#would scream bloody murder if you tried to take something he liked away from him. absolutely did not babble.

[caterpillarinacave]

Do you have thoughts about Baby Henry and his Great Aunt Matilda?

Oh BOY do I.

I could literally go on and on forever but I should redirect you to this entire fic which is basically a coherent, carefully constructed, novel of those thoughts:

(Those with an astute eye will notice that I call Matilda Henry’s aunt, as in his fathers sister, as opposed to his great aunt. Maybe this is due to the copious amounts of inheritance fuckery brought up in the first chapter. Maybe I forgot because rereading nothing but shadows makes me sad. Maybe I can make it work and I’m going with it.) 

[ghost-proofbaby]

IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse. 

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him. 

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless. 

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings. 

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival. 

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles. 

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery. 

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating. 

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of  mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own. 

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him. 

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy. 

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.” 

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.” 

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him. 

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?” 

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun. 

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.” 

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl. 

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization. 

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault. 

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life. 

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal. 

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence. 

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town. 

Come to me. 

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence. 

Come to me. 

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems. 

“Why are you here?” 

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him. 

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible. 

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment. 

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…” 

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you. 

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give. 

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.” 

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch. 

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own. 

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths. 

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness. 

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-” 

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep. 

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns. 

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away. 

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs. 

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.” 

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down. 

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him. 

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.” 

“So why are you still in pain?” 

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other. 

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.” 

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps. 

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…” 

“Different?” 

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind. 

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night. 

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.” 

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger. 

“What was the cost?” 

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing. 

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now. 

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey. 

Blood shouldn’t be sweet. 

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow. 

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you. 

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance. 

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in. 

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration. 

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed. 

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?” 

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him. 

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees. 

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?” 

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.” 

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.” 

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance. 

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it. 

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them. 

“Don’t,” he lowly warns. 

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?” 

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches. 

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment. 

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger. 

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were. 

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s. 

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you. 

He could almost taste you. 

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.” 

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable. 

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger. 

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone. 

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch. 

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.” 

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer. 

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone. 

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him. 

He’s losing control. You’re losing control. 

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation. 

A road to your hunger. 

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease? 

Probably. 

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge. 

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs. 

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising. 

Come to me. 

“Please.” 

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out. 

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.” 

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now. 

You’re so close. So close. 

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. 

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat. 

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.” 

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.” 

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him. 

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance. 

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push. 

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-” 

He breaks. 

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are. 

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you. 

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure. 

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment. 

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper. 

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you. 

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them. 

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly. 

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being. 

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you. 

I need more. 

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his. 

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously. 

Then take it. 

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt. 

My pleasure. 

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. 

Sweet as honey. 

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words. 

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?” 

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with. 

“Yes, please.” 

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to. 

And you most certainly did not want to. 

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control. 

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.” 

Yes. 

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.” 

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously. 

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this. 

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.” 

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy. 

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters. 

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts. 

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure. 

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.” 

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical. 

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him. 

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed. 

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine. 

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood. 

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin. 

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?” 

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.” 

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry. 

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you. 

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity. 

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance. 

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you. 

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself. 

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.” 

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares. 

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his. 

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth. 

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him. 

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure. 

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.” 

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it. 

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed. 

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you. 

Eddie. 

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire. 

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter. 

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours. 

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done. 

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.” 

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.” 

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.” 

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough. 

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough. 

Of course, lover. 

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them. 

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[theamberfist]

One Blind Mouse | Uncle Alastor + Reader

Familial! Alastor is Reader's Uncle

Description: One day after an overlord meeting, Alastor stumbles upon a giant demonic mouse that he soon realizes is his relative from life.

(Notes: CW Alastor, death, violence) (gender neutral reader) (Reader is Alastor's niece/nephew/whatever term you prefer) (Reader is blind) (Reader is a mouse sinner) (Pretend Alastor had a sister for the sake of this oneshot)

Words: 2,940

Alastor's ears perked at the familiar sound of screams that always seemed to accompany the streets of hell. He'd just stepped out of a surprisingly entertaining overlord meeting and now his high spirits lead him to take a walk down the road. 

This part of the city, being Carmilla Carmine's territory, was significantly less of a disaster compared to most of hell, and although he didn't enjoy the area nearly as much as some others- such as Rosie's Cannibal Town- it was still a pleasurable enough experience. As he walked, he calmly held his microphone-cane behind his back and took in all the sights.

Most of it was nothing out of the ordinary; sinners running in fear at the mere sight of him, remnants of bloody fights and brawls, as well as a few trashed buildings and alleyways the overlord expected Carmilla to be very unhappy about. 

