven material.

  “Joan? Can you hear me?” She whispered softly, so softly, like she was afraid she might disturb the girl inside. “It’s Catalina, Joan. I’m here. I’m right here. You’re doing great, sweetheart. You’ll look so beautiful once you get out of there, baby girl.”

Aragon found that she was missing the girl. Like, really badly. She missed Joan’s shy smile and her gentleness and how she was always so passionate about music, even if it took everything out of her. She missed everything about the timid little music director, and she hadn’t realized how much she enjoyed seeing her everyday, even if they didn’t talk that often, until right now.

And then the silk moved against her skin, a slight push and give, as though the avian inside was nudging her back or saying that she missed her, too.

------

It was late afternoon of the seventh day when the cocoon moved. Aragon and Cathy, who were both in the dressing room waiting, snapped their heads up in sync, watching closely as if they thought that if they looked away for even a second the week would start all over again.

Right when they started to believe it had been their imagination, the cocoon moved again. And, this time, it wasn’t spotted in the corner of their peripheral vision.

Joan was coming out.

  “It’s happening.” Aragon said after everyone was gathered in the dressing room, as if they didn’t already know that. She grabbed and squeezed Cleves’s arm tightly, not realizing that her talons were digging in. “Do you remember your metamorphosis?” She snapped her head around to Kitty. “Is there anything we should do when she comes out? What if she needs help getting out of the cocoon? Can she get out on her own?”

  “Oh my god,” Kitty groaned in annoyance. “I don’t know!”

  “How can you not know?!” Aragon squawked, beating her wings. “You literally went through this!!”

  “I forgot.” Kitty shrugged.

  “No you didn’t.” Aragon growled. “You’re just not saying anything because you want to be a selfish--”

A crack split down the front of the cocoon. Aragon shut her mouth instantly before she could finish her scolding and whipped her gaze forward again. Fingers with new, tiny curved claws grabbed the edges of the slice and began pulling open, then clawing when that didn’t work. 

  “Is she okay?” Aragon asked. “She looks like she’s struggling. Is she struggling? Cathy, is she okay?” She looked at her goddaughter, sinking her talons deeper into Cleves’s arm. She didn’t even hear Cleves’s hiss of pain.

  “She’s fine, Catalina.” Cathy assured her. “From what I’ve read, this is normal. Just give her a moment.”

Aragon swallowed thickly, but nodded and looked forward again.

Hand prints could be seen pressing against the inside of the cocoon as the silk bindings were slowly scratched away. After a moment of fighting with the structure (and Kitty muttering, “I got out a lot faster than this” underneath her breath), an arm poked out, then another...and then another. 

Right. Insect avians have four arms. That’s probably going to be daunting to Joan after having only two for so long. 

The three visible arms, which were all covered in a thick, dripping shag of pink-yellow fluff from the elbow down, dug their claws into the surface of the cocoon, tearing and crinkling the silk, and then a familiar head popped out.

  “Joan,” Aragon breathed. “Joan, we’re here. I’m here. You’re doing so good!”

  “When did you start caring so much?” Jane asked, but shut up when Cathy nudged her.

Elegant golden antenna that looked like feathers unfurled from the crown of Joan’s head and waved in the air. Tufts of pink and yellow, like the fuzz on her arms, were matted by wetness on her ears. When she shoved more of her upper body out of the shredded cocoon, they all could see that 1) she was completely naked from her clothing being eroded by the cocoon’s fluids, and 2) there was more of that pink and yellow fluff on her chest and belly. It completely covered up her breasts until it looked like she didn’t even have any anymore (maybe she didn’t), and her ribs could just barely be seen under the blanket of fur, which was so long it reached down her torso. Her flat stomach had patches, too, making it soft and fuzzy, much different from the chitin on Kitty, Cathy, and Maria. 

With a splash and a cascade of cocoon fluids, Joan collapsed forward on her stomach. A few of the spectators looked away from her nakedness and stepped back from the liquids now spilled across the floor, but Aragon couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight. Her heart was beating rapidly inside of her chest. She had the unresisting urge to run over and swaddle Joan in her wings.

Joan twitched on the ground, then took a deep breath. Fishhook-like claws scraped down against the tile as she tried to regain mobility. Cocoon fluid dripped off her wet hair and pale skin that was now bristled with fuzz. She unfolded her wings to let them dry, and everyone in the room gasped.

They were beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Aragon had thought that Kitty’s glass-like wings were the prettiest wings to ever exist in the entire world, but not even their iridescence could live up to the beauty of Joan’s rosy maple moth wings.

Pastel pink and banana yellow swirled together in beautiful shades across fuzzy chitin, as if the sunset itself had bled itself upon Joan’s wings. They were gigantic and curved into the most precious shapes Aragon had ever seen before.

Joan looked up, and her eyes were rings of moon silver blinking from an abyss of solid black.

  “Ta-dah!” She squeaked hoarsely.

[imthepointe]

Harumi Always Lies.

@ninjago-angst-week day 2- prompt: alone

tw: torture, trauma / word count: 978

harumi was a little bit crazier than lloyd originally thought.

When Lloyd came to, he was first made aware of the chains on his ankles and wrists, and then the numbing pain he was in.

His head ached, but he managed to blink his eyes awake, slowly once, then twice, before forcing his eyelids to remain open.

The room was stark white, blindingly white, and familiar in a cold and disgusting sense. Lloyd’s hands flexed against the cuffs, his mind desperately racing to put the pieces together-

Ah, right, the NGTV Building raid didn’t go too well. And now he was here, the venerated green ninja chained to the floor of god knows where. In a burst of energy, he pulled with all his might at the cuffs, but subconsciously he knew that he was not going anywhere soon. 

“Stop doing that, now, save your energy. I’m not going to kill you,” a voice deadpanned. The speaker sat in the corner of the room, covertly invisible to Lloyd until now.

His head jerked in the direction of the voice. 

“Harumi.”

Their eyes met. Even though the master of energy was in the presence of a princess, he felt so goddamn alone.

Lloyd let his eyes fall, choosing to focus on the myriad of dark stains tainting his gi. His position seemed so mocking, so pathetic, to have the great green ninja held prisoner to some sadistic teenage girl. He had lost the fight and the imminent destruction of the world was his fault.

“Don’t act surprised, Lloyd, I think you knew from the start who was on the winning team.” The Jade Princess’ head tilted. “But that all doesn’t matter now, does it? Because now the elephant is in the room, Greenie-”

“Don’t call me that-”

From the corner of the cell, Harumi’s eyes widened. She put her hand to her heart, still staring at her prey, as if hurt by some invisible force.

“I don’t think you’re in much of a position to give me any attitude,” she scoffed, “but I must say, I admire your spunk. Always have.”

Lloyd strained against the cuff, knowing it would do him no good. Silently, he reprimanded himself for wasting valuable energy that he had.

He let himself relax, as much as possible, opting to lay in a helpless heap on the cold floor rather than fight a losing battle. A battle that was lost a long, long time ago, when the Bounty was ripped to shreds and his father took over Ninjago City.

“I was like you once. So...full of life,” she stood from her corner of the room and began to walk towards her prisoner, “but you know how the story goes. You killed my parents. A few years later, and now we’re here.”

The Quiet One towered over his weak and curled position on the floor. The ninja wished he could reply with some crude, calculated response, but he knew she was right. He was the reason Harumi was orphaned. All his fault. 

“What?” she asked spitefully. “I thought you were the Green Ninja. Nothing more to say? Pathetic.”

Harumi always lies. A newfound confidence, just a little more energy and Lloyd could break the chains and make his escape. He just had to push himself off the floor, and-

Harumi’s heels crushed the ninja’s palms.

“What are you doing? I’m not done with you,” her voice had a cutting edge to it. With a satisfied smirk on her face, she pressed her foot into the ground, effectively crushing Lloyd’s fingers.

As the green ninja whimpered, she couldn’t help but feel slightly more satisfied. It was almost laughable. Her eyes shone underneath her unkempt bangs, her gaze fixed directly on the limp ninja. 

“Do you feel guilty?”

“Stop, please,”

She eased the pressure on his fingers and removed her foot from the ninja’s hands. A little puddle of tears told her that the poor ninja was already breaking.

Harumi saw red. She would not have pinned Lloyd on being much of the begging type. She grabbed him by the hair, pulling his light body into an upright position. 

“I said do you feel guilty?”

Tears shone in the ninja’s eyes and dried blood stained his temples, dying his blond hair a sickening shade of brown but the princess had no ounce of remorse. She watched as his face crumpled. 

His voice was barely above a whisper. “Please don’t hurt me.”

She dropped him and chuckled. “No, I don’t really plan on hurting you too much,” she rolled her eyes, “not physically, at least.” Her face became stoic and she took a deep breath in. “But there’s only so much more pain a girl can inflict after forcing you to watch your friends get torn apart in some stupid flying ship.”

Lloyd suppressed any feelings from seconds ago and held his chin high. Harumi always lies.

“You’re lying. You always lie. My friends will save me. Nya will come for me.”

“Your friends? Oh, I took care of them in the news building.”

She crouched down until her eyes were level with Lloyd’s red ones, “they’re dead, Lloyd. I don’t think they will come to save you anytime soon.” 

Harumi always lies. Lloyd felt weak. She had to be lying, she must have been, Nya was stronger than that, she wasn’t dead-

In a last fit of defiance and desperation, Lloyd held his head high. “You always lie.”

The Quiet One stood up and brushed herself off, her face remaining emotionless as ever. 

“We shall see.”

She spun around, her heels making the repetitive click clack on the floor as she advanced towards the cell’s exit. 

The sound abruptly stopped when Harumi reached the door, the silence waiting to be filled by her bitter voice. 

“Oh, and Lloyd? Don’t get your hopes up too high about your friends coming back from the dead, not yet at least. You haven’t even seen your dad yet.”

[mainstream-deviant]

Deathshipping Week - Day 7!

@deathshippingweek

Day 7 - Free (Yes, I took that as a literal prompt. When I gave my brain free reign, it came back with ‘no thoughts. brain empty.’ so here we are. ;P)

Length: a "long" one (1025ish), under the cut or here on A03 YM name-of-the-day: he doesn't have one. :( Tags: Angst, hopeful ending tho, Big Feels, AU only insofar as this presumes they met and bonded during BC, post-cannon, Ryou POV and he's not impressed with how things turned out, but he's gonna fix it

*******

Ryou scrubbed away angry tears as he scratched out another line. This was going to work. It had to. It was horrifically unfair that Malik’s other half should be doomed to an eternity in shadows when the other spirits had been given another chance. He’d done nothing worse than them. Arguably, he had been the best behaved of the lot, given his situation. Atem may have come a long way, but Ryou had heard the stories. He burned people just for the hell of it, in those early days. And Bakura may have had his reasons, but ending the whole world was excessive. And yet still they had been given the chance to grow, and change, and eventually to live again.

Malik’s other half hadn’t even had the chance to pick out a name.

The thought brought a barely-repressed sob to his throat as it brought up memories of sitting around in the dark corners of the blimp, tossing potential names back and forth like badly-aimed ping pong balls. Ryou remembered watching in fascination as a myriad of emotions flittered across his companion’s face with each new suggestion. Disgust, amusement, anger – and even something that threatened to be a sort of quiet contentment, which would flicker away as fast as it appeared.

Maybe Malik’s shadow hadn’t done much that would be considered ‘good’ in his time, but Ryou had seen the tantalizing glimmers of the man he could be, and damn it, he at least deserved a chance.

And if the gods weren’t going to do it themselves, then Ryou was well and truly prepared to force the issue.

The flung the carving blade away to clatter into a corner of the room, forgotten, and wrenched open his bag. He yanked out the millennium ring and stared it down, as though the force of his glare alone would make it to perform the miracle he was about to demand of it.

Bakura and Atem had reappeared with copies of their items when they were pushed out of the shadows. The items had promptly been declared inert. Magically meaningless - albeit a nice aesthetic callback to their lives from Before. And maybe that’s really all they were, but they were also all Ryou had access to. The original items – including the rod – were far out of reach. The two shiny replicas were the closest thing he had to something that connected directly to the shadows.

And so he’d stolen the ring. It seemed the appropriate thing to do, anyways.

He gripped the outer edges of the gold so tightly his knuckles shone white in the low light. He pressed it hard to his forehead and hissed to the eye in its centre. “So help me, copy or not, you will do ONE good thing in your miserable existence, and this is it.”

He held it out, trying to ignore the trembling of his fingers. He had no time to give up to grief or rage just yet. He leaned forward and set the ring firmly in the centre of the circle with both hands, pressing it down into the stone as his hair brushed along its edges, making a curtain to keep his whispered words only his own. “Bring him back to me.”