Alastor sighed. If there was one thing he both loved and hated about hell it was that every day tended to be just the same. Territory disputes, murders that were ultimately never permanent, and newly-killed human souls ending up fearful and disoriented as they randomly appeared throughout hell were all nothing he hadn't seen before. In his time living down here, he'd come to place great value on entertainment and breaks from normality. At the very least, they made afterlife in hell a little more fun.

It was because of this he considered summoning Husk or even Nifty to liven things up. That was what he normally did when he lacked any other form of entertainment, but before he could even decide which to rip from their normal lives, a new sound reached his ears that suddenly caught his attention.

It was almost akin to a roar; something he would have expected to hear from a lion or even a dinosaur if they were more common forms for sinners to take on. Glancing up, he now realized the sound had come from just a few blocks away, where a giant figure towered over some of the nearby buildings. 

It looked like a huge...rat? That was the best way Alastor could describe the entity; with glowing grey eyes, demonic markings, and surprisingly sharp claws and teeth. The rat was ripping apart the nearby buildings as sinners screamed and tried to run away, which made the Radio Demon's ever-present smile widen. It seemed he'd found some entertainment at last. 

So of course, he made his way towards where the rat was towering over buildings; realizing it was right on the edge of Carmilla's territory; approaching that of the V's. He hadn't even realized he'd been so close to their space but it hardly mattered now. While he'd at first assumed the rat's goal to be complete destruction simply for the sake of discussion, that didn't seem to be the case now that he observed them. 

They were ignoring most of the frightened sinners around them; aside from a few that happened to scream extra loud as they ran. Instead, their focus was more towards the nearest building; a TV store in which every single piece of merchandise had a different channel playing at once that made for quite an obnoxious display of sound. Even Alastor wanted to cover his ears, not stopping the giant rat sinner as they tore the place apart sloppily. 

He continued watching the scene for a few more moments until a car finally showed up nearby and a tech-related sinner stepped out with a frightened look on her face. Alastor recognized her as one of Vox's employees from back when they'd still been friends, though he was surprised the TV producer hadn't fired her yet with his poor track record of employees. 

Once out of the car, she approached the giant rat cautiously; as if unsure of how to handle the situation. 

"E-excuse me?" The sinner called, though the rat ignored her, "I demand you stop! This store is property of Vox Tech and you're going to have to pay for any damages you cause!" Alastor's smile only widened now, curious to see whether this seemingly out-of-control sinner would even acknowledge the tech demon or if they'd just continue to go about their destruction. If his employee couldn't handle things, perhaps Vox would even come all the way down here himself, and wouldn't that be a treat to watch? 

As expected, the rat ignored her as they crushed another giant flat-screen TV between their claws. The Vox Tech employee seemed almost offended as she came closer to them. 

"How dare you?!" She exclaimed louder now; taking on a more demonic form that was indicative of her anger, "Have you no respect for the art of television?!" This seemed to finally get the rat's attention because they paused, dropping the shattered TV and turning to face her as they gazed down.

"Art?" They repeated, their voice coated with that demonic tone one became accustomed to hearing while in hell. Alastor raised an eyebrow at the realization that this was not their regular form, wondering what they could have originally looked like but not saying anything just yet. "You call this art?!"

The rat grabbed another TV and threw it at the tech demon, nearly crushing her under its weight if she hadn't gotten out of the way in time. "This is pathetic!" 

Alastor had to agree there. Television had always been a lesser form of media to him, and it seemed this other sinner understood that too. Perhaps when they calmed down the two of them would get along.

Though, there was another part of him that took note of how familiar this particular was...

The rat grabbed two more TV screens and crushed them in either hand now; snarling. "Don't pretend to know anything about art if you support him!" Alastor knew without needing to ask that they were referring to Vox, which made his smile widen even more. It seemed he really would get along with this rat. Though, the more he listened to them speak, the more it felt like he should recognize that voice.

"Don't make me tell you again! Unhand our property!" The tech demon tried, though she was shaking as the giant rat stared her down. 

"No." The rat replied before tossing another TV at her. This time, it managed to hit her and she was knocked back into the nearby wall. It seemed the impact was enough to kill her, too, because her body finally went limp. Alastor knew she wouldn't be dead for long before regenerating but it had done the job for now, anyway. 

It seemed the only one that didn't realize that was the rat because they reached for another blaring TV and tossed it in the direction of the now-dead sinner again. Then they grabbed another and did the same before repeating the act again and again until every last screen had been destroyed. 

It was only then that the Radio Demon realized what was going on as he watched the giant rat feel around the destroyed store for any more Vox Tech Products; they were blind. 

They couldn't actually see the tech demon when she'd shown up; they'd only known where to throw the TV based on where they'd heard her voice. They'd been sloppily feeling around and grabbing TV's earlier because they could hear the obnoxious sounds coming from them, and they'd only killed the extra loud sinners because they could hear where they were.