With that, Ryou leaned back, used a waiting blade to slash a cut across his unscarred palm, and smacked it down to complete the circle.

This had to work.

In the first breathless seconds, nothing happened but a swirl of memories and the slow tickle of tears trailing down his cheeks. His breath hitched. “Give him back.” He thought back to quiet secret nights of whispered stories, of shared laughter over a brand of humour no one ever before had found funny, of the heady feeling of finally being understood, and the shared awkwardness of not knowing at all what to do with the sensation. “Please.” He closed his eyes against more tears, clinging hard to the feeling of desperate hope that had found him when the shadows first opened up to release their captives, and not the crushing disappointment that had forced the feeling out when only two had emerged.

The circle remained lifeless.

His sob echoed off the walls as he wrapped his arms around his middle and clenched his cut hand into a fist, heedless of the pain as his wound ripped open further. It wasn’t fair. Why didn’t he get to keep someone precious? What made him so underserving of that small courtesy? With a wordless yell, lifted his bloody palm and smacked it wetly down on the stone with all the force of his frustration and pain.

The spell flared to life. The shock of it was surely the only thing that kept Ryou’s hand in place as the circle burned to life, pure white and blindingly, painfully bright. And just like that, it was done. Ryou blinked the stars from his eyes and tried to bring the room back into focus. There was a rustle of material in front of him, and he blinked harder until a slouched form emerged from the haze in his vision.

Ryou’s voice cracked when he first opened his mouth, but he forced the words out of his tight throat anyways. “Is that you?”

There was a long pause as the room slowly swam back into focus. “…Ryou?”

Ryou launched himself forward, flinging his arms around the body in front of him as a fresh wave of tears burst forth. The body was warm and solid and real in his grip, and he sobbed when he felt arms circle his frame to hold him back just as tightly. “Ryou? What happened? How the fuck am I here?”

Ryou buried his face into the warm shoulder and laced his fingers through the wild hair he thought had been stolen away forever. “Because you have to be.”

After a beat of silence, he felt his companion nod, and cup a hand around the back of Ryou’s head to tuck him more firmly into his hold as his tears slowly drained away. “Ok.” He settled back and buried his face into Ryou’s hair. “I can do that.”

[fatestemptress]

Paramount Remembrances - Chapter 8

Summary: Dean Winchester has reached a point in his life where he doesn’t have many firsts left to fulfill.  Except maybe falling in love.  This is the story of how he got there......and desperately tried to keep it.

Warnings: Bad words.  Some Angst here.  Mutual masturbation.   18 Plus ONLY!

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Word Count On this Chapter: 4,408

A/N: Soooo, I couldn’t keep my filthy little paws off of this fic and decided to write another chapter.  Thanks for all the awesome feedback!  You guys are awesome! 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  

Dean was thirty-one when he fell in love.   One month later, he realized he may be ill-equipped to keep it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  

It had been bliss.  

For the first month.  

Frankly, Dean was surprised it had taken that long.  

They had been at a bar at a boutique hotel in a large city and his beautiful Y/N was doing that thing she does with her nose when she wanted to get something out of someone.

Namely men.

When she wanted to get something out of men.

She was smiling up at the potential suspect, her body encased in a flouncy flowered sun dress with a ridiculously low-cut top as she wrinkled that cute little nose up at something the soon to be dead man said.  

Dean growled low in his throat when he saw the guy place a hand in the small of Y/N’s back as he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“Yeah, that’s enough of that.” Dean snarled, “He just officially became Captain Hook.”

His chair made a screeching sound as he abruptly sat up and made to move his way over to his girlfriend and chop off the hand of the guy brave enough to touch her when Sam’s hand shot out and grabbed at his forearm.

“No, Dean.  Sit.  Don’t you dare mess this up ‘cause you’re jealous.”  He said with a firm shake of his head, his long hair swaying with the movement.

Dean pursed his lips in indignation at his brother, watching as Y/N gave him a quick frown, “Pfft. I’m not jealous.  Aint got nothing to be jealous of.  So what if he’s a doctor with blindingly white teeth and a mansion.  Y/N’s not into that.”

Sam rolled his eyes and gestured for his brother to sit, “Yeah, she likes pain in the ass Hunters who don’t know how to let her do her job.”  Sam sat back as he sipped his beer, “You gotta trust her to do her thing. All signs are pointing to this guy being the lure for the vampire nest.”

Dean sat down with a huff but not before he sent a dark look Y/N’s way, “I trust her.  I don’t trust him.  Especially since he keeps putting his hands all over my woman.”

Sam sighed, “Y/N would cut you if she heard you talking about her like that.”

Dean couldn’t stop his grin, “Nah.  She thinks she doesn’t like it.  But she loves when I get all growly on her.”

Sam snorted, “No. She doesn’t.  Now sit back and observe or leave and I’ll be her back up since you can’t seem to control your caveman instincts.”

Dean felt his mouth settle into a pout, “Not being a caveman,” He mumbled, “Just don’t want the guy to touch her is all.”

As he saw Sam roll his eyes again and watch the bar, he really sat back and thought about his reaction to what was going on.  

Dean watched as Y/N sent him warning glances over the guys shoulder before smiling up at the possible suspect and raising a bare shoulder as she flirted shamelessly.

And as his gut twisted again, his breath was caught in his throat as he realized that he was jealous.  All those feelings of inadequacy bubbled up from his stomach into his throat to effectively choke him off.  His eyes took in the custom-tailored suit, expensive shoes, coiffed blonde hair and smooth unscarred face and it made him bit the inside of his lip in the unfamiliar feelings.  

Not the inadequacy part. That he was more familiar with than he liked to say.  But he had never been jealous before.  Not of another man.  Not of the what if’s that the other man’s presence brought to him.  

Cause while he didn’t always love the Hunter life and the misery it could bring to his existence, he had accepted a long time ago that this was who he was meant to be.  And when he had been lucky enough to find Y/N and the peace she brought to his life, he felt himself doing more than just accepting.  

He felt himself actually living again.  

And now, watching Mr. White Teeth fawning over Y/N and charming her with what Dean was sure was promises of yachts and trips to the Mediterranean, Dean felt not only jealously but regret.

He wanted to give her all of that and more.  But all he had to offer her was an old Chevy, (granted it was the best car in existence. But still.), and himself.

And he knew he wasn’t enough.

And that made the jealousy quickly turn into stupidity and then anger.

Stupid, unnecessary, un-called for anger.

And he knew that.

But he foolishly allowed it to control his next actions anyway.

Cause as he watched, the suspect took his mouth and brought it to Y/N’s ear and whispered into it before briefly scraping those stupid white teeth over the lobe, then tilted his head so that he could take a deep breath at her neck.

Inhaling a small bit of the essence of Y/N.  

And as Dean felt the red overwhelm his senses, the only thing that kept reverberating through his skull was one thing:

Every bit of everything that was Y/N was Dean’s.

And this dick just made a mistake in thinking he could lay claim to any part of it.  

This time the scraping of Dean’s chair was overshadowed by the bang it made as it tilted backward and hit the floor.  

And Sam wasn’t quick enough to stop Dean from marching up to the bar, seemingly oblivious to Y/N gently pushing the perp away, before grabbing onto the back of White Teeths stupid suit jacket, forcefully pulling him back with one arm until his body stumbled away from Y/N and into the empty bar stool behind him.

“Hey!  What the fuck?”  White Teeth shouted.

“Please.  Have a seat.”  Dean growled, his eyes boring into the asshole, making the man instinctively flinch at the unwavering stare.

“Who the hell are you?!”

“I’m the guy that’s gonna make those veneers into chewing gum.”

“Dean!”  Y/N admonished, “What the hell are you doing?”

White Teeth shot Y/N a surprised glance before bringing his eyes back to the imminent threat, “You know this guy, Katie?”

Y/N’s teeth were clenched as she glared at Dean, “Yes.  He’s my-.”

“Boyfriend.”  Dean growled.

“Ex-boyfriend.”  Y/N ground out.

Dean felt his heart plummet into his stomach and he quickly broke off the staring contest with White Teeth as he set devastated eyes on Y/N, “Wh-what?”

Y/N took in a deep breath and gritted her teeth, pointedly avoiding Dean’s stare, “I’m sorry, Patrick. Dean has had a hard time letting go. Seems he can‘t take the word no for an answer.”  

Dean blinked slowly at her, “Y/N, I think you’re-.”

Y/N’s eyes turned cold, “No, Dean.  That’s the point.  You didn’t think.”  She coolly dismissed him with her gaze and turned her attention to somebody behind Dean, “Sam, do you mind taking your brother outta here? Somewhere he can cool off and get back into the right frame of mind.”

Sam’s worried eyes were darting between the three people in front of him and he gently pulled on his older brother’s arm.  Dean’s eyes were still set on Y/N’s face, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he blinked at her, hurt bleeding out as she continued to avoid his stare.

“Come on, Dean.” Sam said firmly, “We got other places to be.”

Too stunned to stop his brother from being pulled out of the hotel lobby, Dean’s legs moved numbly towards the door as he heard Y/N apologize to ‘Patrick.’

“I’m so sorry about that. Now, you were saying about the beautiful property you own outside of town….

Dean didn’t hear his response as the glass doors shut behind him and his brother.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam dragged Dean over to the Impala waiting in an alley around the corner from the hotel, “Dude! What the hell??!  You could have cost us this case!”

Dean stayed silent as he mechanically entered the driver’s side of the car.

“Dean!  What is your problem?  You’ve never stopped Y/N from working a potential suspect before.  Like ever.”

Dean finally turned his gaze back to his brother, “Yeah, well she wasn’t mine before!”  Dean slammed the door shut forcefully, “And apparently, she’s not mine now.”

Sam shot him a frustrated look from his perch outside of the car as he leaned on the passenger side window, “She didn’t mean it, Dean.  She’s just trying to get the possible location of their nest in hopes that some of those girls are still alive!”

With firm lips, Dean tapped on the steering wheel, “Go back inside and keep an eye on her.  I’m gonna go back to the motel room.  Call me if you need me.”

“But Dean-.”

“NOW SAM.”

With a frustrated sigh, Sam lifted his hands up in exasperation, “Fine.  Whatever.  I’ll call you.”

It was two hours later, and he was sitting at the table in their motel room, four glasses of whiskey in, when Y/N returned from the bar, or wherever the hell she had been.  

Dean had wallowed in his anger tinged despair and had probably picked up his cell phone over a hundred times, his finger hovering over her name, typing and then deleting various forms of texts consisting of accusations, apologies and begging.

Frankly, he was disgusted with himself and his inability to take control of the situation and straighten it out properly.  In his heart of hearts, he knew Y/N didn’t mean it when she called him her ex-boyfriend and he was being a total douchebag about the whole thing, but nothing could erase that feeling of anguish that had hit his senses when she had said it and had so causally dismissed him.  

In their brief time together, Dean had already ingrained her so deeply into his soul that he felt like she had ripped something out of him.

It had hurt.

Dean didn’t do hurt well. When he hurt, he shut down.  And when he shut down, well, Dicky Dean came out to play.

And he had a hell of a time stopping him.

Dean barely looked up from the laptop in front of him as Y/N slammed the motel door behind her.  Her wedge sandals taking long strides to him as she threw her purse onto the chair nearest the door.

“What the fuck, Dean?! What was that all about?”

Dean took a casual sip of his whiskey as he lifted one shoulder into a feigned, nonchalant shrug, “Guess it doesn’t matter now does it?”

Y/N ripped her jacket off and threw it at his head, “Are you on crack?  ‘Cause you’re seriously acting like a crazy person!”

He coolly reached up and plucked the denim jacket off his head and placed it on the chair beside him with nary a flinch, “Not acting like anything.”

Y/N glared at him as she placed her fists on her hips, “I’ve been trying to get the location of their playpen for days and I was so fucking close! And you just swoop in and try to save a day that didn’t need saving.”

Dean’s upper lip twitched before promptly falling back into his cold unaffected look, “You’re right. You had it handled.  Don’t worry about me getting involved anymore.  Won’t happen again,” He stood up before he made his way past her and into the kitchenette and poured himself a refill. He raised the glass in Y/N’s direction and pointed at her, “Once this case is over, we’ll just go our separate ways and that’ll be that.”

For the briefest of seconds, Y/N’s eyes clouded over in panic and Dean’s stomach did that twisty thing that only she could get out of him and he felt his guard lower slightly and he could almost feel the misery leaking out of his eyes.

But instead of getting an apologetic Y/N, he got an even angrier one.

Shit.

“You stupid ASS!  Did you really think I was breaking up with you?”  She reached up and pulled at her hair letting out a frustrated growl, “God, I didn’t think jealousy would make you this dumb!”