How interesting, Alastor thought as he watched the rat's shoulders rise and fall as they caught their breath. They were far from the first blind person he'd met but they were the first one he'd run into in hell thus far. Based on the display he'd just witnessed though, they were doing just fine down here despite not having sight. He was about to step forward and introduce himself when a peculiar sight stopped him.

The rat, which had been giant just a moment ago, was now shrinking in size before his very eyes. They went from being taller than the nearby building to becoming so small he couldn't even see them from where he stood anymore. 

Curious, he stepped forward, realizing they'd shrunk to the size of a mouse. And, in fact, it seemed that that was exactly what they were; not a rat, like he'd presumed earlier. Like most sinners in hell, they still possessed human qualities, but the big mouse ears on their head and the tail made it apparent which animal they were meant to resemble. 

Amusement shined in the Radio Demon's eyes now as he continued observing the little creature. This tiny mouse had done all that damage just moments ago; leaving one of Vox's stores in complete ruin. He never would have expected them to possess that kind of strength based on how they looked, but it made him all the more curious of their motive as he now approached them.

"Well, hell there!" He called. Immediately, the mouse jumped in surprise and reached for their ears as if they were in pain. "My, that was quite a display!" He went on, ignoring their clear shock, "May I ask what might have prompted it?"

There was a long pause as the tiny sinner regarded him, now bent at the waist so that his face was a little closer to their eye level. For a second he wondered if they really were capable of speaking or if he'd simply imagined it earlier, but then they shouted.

"Uncle Al?!" Their voice, which had lost its demonic edge and returned to normal now, suddenly sounded so familiar that it felt as if the Radio Demon had been hit by a truck. How had he not recognized you before? What other little demon could have casually caused so much destruction to a TV store than his own niece/nephew/etc? 

"Why, is that you, my little mouse?" He asked with a grin so wide it nearly hurt. You nodded eagerly, immediately running up to hug him. You were so small, though, that you could really only latch onto his ankle. 

"It is, Uncle!" You replied, only now realizing how ironic his old nickname for you had turned out to be. You'd known the second you'd heard his voice that it was your favorite family member and finding him again like this couldn't have made you happier. Alastor chuckled, kneeling and placing a hand beside your little body on the ground. Once you felt it beside you, you immediately climbed on and then he carefully held you up so that you were closer to his eye-level. 

"And here I'd thought you ended up in heaven!" He told you, though his tone only held amusement. Your presence had always been enjoyable to him; ever since you were a baby. When he'd died, he'd been surprised to find he actually missed the nights when he used to have to come over and babysit you for his dear little sister's sake. 

"Nope," you told him, "But I'm pretty sure mama is there! I've been alone down here for years." The Radio Demon nodded at that. Like their mother, he'd had no doubt his sister had gone to heaven. Your presence in hell was a surprise, but with how mischievous you'd been as a child, it made some sense, even if he hadn't gotten to see how you turned out when you grew up. 

"It must have been quite lonely being by yourself." He replied as he brought you to his coat pocket now. You felt around the area before seemingly deciding it was acceptable and getting comfortable within the fabric. 

"And loud." You nodded. Alastor didn't doubt that; you'd had great hearing even when you were alive, so he imagined those big mouse ears made it even more amplified now. "I hate television."

"I agree with you there!" Alastor replied as he began walking back down the street with you safely tucked into his pocket now. "Especially since the whole point of it is to see the pictures, isn't it?" You nodded, crossing your arms in disdain. "At least radio is tasteful." In life, you'd always loved tuning into your uncle's nightly broadcasts. No matter what you and your mother had been doing at the time, you'd always made her take you home to hear them. Alastor nodded in amusement now. 

"Uncle Al, where are we going anyway?" You asked suddenly.

"Well, I do still have a broadcast to run!" The Radio Demon replied, "I'm sure the citizens of hell will want to hear about that giant mouse causing so much destruction earlier." You giggled and got a little more comfortable in the demon's pocket. "Now, while we talk, do tell me more about those demonic powers of yours?" The fact that you possessed the ability to grow and shrink between more and less terrifying forms just like he did was certainly not lost on him, and nor was the possibility of capitalizing on those powers with the potential of you two taking over hell as family. 

♡ After that you're almost always found in Alastor's pocket whenever he goes anywhere

♡ Sometimes you like to hide in his pocket and then pop up at random times, which he used to scare some of the hotel guests after the first found you

♡ You go into your demon form whenever you get angry, which usually happens when you're surrounded by way too many loud noises at once and get overwhelmed

♡ Alastor thought it was entertaining at first but after the third time you broke his coat pocket by transforming while he was literally carrying you around, he invested in some cute little earmuffs to prevent it

♡ Everybody at the hotel thought you were adorable once they got past the initial shock of A) Alastor having a niece/nephew/etc and B) the fact that you'd popped out of his pocket and startled them

♡ Vaggie lets you ride on her hair bow sometimes and Charlie absolutely loves to pet your mouse ears (she's very gentle but sometimes gets too excited and Alastor has to pull you away from her)