Dean slammed the glass down onto the counter, “This isn’t about jealousy, Y/N…okay maybe it was at first. That douche couldn’t keep his paws off you but then it became more than that when you treated me like garbage!”

Throwing her hands out to her sides, Y/N gave him a look of exasperation, “What did you expect?  A fucking parade when you turned into a caveman and threw our lead to the side like a sack of potatoes?  There’s lives at stake here, Dean.”

He came around the counter and into her personal space, “Don’t you think I know that?!  I know that, Y/N,” Dean’s hands hovered in the air by her face before running them through his hair instead, “But at that moment I didn’t care! He….he was touching what’s mine.”

Her light brown eyes narrowed, and she glared up at him, her finger poking into his chest as her voice lowered to that dangerous level, “I’m not a possession, Dean!  You don’t own me!”

“Yeah, well you own every fucking part of me!”  He yelled into her face as she blinked up at him dubiously, shuddering at his words, before he brought shaking hands to her face and cradled them in between his palms, whispering, “Every piece of me.  And I happily give it over to you every second.”  He lay his forehead against hers, “God, the thought of losing you…..”

Y/N sighed shakily against his lips, “Dean, it was a fake fight.  I didn’t mean it.  I would never mean that.  I love you.  When are you gonna start believing that?”

He swallowed deeply at her words, briefly closing his eyes, “I do.  I do believe that.  It’s just……I’ve had so much bad in my life that the thought of losing the good…..it breaks something in me.  And then it gets me angry as hell that I can’t control myself.”  He raised his forehead from hers, “I’m…I’m sorry.”  He whispered as he looked into her eyes.

Y/N sighed deeply as she looked away from his penetrating stare, “Jesus, Winchester.  I swear I have never been a sucker for a pretty face before, but you……”  Her eyes flicked back to his and she pursed her lips, “Being my boyfriend does not mean you get to control me, Dean.  It only means that you love me and stand by my side.  Not in front of me.  I don’t need protection.  I can take care of myself.”

“I know that.  I do.  I just….”  Dean sighed and bit his bottom lip, “I love you…so much….and sometimes……I don’t feel like I deserve you and….it makes me a little crazy.”

Tilting her head, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the pulse point at his neck, making him shudder at the touch of her soft lips.  She slid her hands up into his hair and pulled firmly at the strands, holding him to her, “You are everything I need.  Just you.  Nothing more. Nothing less.” She bit at the skin in front of her, causing him to let out a low moan before sliding her mouth to his ear, “Now, let me show you.”

Dean stood still as Y/N’s fingers slid to the front of his jeans and palmed his semi-hard cock. (It was always at attention in her presence.  It was a wonder they ever got anything done.)  She leaned her head back and stared into his eyes before moving towards his lips, her eyes never closing as her mouth met his, penetrating his gaze, making sure they conveyed what words couldn’t.

“Y/N….”  He whispered against her lips.

Letting out a trembling breath, Y/N opened her mouth under his and ran her tongue slowly against his bottom lip before gently biting down and tugging it with her teeth.  She ran her hands under his gray t-shirt and scraped her fingernails over his nipples before pinching them both between her fingertips,

With a growl, Dean abruptly picked Y/N up under her ass and wrapped her legs around his hips, before bringing her to the closest wall and leaning her up against it.  He swallowed down her cry with his mouth and roughly kissed her, his tongue rolling against hers in earnest.  His mouth left hers and slid its way down to her throat murmuring nonsense against her skin as she roughly ran her hands through his hair and threw her head against the wall.  Her hips undulated against his jeans and he could feel her searching for just the right angle as her breaths started to leave her mouth in deep gasps.

His hands shook as the adrenaline brought on by the thoughts of losing her because of his stupidity suddenly left him and was replaced by a need so deep he let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob.  

He would be embarrassed, angry at himself even, if anything else mattered but her.

Gently, Y/N brought her hands to his face and raised his gaze to hers.  Her eyes searched his for the briefest of seconds, before she leaned forward and brought her lips to his temple, pressing a chaste kiss there before tightly wrapping her limbs around his body.

Dean closed his eyes at the feel of her form against his, his heart pounding wildly in his chest reverberating against the steady thump of hers.  

They stood there for the briefest of minutes before Y/N slowly released her limbs from around his body and slid to the floor.  Gently, she pushed him back with a smile and made her way around him to the bed, her dress fluttering behind her, before she sat down on the edge of the mattress.

Dean’s eyes took in her soft, tanned skin and dark straight hair, watching with bated breath as she slowly lifted the skirt of her dress up her thighs.  Her eyes intensely stared at him as he started breathing heavily across from her, his hands twitching with the effort of not touching her.  The outline of his cock practically pulsed in time with her movements and Y/N hummed and bit her lip at the sight.  

When the dress reached the juncture of her thighs, she stopped moving it up and opened her legs wide. The gray cotton thong she had on underneath was already soaked through, the wet spot dark against the lighter color.

“Fuck.”  Dean groaned out and reached down and briefly palmed himself, deliberately holding himself back from approaching her on the bed. Waiting with anticipation to see what she would do next.

With a slow smile, Y/N leisurely ran a hand over a cloth covered breast, squeezing a nipple before sliding it the rest of the way down to the wet spot between her legs.  She brought two fingers to the top of her heat and rubbed slowly watching Dean’s slightly open mouth let out a woosh of air when she pushed the underwear to the side revealing her glistening pussy briefly before covering it again with the wet material.

Something animalistic in him reared up and Dean immediately started to make his way over to her.

“Stop.”  She said in a low commanding voice.  She pointed to a chair directly across from her with her free hand, “Sit.”

Unwilling to refuse her anything, Dean sat down on the plastic motel chair and leaned back in the seat.  He raised an eyebrow at her and made a gesture with his hands as if asking her ‘What now?’

“Now, you stay until I tell you different.  Got it? Do.  Not.  Move.”

Letting out a low growl at her commanding tone, Dean felt his cock twitch eagerly in response, “Whatever you want, Sweetheart.”

Satisfied with his answer, Y/N leaned back on one elbow as she stared into his intense gaze and slid her fingers into the top of her thong, finding her hardened clit and letting out a low mewl as she rubbed against it.

Dean bit his bottom lip, holding in the groan he wanted to let out and reached down to squeeze his cock through his jeans, “That feel good baby?  You like playing with your clit while I watch?”

At his words, Y/N started to rub harder, “Feels so fucking good.”

“Take off your panties. Lemme see.”

Y/N gave him a slow sinful smile as a knuckle popped the material up before it slid down to her entrance, “I don’t know, Dean.  You were very naughty today.”  She let out a trembling breath as she buried her middle finger inside of herself, “Perhaps I should just make you watch as I make myself come. Make you go to bed with a hardon.”

Dean couldn’t stop the low moan that slipped past his lips as he watched his girlfriend masturbate in front of him for the first time.  The thought of being punished for his bad behavior making his stomach twist in knots of anticipation, instead of sorrow.

He was such a sick puppy.

And she indulged him in all the ways he needed.

“But then I’d be punishing myself too,” She said as her finger started to move faster, “I’d be depriving myself of that fat cock of yours.  Don’t know if I’d be able to go to sleep without having it in me.”

At her words, Dean’s hand squeezed harder between his legs and rolled his head back at the delicious feeling.

“Maybe seeing it would be enough,” Y/N gasped out, “Take it out for me.”

Not having to be told twice, Dean quickly undid his belt, button and zipper and dragged his jeans and underwear down mid-thigh, letting his throbbing dick out into the air, pre-come already glistening at the top.

Y/N hummed at the sight, “Mmmmm, rub that in for me.  Right there at the tip.  Yes, that’s it.”  She hissed when he complied with a low grunt as his hips canted into the air involuntarily.

Dean’s eyes met hers with a plea as he slowly kept rubbing at his tip, “Please, Baby.  Take them off.  Let me see.  Wanna see that beautiful wet pussy.”  

Y/N bit the inside of one cheek as if contemplating his request, “Well, it is getting a little hard to touch myself with only one finger.  Gonna need more room ‘cause I need at least three to even make me remotely satisfied.”  With that, she stood up in her wedges, her calf muscles standing out in stark relief as she turned away from him.  She reached under her dress and grabbed at the edges of her thong with her two thumbs before deliberately bending over as she slid them down her legs, the back of her dress short enough that he caught a glimpse of her shaven pussy glistening at him.

“Fuck, Baby,” Dean gasped out as he squeezed at the base of his dick, “You’re really trying to kill me here.”

She sent him a smile over her shoulder before quickly removing her sandals and sitting in the middle of the bed against the headboard.  Her dress was hitched up once again, with her knees bent and her legs opened wide, giving him an unobstructed view of her core.  She quickly ran two fingers up and down her slit, before shoving them inside herself roughly, her head automatically falling back against the cheap wood of the headboard at the sensation, “Fuck.  So good.”  

Dean’s hand started to move in time with her thrusts, caressing himself with long strokes from root to tip, twisting at the top.  He started to pick up speed as he watched her fingers curl just so, hitting the spot that always made her scream the loudest.

“Rub your clit for me, Baby,” He grunted out, “Do it the way I do.  The way that makes your thighs shake.”

Letting out a low moan, Y/N complied, bringing her other hand down and rubbing her engorged clit roughly, her breath coming out in loud hitching gasps.  

He could tell she was almost there, red highlighting her cheekbones, a small patch of sweat gleaming from in between the exposed top of her breasts.  

Groaning, he reached down with his other hand and lightly pulled at his balls as he continued to stroke his cock, “You’re so close.  I can almost taste it.  But you know what you need.  Give yourself that third finger, Sweetheart.  Push it deep.”

A loud whine slipped out of her lips as she complied with his instructions.  One, two, three strokes and her eyes started to cross, her thighs began to shake, “Gonna…oh my God….gonna come! Dean!”  She yelled out as the wet sounds her core intensified and she came with a loud shout of completion.  

Dean’s hand had a mind of its own as his strokes sped up in earnest and all the blood in his body seemed to rush down to his cock, releasing his orgasm with a snap and he came with a curse, his hips canting up into his strokes, ropes of it shooting into the air and running down his hand.

“Fuuuuuuck.”  He said gasping, “That was…..just….”

“So.  Fucking.  Good.” Y/N said with a grin as she brought her fingers up to her mouth and sucked on the juices still glistening there.

Dean’s cock twitched in interest at the sight.

“Really?”  Y/N said on a breathless laugh, “Even after all that?”

Dean shrugged, an unrepentant grin on his face, “With you?  Always.”

Y/N’s smile softened, “Come here.  Need to feel you.”

Dean quickly undressed and slid his naked body next to hers on the bed as he helped her out of her dress and strapless bra.  His mouth nuzzled at her neck, before laying back bringing her to lay across his chest.

He let out a contented sigh before grinning to himself, “I got a couple of candy bars on the way back to the motel, if you’re in the mood for chocolate.”

Y/N lifted her head and looked at him, “First of all, there is never a time that I’m not in the mood for chocolate.  Second, I thought you thought we were broken up?”

Dean glanced away briefly before looking down at her, “Guess I thought I could bribe you with chocolate if worse came to worse.”

“Smart man.”

@akshi8278 @curly-haired-disaster @chook007 @scorpiongirl1 @pisces-cutie @winchesterbroys @xalgaliareptx @purrculiar @meganywinchester

[slumberlog]

Thrift Shop of Horrors

Dad and I are at what seems to be a normal thrift store, right up until we find a doorway into a massive room. The cavernous space is a chaotic mess of customers pulling around flat metal carts like you see at a hardware store except they’re the size of semi-trucks. And of course, they’re all in a hurry and a bad mood. We’re careful to avoid getting run over.

Eventually we find an unremarkable stairway descending into the basement. While the giant room had an air of cartoonish absurdity, the basement hints at something more sinister. The ceiling is low, the lighting dim. Narrow paths stretch into the distance through sprawling shelves of items. The few customers we see speak in hushed tones, if at all. We pick our way through the maze of stuff. I find some kind of tool, new in the box, and show it to my Dad. He’s pleased, saying the tool itself is worthless but contains a small bit of gold in the electronics which he can sell for three times the price. With that we make our retreat and the dream skips ahead.

The next morning my friend invites me to spend the day together. I oblige and what do you know, she takes us back to the thrift store. She seems familiar with the place, heading straight to the basement level – happy as a clam. It’s deserted at this hour; I don’t even think the store is open yet. She reassures me they will be in a few minutes and we’re okay to be here. She points out a few fake scares the staff have installed. In one area when you step on a certain spot, a nearby piano plays a few notes. Another area has a round cabinet with doors that close themselves when you pass by. We laugh but I can’t shake the distant feeling something else lurks, something real.