♡ You were terrified of Husk at first because he's a cat and Alastor, always looking for entertainment, did nothing to help with that fear

♡ So for a while every time you would be near Husk he would have to be super careful not to scare you and make you go into demon form

♡ That was until you realized who you really had to be afraid of; Nifty

♡ She associates mice with uncleanliness so she tried to stab you many times at first. Alastor never let her actually succeed but he did enjoy watching her chase you around the hotel for the first week

♡ That was how you got over your fear of Husk because he would sometimes let you hide behind the bar in between the bottles of wine. He even fed you a piece of cheese once and you were sold on him after that

♡ Eventually though, a solution was reached with Nifty when Charlie suggested they dress you in nice clothes (A red striped suit like Alastor's or a dress version of his outfit, fitted for your tiny self) in order to give the cyclops a visibly difference between you and the actual vermin she was supposed to kill 

♡ That worked well but you're still too scared to go near Nifty most of the time

♡ Sir Pentious dubbed you an honorary egg because you were close to them in size and he thought you were just so cute. He got you a little hat like the ones they wear and would even let you ride atop his hat (kind of like Alice with the Mad Hatter in the live action Alice in Wonderland)

 ♡ Angel Dust also loves you and one of the first things he did was introduce you to Fat Nuggets, whom you adored

♡ Sometimes you ride Nuggets around the hotel like a horse since you're the perfect size for it and Angel has many photos on his phone of the two of you being absolutely adorable

♡ Despite how he may seem, Alastor can be a very protective uncle. Since you've come to the hotel, he makes sure everyone keeps their volume down most of the time so as not to bother your sensitive ears. If anyone so much as raises their voice in your presence they're met with his sadistic expression and radio dial eyes as a warning

♡ No one is allowed to watch TV when you're around either; he doesn't care that English Descriptive Audio exists he just doesn't want you to feel sad that you can't have a normal experience like everyone else because that used to get to really you when you were a kid 

♡ Since you're always in his pocket, you've met most of the other overlords at meetings and things

♡ Rosie adores you and every time she meets with Alastor she brings along a new mouse-sized outfit she sewed for you as a gift. You have a whole wardrobe of tasteful clothes made by her now

♡ Zestial and Carmilla think you're cute but won't ever admit it. They just smile whenever you pop out of Alastor's pocket during a meeting; wanting to see what they're all talking about

♡ You did meet Vox once because Alastor ran into him on the street

♡ That went about as well as expected and you turned into your demon form due to his loudness and the fact that he insulted your uncle

♡ You and Alastor took turns beating Vox up that day 

..........

Headcannons related to this concept: Cursed-Cat and Mouse

[abyssruler]

plausible deniability

scaramouche x gn!reader

your boyfriend is nice, your boyfriend is sweet, but your boyfriend is also a serial killer. “relax, it’s just a dead body,” he tells you like he hadn’t just hit a man on the head with a brick hard enough to crack his skull. well, at least he did it to defend you? or — scaramouche kills people and you have the world’s biggest ‘i can fix him’ complex. (modern au)

crack, comedy, a few people die but who cares, scara is soft for one person and one person only and that’s you, “i would kill for you, in fact, i have killed for you.” “honey, did you take your meds today?” - scara and reader

You were never a fan of true crime documentaries, or horror movies, or gory shows, or anything that involved excessive blood spraying and lightless eyes staring into the camera.

So, it would stand to reason that at the first sign of your boyfriend being more than into those kinds of things, you would’ve turned tail and ran as far away as you can, right?

Unfortunately, you’ve always been blind to the color red.

…Figurative red, that is, because the red seeping through your couch and the ones coated on your boyfriend’s hands are definitely visible to you, bright and dripping and most definitely staining your pristine white rugs that you just bought last week. Ah, how are you going to explain that to the laundry lady?

“Scara, honey, what did I say about killing other people?” you ask, voice visibly strained.

He sneers at the face of the dead guy sitting haphazardly on your couch. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

You sigh.

✧

It wasn’t always like this, with the whole blood viscera happy-murder thing.

Your boyfriend, Scaramouche, had this odd habit of being so immersed in the news, a little smile lighting up his face (which you’d thought was cute at the time and, well, you still do) whenever the reporter gets to the local murders that used to have you shaking in fear on your bed.

He was charming though. A little possessive, but that was a trait you also thought was quite endearing—and, if you’re being honest, you still do. Scaramouche had a vast collection of sharp knives, some small and practically harmless (or as harmless as a knife can be) and others… not so harmless. You didn’t question it because he often cooked for you, your brain chalking it up to him using those knives for it.

It wasn’t until you were walking home alone from university that you discovered his little hobby of, well, killing people who inconvenienced you and him. Mostly people who inconvenienced you though, which was disturbing but also flattering in a crazy sort of way.