For awhile, I dutifully trail after my friend in the silence of the basement. Eventually a door bursts open and several people come streaming out – the staff I presume. It’s a welcome disturbance of noise and humanity. One man catches my attention who seems to be the one in charge. Tall with dark hair and eyes, he makes me uneasy.

My friend seems to know the staff, chatting with them as they pass us by. My gaze wanders, settling onto a small box. It looks like a dollhouse if it were only a single room. One of the women sees me looking at it and quickly tucks it away on a bottom shelf away from my view. Odd. The staff members eventually go about their duties and we are left alone. My friend meanders away looking through the shelves. I of course go straight to the strange box.

Like a dollhouse there are mini versions of furniture inside; an armoire, a folding mirror, and a chair. I pick up the armoire and open it. A small decorative piece inside slips from my fingers to the floor. In my effort to catch it I drop the whole thing, the plastic door popping off the armoire. I look around nervously but no one is nearby. Placing it gingerly back in the box, I inspect the mirror next. It opens like a book, two mirrors instead of pages within. The mirror surface is wobbly and distorted - it’s a toy after all. As I close the mirror, I catch a glimpse of myself.

I’m a man now. This part doesn’t surprise me. What I do notice is my eyes seem to sort of smear in the tiny mirror. Perplexed I pull it closer, tipping it back and forth. At a certain angle the mirror overlays a different appearance. The whites of my eyes take on an orange hue and the pupils stretch vertically. What a neat trick! I angle the mirror over my mouth, pulling back my lips to expose my teeth. As my reflection wobbles along, my teeth elongate and sharpen. Just then my friend appears with the man who caught my attention earlier.

I drop my hands to hide the mirror but they don’t even notice me. As they chat, I lift the mirror again, angling it over my shoulder discreetly so I can see them. My friend appears as normal but the man looks very different. The sides of his mouth stretch back like a snake’s, filled with too many sharp teeth. Bright yellow eyes glow in the dim light, his pupils black slits. And peeking from the skin of his forehead are two small horn nubs. The mirror is crystal clear for the man, not hazy and distorted like it was for me. I put down the mirror for a moment then check again to be sure I’m really seeing this. He still looks like a demon.

Carefully I return the mirror. Their conversation continues normally. Unsure what to do I decide to just wait, the man after all does not know what I’ve seen. He shouldn’t suspect a thing. Eventually he leaves and I rush to tell my friend about the man. She seems more disappointed than anything, wishing I hadn’t found out. She knew all along! I gather this is his domain, but as long as you’re careful there’s nothing to worry about.

Another staff member comes by, this time a woman. They chat as I ponder the whole situation, hardly paying attention to them. A sudden crash cuts the talking short. We all look towards the sound. Silence.

Then something small and dark shoots across the floor in the gap between the shelves. I’m holding my breath. My friend exhales sharply and snaps into action, shouting commands to the staff member. My brain seems slow to catch up and I race after them, catching snippets of their frenzied chatter. The word “puppet” sticks in my head. But it’s not that kind of puppet. That’s a whole different genre of a horror. This must be some kind of subservient creature the demon man has created.

My friend now has a large metal tin. She and the woman are working to corral whatever the thing is towards a closed door. I grab whatever is handy and try to help. I come face to face with it. It’s like a spider mixed with a demon baby. Its face is humanoid with long sharp fangs and reptilian eyes, and its body has too many arms and legs. It hisses at me. I flick a large paper book (like an Atlas) towards it, trying to herd it towards my friend. It skitters to and fro, then rushes off. We play this game several times. My friend always waits with her tin next to a door with bright white light shining from beneath. Each time we get it a bit closer.

But I’m getting tired and make a mistake. The spider demon baby leaps towards me and sinks its fangs into my hand. I shake vigorously to no avail. Running over to the door, I shove the thing towards the floor, not really knowing what will happen. My friend is yelling. Something about me being bitten, imminent transformation. But I don’t have time to think about that.

Reality shifts. The creature elongates, smearing towards the gap beneath the door. With horror I see my hand doing the same, stretching away from me. Pain erupts and I distantly hear myself screaming. My awareness, body - my whole being - is ripping apart, pulled towards the light with the weight of immeasurable gravity. Inky black clouds writhe around churn around me. Even my screaming shreds apart. There is sudden silence, then the world goes blindingly white.

I blink several times. Silhouettes slowly coalesce into people. There’s a throbbing pain in my hand where the creature latched on. The people murmur and the pain subsides. I sit up to find myself in what may be Heaven. Everything is white, including the clothing they wear. Maybe they are angels. I cling to this idea, begging them to help us - to fight the demon man in the basement. One of them responds snidely, “They always want to call in the cavalry. Well things must be approved, done in a certain way. We will help, but it must go through the proper channels first.”

That’s bullshit and I’m furious. My friend and the employee are in real danger. Who knows how many of those creatures there are, and what about the demon man? I jump up and sprint back the direction I came from, the “angels” chuckling behind me. A towering wall of dark curtains shields the way. I turn back to give the angels one last withering glare before diving through the black fabric.

Unfortunately, the way back is just as bad. I’m pulled apart, screams and all, my being sucked through the wriggling clouds of darkness. My limp body appears suddenly, shooting out from the door and sliding across the cool concrete of the basement. I lay gasping in the darkness as a figure rushes towards me, my friend screaming off to the side. In an instant the demon man is crouched beside me, hand firmly planted on my chest.

As my eyes adjust, I realize I can see his true form. Whatever powers the angels used must have lingering effects. But he’s not focused on me. He stares at the others with fangs bared, eyes blazing. He must think I’m still infected or whatever, going to transform into one of his creatures. He’s actually protecting me. I can use this.

“They’re …. coming…” I manage to gasp out. He glances down, features transformed with fury at my words. “Soon...” I rasp with urgency, mock concern on my face. He jumps up, grasping my hand and pulling me with him. “They turned me away,” I say more confidently, really playing up the sense of betrayal. “Saw what I am. They were disgusted.” I can see his mind at work, calculating his next move to fight the angels.

I turn to my friend and whine some more, accusing her of all kinds of things. I wave my hand subtly to my side where only she can see. She understands I’m on their side. I never told her about the mirror. My plan is to somehow bump the box with the mirror to signal its importance.

Then I woke up.

[solosorca]

Vampire AU chapter 18

Previous chapters

Enjoy some vampires!

He groaned in pain and terror ran through him as he saw the knife in his arm. Something kicked in and he ran, the blade sliding out of his flesh, adrenaline numbed the pain. He quickly unscrewed the lid off the bottle and forced the contents down his throat. It was disgusting and he had to force himself not to gag as the coppery taste filled his mouth. 