“Relax, it’s just a dead body,” he told you like he hadn’t just hit a man on the head with a brick hard enough to crack his skull.

You were cowering on the alley’s wall, eyes wide and knees shaking as you watched your supposedly nice and caring boyfriend wipe away the blood on his hand like it’s a normal occurrence. And when he grinned down at the body, something almost satisfied in his eyes, you realized that he was the cause for all the recent murders popping up in the city.

Now, the thing about this is that you should have run away screaming bloody murder, maybe call the cops or even do the sensible thing like break up with your boyfriend who’s apparently a psycho.

And you would have done it, if he just hadn’t been so… so…

He turned to you with concern shining in his eyes, stepping over the corpse of the man who’d pointed a pocket knife at you and tried to rob you. With hands still slicked with blood, he cradled your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’s a good thing you weren’t hurt.”

…sweet.

And as he pulled you away from the crime scene, dragging you home and running a hot bath for you both, asking you what you wanted for dinner like he hadn’t just murdered someone in front of you, you finally calmed down and saw the truth of the matter.

Yes, your boyfriend is quite possibly a serial killer, yes, you might just be making the worst decision of your life, and yes, you’re well aware this is because of all the wattpad bad boy stories you consumed when you were young, but you’ll be damned if you let Scaramouche go. He was kind (at least, to you he is), he was charming (when he wanted to be), he was a great cook, he was good with kids and the elderly, he was smart, and finally, he would never cheat on you.

So, while there might be the unfortunate addition of him being a little too happy with the idea of killing someone (have, in fact, killed someone, multiple someones at that), he was also the perfect boyfriend you could ask for. He just needs a little guidance, is all.

The next day, he proudly showed you the severed hand of a man who once made you cry because he groped you.

…Okay, a lot of guidance, but you can manage, you’ve read tons of bad boy turns good after falling in love type of stories. How difficult can it be to have your murderous boyfriend change his ways?

✧

Quite difficult, as it turns out.

A quick google on why people become murderers brought up a lot of questions and concerns for you, and while you’re well aware that google isn’t exactly the most reliable place when it comes to looking for advice, it’s also the only place you can go to without getting arrested for assisted murder—even though you’ve never actually helped Scaramouche when he goes all ham crazy on the general populace.

You sit him down on your couch, which was now free of blood thanks to google’s advice and good ol’ handy-dandy hydrogen peroxide.

Like this, facing each other and holding his hands, it almost seems like an actual, legitimate therapy session, minus the whole licensed psychiatrist thing. But hey, you’ve read tons of articles on the internet, so while you may be lacking in some aspects (namely, the fact that you don’t have any idea what you’re doing and aren’t qualified at all to be your crazy boyfriend’s therapist), you’re confident you can just wing it.

“Baby,” you start. Calling him endearments was an advice you picked up from reddit. A kind user named ballz3000 said that referring to them sweetly using innocent pet names can make them softer and calm their homicidal tendencies. “You know I don’t like it when you bring home dead bodies.”

According to another user named yn-yournuts, being open and communicating your feelings is the first step to establishing a healthy relationship and, consequently, a better mental state.

“It would’ve been difficult hiding the body at daytime,” he grouches, but he still keeps a gentle hold on your hands, which is a good thing. Baby steps, you tell yourself, baby steps—even though those baby steps might as well be called snail steps, wait, snail slithers.

“Then you should’ve waited until it was dark or midnight to kill him,” comes your immediate response—wait, damn it! You’re supposed to encourage him to steer away from murder, not give him advice on how to do it better. Smiling, you attempt to salvage the situation, “But, of course, it would be better to not kill anyone at all.”

It’s too late. He’s already donning a contemplative look on his face that soon turns into a grin, leaning in and briefly slotting his lips against yours.

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll be more careful next time, love,” is all he says before getting up and abruptly ending your impromptu therapy session.

And admittedly, there must be something wrong with you too, because instead of being horrified at his words, you giggle to yourself.

This is the first time he called you love!

✧

Alright, so operation therapy failed, it’s now time to charge in like a boar. Straightforwardness is always good according to that one article you found in google made by Hugh G. Bawles.

The two of you were in bed, the lights already turned off, when you took a deep breath and began preparing what you were going to say to him to prevent any more innocent people being killed.

Scara, I don’t like it when you kill people.

Baby, don’t show me anymore dead body parts.

Why did you become a murderer?

Sometimes, I feel like we’re a normal couple, but then you’ll suddenly go and casually bring me a bloody finger as a gift.

But instead of saying any of those, what comes out of your mouth is,

“Darling, I think you’re just confusing your constipation for homicidal urges.”

In hindsight, maybe attempting to start a heart to heart talk in the middle of the night just before a morning class was a bad idea.

You wait a few seconds, then minutes, and when he showed no signs of responding, you turn your head only to find him with his eyes closed and sound asleep.

Fine, you’ll just have to try again tomorrow.

✧

You share exactly one class with Scaramouche and it’s philosophy. Unfortunately, it’s also the class with the worst professor known to mankind.

“Ah, I got a low grade…” you mutter to yourself, looking down at your essay forlornly.

Your boyfriend takes one peak at your paper and immediately scowls. “You spent an entire night writing that.” He turns a glare to the professor currently ignorant of the murderer sitting in his class. “That asshole should’ve given you a perfect score. Maybe I should give him a little visit.”

You calmly take his hand under the table and squeeze it, all too used to him casually alluding to killing other people. “Dear, we talked about this. What do we do when we’re having homicidal thoughts?”

He looks down the table, brows furrowed in a sulking manner. “Don’t do it.”

You beam, proud at him for remembering the one thing you keep reminding him whenever he brings a dead body back to your house.

The blonde twins seated in front of you turn their head in horror after overhearing your conversation.

“What are you looking at?” Scaramouche sneers at the same time you say, “We’re roleplaying.”

“Right…” the long haired twin you distinctly remember was named Aether mumbles before he ushers his sister to ignore the two of you.

Oh well, at least you managed to stop one person from dying today. User tojiscrustysock on twitter always says you should take whatever victories you can, so you’ll consider this a resounding success.

✧

When you open the news next morning, the face of your professor is the first thing you see along with the words, found dead near his home.

You turn to your boyfriend sitting beside you, an innocent look on his face as you look at him with disappointment.

“My hand slipped,” is the flimsy excuse he settles for.

Sighing and utterly out of options, you’re forced to resort to the one thing you didn’t want to do. The worst possible option there is. If there’s going to a therapist and potentially getting arrested kind of worst, there’s this kind of worst—the absolute worst of the worst.

“Scara, I think we need to start doing yoga.”

word count: 1.8k

[yanderes-galore]

Oooh since you want dark stuff how would yandere Alastor who falls for the reader , deal with love rivals 👀

You know he's planning something horrible.

Yandere! Alastor dealing with rivals

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic (Dubious on true intentions)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Sadism, Violence, Blood, Murder, Threats, Mentioned torture, Forced companionship/relationship.

You can bet that Alastor doesn't want anyone touching what's his.

He is a demon who knows what he wants... and will get it no matter what it takes.

Honestly, he'd be bad if he didn't own your soul... and even worse if he did.

I mean... we've seen how scary he can get in the show, right?

For example, remember when he was protecting the Hotel?

Yeah....

Except... if he feels someone has wronged him by touching you... then he'll draw things out.

Trust me, Alastor will know if someone had gotten too close to you.

He can almost smell another demon's stink on you.

This concept will focus on general behavior with demons, although with bigger names his approach would be different.

For example, Vox.

The Overlord most likely wouldn't get close to you without Alastor knowing.

For this concept... maybe you have some friends who are lesser demons.

Another thing we've seen is how others act around Alastor.

Y'know... other demons run and hide or just straight up... well... die.

So imagine if you had friends who felt they could be close to you.

Honestly, Alastor tolerated it since they seemed brave enough to stand before him.

Or stupid... it depends.

If you were talking to your friend or a potential partner... Alastor would interrupt.

I think the exchange would be even scarier if he did own your soul.

He acts charismatic as usual.

He pulls you aside and against him, a permanent grin as he greets those around you.

He's oddly charming... even though he's irritated that he has to share what's his with them.

Perhaps to even prove a point he'll summon the chain around your neck.

If that doesn't show ownership... then they're dense.

He's possessive... ears flicking as he introduces himself.

They better know he's an Overlord.

Alastor can do basic intimidation like any other demon, but the fun part to him is more... violent.

Perhaps your "friends" aren't swayed by his presence.

Maybe they actually try to stand up for you.

Maybe they try to court you anyways?

Or maybe someone hurts you...?

Point is, if they haven't died yet, they will.

Alastor sees no issue in a bit of torture.

He's probably done far worse.

A quick death is merciful for those Alastor considers rivals.

However, if you had a lover or someone similarly close... Alastor likes to drag out their fate.

His own intentions with you are dubious at best.

Can't really call him a lover, can't really call him a friend...

Perhaps he's a master? Even then... you can never read him.

Alastor would love to tie a rival down and play with them a bit.

He'd get as bloody as he wants, he'd listen to their screams like it's the radio.

He can only laugh as they beg.

No one messes with the radio demon's things.

They should've cowered away like the rest.

Now they're dead at Alastor's claws, all while he whistles away and prepares to see you again.

When you don't see them again, you aren't dumb.

You have a feeling they've angered Alastor.

If you were close with this person or tried to use them to get away from Alastor... He'd make you listen to their screams.

Alastor enjoys dealing with rivals.

He thrives off their pain, this is the same demon who's kill Overlords after all.

Safe to say... you aren't getting away from Alastor.