He stopped and spun to look at his assailant, but only got a glance of a man dressed in a suit before he had to dodge out the way of another knife thrust. He was starting to feel lighter now, moving out the way of the knife was so easy, like the world was in slow motion, or rather, like he could sense where the knife was going long before it was moved.

He saw an opening and shoved the assassin hard, sending him flying across the balcony and into the fence. He couldn’t believe how easily he’d done that, was this what it was like to be a vampire? 

“Who are you?” Ryoma growled, advancing on the other man.

The assassin stumbled to his feet, Ryoma braced himself for another attack, but the assassin leaped off the balcony. 

Part of Ryoma screamed to go back inside, to find Fuji or Kaidoh and tell that what had just happened, but the vampire powers were in control now and his blood was craving a chase. He threw himself off the balcony.

He landed on the gravel below gracelessly, falling forward and landing on his face. He tasted fresh blood in his mouth and realised that he'd cut his lips on his newly grown fangs.

The assassin was opposite him, waiting for him to make a move. Ryoma pushed himself up onto all fours, readying himself to pounce.

Then, something heavy connected with his head, sending him back down into the gravel.

There were two of them. Ryoma cursed himself for being so careless as he rolled away, his head aching. He tried to get to his feet again, but was hit over the head again.

There was nothing for it.

"Fuji!" He screamed with all his might before being hit again. He flailed his hand, looking for something to grab hold of, anything that he could use as a weapon.

His fingers closed around a smooth, cut stone and he realised that the diamond must have fallen out of his pocket when he fell. 

I'm going to die, he thought as another blow hit that back of his head, the vampire powers are going to wear off and then I'm dead. He squeezed his eyes shut, I don't want to die!

A brilliant light erupted from his hand, so blindingly bright that, even with his eyes closed, Ryoma had to turn his head away. The assassins stumbled back, shielding their eyes. 

The light didn't last long, maybe 5 seconds and when it faded Ryoma knew he'd missed his chance to escape. They were advancing on his now and he was exhausted, his body refusing to move no matter how much he willed it.

And then Fuji appeared behind one of the assassins, quickly and efficiently cutting his throat as if he were merely slicing a cake. The other assassin was immediately set upon by Oshitari and Gakuto, Oshitari holding him still whilst Gakuto plunged his hand into the assassins mouth.

"Yuushi told me all the assassin tricks," he said, pulling out a pill from the man's mouth.

The rest of the vampires arrived soon after and Kaidoh helped Ryoma to his feet as the all gathered around the surviving assassin.

Ryoma felt disoriented and nauseous, his head was full of pain and his vision kept blurring.

"So are you going to tell us who sent you?" Atobe asked the assassin, his voice deadly, "or must I set Fuji on you?"

Ryoma's gaze fell on the body of the dead assassin, lying in a pool of blood and his stomach turned.

"Sorry," he muttered as he stumbled into the flower beds to throw up. He was shaking all over and wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Tears came to his eyes as he retched again, he didn't want to be here! He wanted to be anywhere but here!

He brushed the tears away, refusing to cry, but his exhaustion started to take over his body as he tried to stand and the world went black.

Fuji didn't find much joy in torture, certainly not as much as some members of the assassin clan had. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to enjoy hurting the man in front of him, he had tried to kill Echizen, he deserved everything he was going to get.

Atobe sighed when the assassin remained silent, "Fuji, make him talk."

Fuji stepped forward with his sweetest, loveliest smile on his face. He took the assassin's arm in one hand and said, "tell us who sent you?" In a velvety voice. "If you don't, I will hurt you."

"No," the man said.

Fuji smiled at him, "okay" and twisted the man's arm. The assassin’s face crumpled in pain as a series of stomach turning cracks and pops came from his arm. “If I twist it anymore it’s going to come off,” Fuji crooned, “tell me who sent you and I won’t rip your arm off.”

The assassin remained silent, other than a slight whimper of pain. 

Amature, Fuji thought, a vicious feeling of delight spreading through him. He’d found a crack.

“We’ll let you live if you tell us,” Fuji continued, “let you go back to your wife and family.”

He saw the flicker in the man’s eyes and knew he’d hit the mark.

“You won’t kill me if I tell you?” The man asked.

“I won’t,” Fuji promised and loosened his grip on the assassin’s arm, “They must have been someone high up if they managed to sneak you into the party.”

“Yeah,” the assassin agreed, “he gave us everythin’. Look, we’re just a couple of thugs for hire, we’re not professionals or anythin’!”

“Then you’ll tell us who payed you to kill our cute little prince,” Atobe drawled, inspecting his fingernails. 

“It was just some guy in a bar. He was foreign, from Ensinkil. He paid us cash up front and told us the plan, all we had to do was follow it.”

“He didn’t tell you anything about himself? You didn’t recognise him at all?” Fuji asked.

“No, never seen him in my life.”

“And that’s all you can tell us?” Atobe asked. 

“Yes.”

There was a blur in the air and the assassin’s neck snapped. Oshitari let him crumple on the floor.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t kill him,” Atobe said. “Someone from Ensinkil, that wasn’t completely unexpected,” he mused. “Where’s the brat?”

“He went to throw up over there,” Shishido said, vaguely pointing to where Echizen had disappeared off to.

Fuji walked over to the flowerbed and found nothing. Only an Echizen shaped imprint in the earth and a pool of vomit.

“Echizen,” he called out, “Echizen, where are you?”

When he received no reply, he looked back to the other vampires, “if we spread out we’ll find him quicker,” he said, a note of panic in his voice. How could he have been so stupid and let Echizen out of his sight!?

Atobe nodded, “I will return to the party and see if he’s there. The lack of my presence there will be more suspicious than any of yours. Shishidou, clean up this mess. Kabaji, you help him.”

They split up and started to search the gardens, looking in every bush, fountain and flower bed for Echizen. Fuji was getting frantic now, it was as if Echizen had just vanished, there was no trace of him anywhere. To make matters worse, it had started to rain heavily, washing away any possible scent of Echizen.

By the time they had all gathered back in the ballroom, all dirty and irritable, the ball was coming to an end.

“Shishidou and Gakuto, go and search the city,” Atobe said, “Oshitari, you go with them. I’m not returning home without the brat. Now, there is blood waiting for us in our rooms. We’ll continue the search after we’ve recovered.”