No one's going to be able to help you...

Their screams are a warning to behave for Alastor... even if you hate it.

"Oh, Darling! You have new friends~ This'll be fun, won't it~?"

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.69)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The pack meet with moonbyul to discuss terms.

Tags: Violence, Angst with the happy ending on the horizon, fluff if you squint, Yoongi gets really really angry and kinda triggers the m/c, allusions to past abuse, Blood, manipulative behavior, murderous tendencies, trans! tae, Transphobia, Trans! moonbyul,

W/c: 11.5k

A/n: wow something went heavily wrong with the formatting while i was editing this! if you notice any extra lines or weird breaks (especially on mobile) i tried my best! not sure what went wrong but i might just have to physically re-type this chapter again.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

I’ll let you in on a little secret: 

In every other version of this story, Hobi doesn’t get to the door in time. 

In every other version, the doors would close and Hoseok would hit them with his fists and yell. Screaming himself bloody and hoarse in the futility of it all. Watching as his future with you melts away at his fingertips like ocean foam, slipping away into the sea like a piece of clear sea glass, disappearing into the deep. They’d miss you at the next station and the one after that too. 

In every other version of reality, in every parallel universe, he's too late to save you. 

But in this one, he gets his pinky finger between the doors just before they slam shut.

The safety feature that keeps the train from closing on any late passengers shoots open with a hiss of compressed air. It's only open for a split second but Hoseok shoves himself through the 8-inch gap and into the warm interior of the train. Jungkook is left on the other side, banging on the door, running to keep up with the car as it thuds and lurches and starts to speed up.

"Next station" Jungkook’s mouth forms the words but Hoseok doesn't hear him say it over the roar of the train. There’s only a few seconds of them staring at each other. Jungkook’s messy hair flops as he runs. The wetness on his cheeks from frustrated tears glistening in the yellow sunlight before Jungkook runs out of the platform and is left standing there at the edge. Hoseok hurdles on. 

Hoseok’s blood is roaring in his ears. He puts his hands on his knees and pants. The thudding momentum of the train makes Hoseok fall over, either that or it's from lack of oxygen. One second he's looking at JK and then next he's sprawled on the dirty linoleum floor before he pulls himself upright.

His throat feels like it’s still swelling a little. He puts his hands there, trying to steady himself. Black spots dance in his vision and he catches himself for a second time on the metal rail as the train rolls and jostles.

When he coughs, there’s dark blood in the palm of his hands. Hoseok wipes it on his pajama pants and starts looking. 

He knows he must look like something horrific because an old woman in the first priority row looks at him with a crinkle of concern twisting her face. “Are you alright son?” She asks, voice squeaky.

“Yeah, just a rough morning” he grabs the back of her seat as he sways, steading himself for just a second before he uses the headrest of the seat to pull himself back down the train. 

Hobi combs through the train cars slowly, betting that you'll be close to the end. He takes the longer route first, better to go down to the end and work his way back up in case you're in the first three cars, just in case you decide to get off at the next station.

He searches and searches until the fear starts to take hold in his stomach, nausea or maybe it’s just motion sickness.

He draws a bit of attention as he moves. Mostly from adults, the little unpresented pups that jump back and forth between the seats without a care in the world don’t find the bruises on his neck anything out of the ordinary. But an omega pulls his pups into his lap at Hoseok's approach. Hoseok is too sick with worry to pay them any mind. 

But Hoseok doesn't need to worry, because he finds you on the fifth train car.

The blue sticky vinyl seats are full of all sorts of people; A stuffy alpha in a suit and a pair of bright yellow headphones. A small elderly omega woman with a big bushel of frizzy hair and about 10 tote bags to her name muddles through her morning commute. Two freshly presented teenagers with patched-up jackets, punky and honest in their aesthetic.  

But there- at the end of the car where the booth seats facing each other turn into single rows all facing the same direction. Folded into the window a figure in dark clothes hunched over trying to look as small as possible. Trying to disappear. 

Trying to hide. 

Anyone would be able to scent the clear and clary smell of distress and loneliness on the air. It’s the same scent that soaks Namjoon’s hospital- noxious and pungent. It hits Hoseok with such a visceral wave that he almost falls over again. 

You’re wearing his sweatshirt and Yoongi’s jacket. The hood drawn up over your head to hide your sob blotchy face from the strangers. Sniffling as you look out the window. He sees you wipe your eyes. You don't look up at all. You don't even notice Hobi approaching until he's slipping into the seat next to you and sliding his hand to lace through yours. His knuckle, your knuckle, then his. 

You startle. Predictably- your fear response has always been a little bit over the top. You flinch, whirling, starting when you see it’s him. Jerking your hand out of his on instinct and nearly backing yourself into the window. Getting yourself as far away from him on the narrow seat as possible. 

He wants to yell at you, he wants to shout at how stupid you are for leaving something good. (Don’t you know how rare good is for people like us? Don’t you want to hold onto it?) All of the shit with his ex- with Moonbyul seems impossible- but you sacrificing yourself for others is not hard for Hobi to believe. That part of this is so painfully logical and so painfully you that if Hobi were less scared right now he might start crying.

You've always thought you were less valuable, less necessary, less loved by the pack. The last one in is the first one out. Hoseok knows you think this because he used to think that way too.

He wants to yell at you but instead his voice comes out soft, the way that the others used to talk to you back when you didn’t speak. Like he's comforting a startled animal. You are a startled animal. 

"You used the train ticket" He swallows. It stings. Hurts like a bitch really. Every time he speaks it hurts. "I never thought you'd use it."

Hoseok puts his hand on the seat in front of you blocking you as you try and get up and out of your seat. Moving automatically to get away- to get safe. That might be all that you know how to do- keep yourself safe.

You stand there for a second, in stalemate. Blood drains from your face, and you stare each other down as Hoseok goes from devastated to angry and then sad again. Struggling not to cry. Hoseok doesn’t like to cry- it’s too much like begging. His body asking for what he can’t. 

It’s quiet, you have to be quiet here. There aren’t too many people but a few rows in front of you is a pair of alpha's in suits with briefcases. Unseemly eyes could be hidden everywhere so you need to be quiet. Hoseok's voice is quiet anyway. He still can’t speak much above a whisper. 

No quicker have you startled than you start to push at him, at his shoulders. Literally trying to push him out of the chair. Shaking your head. "You can't be here Hobi you have to go, they'll kill you-" You start to pull him up to his feet but he makes himself a lead weight. 

“No- no I’m not going to let you go.” Hoseok cups your cheek, long fingers rubbing your tears away. The pads of his fingers cradling your cheek. Soft skin, your cheeks have always been so soft. Hobi’s brain gets caught on the sensation. 

"This is how this is going to work; we're going to get off at the train station- and then with any luck- Yoongi and Jimin and Jungkook will already be there and we're going to go home, okay?" He tilts his face, trying to get a better look under your hood, lower lip wobbling, voice breaking, “You have to come home with me, okay?” 

You’re trembling so hard that Hobi can feel it as he holds your face, shaking your head stubbornly. 

"Hobi, if I don't go. Jimin’s going to die, you're going to die, Jin’s going to die. I can't not do something. Don't pretend one life outweighs three." 

"I can't let you go."

You lean into his hand. Has Hoseok ever cupped your cheek before or is the first time he's touched you this way? He can't remember. There are so many firsts that he can't remember. So many firsts that haven't happened yet. Slipping through his fingers like water. 

"And I can't let you die." 

Hoseok holds your cheeks, thumbs skimming up and down your cheekbones, a little more hollow than usual. These last few days have stretched all of you thin and honest. The truth does not feed you, like subsiding off of air. This truth is not one that he wants to share but-

Yoongi had looked a little shocked when he’d told him, that kind of shock that sort of feels vindicating- like you matter. Hoseok doesn't understand why Moonbyul being his ex matters. But Yoongi's reaction makes him think it is. 

The light fills the train car honey golden slipping away to the clean brightness of a winter day. The light flashing through the trees like some sort of strobe light, flickering across both of you here- at the back of the train where there is no one to overhear. 

Hoseok pulls himself closer to you, his lips brushing your ear. "I never told you- the name of my old pack omega but I think you know her.” 

The train hisses and shrieks and your hand settles over Hoseok’s bruised wrist. 

“I think you know her very very well because Yoongi said you do." 

Hoseok pulls you flush against him, across the seat, your foot hitting his ankle, and whispers it into your ear. 

"Her name was Moon Byul-yi." 

You freeze in his hold, trembling, and he pulls away to watch the visceral realization dawn on your face. You're smart. The Moonbyul he knew would have never thought to anticipate that either of you was smart. Haughty and superior to the last inch. She’d have assumed that she had the upper hand like all narcissists do. Why would prey know anything about the hunt?

You panic, your conviction is slipping away, Hoseok can see you’re struggling to hold onto it. “Hoseok- you don’t understand, I have to do this, I need to.”

He takes your hand in his. “Okay- if you want to go then I’m coming with you.”

“Hoseok.”

He shakes his head and brings the back of your hand up to his mouth to run his lips along your knuckles. Gripping it tight. Your bones and his bones all aligned, the sunburn on the back of his hands that’s always sort of there from driving and the faint scars that line your hands from cooking. Both self-inflicted and accidental.

(Love is that way too, either something that you seek out or something that happens to you. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to Hoseok, you could never be the worst).

There is one scar at the bottom of your hand and the bottom of his; a line across his right palm and a line across your left one- both gotten the night that you tried to take the train. You didn’t take the train then but you’ve taken it now.

You’ve made your choice and Hoseok makes his. “Either together or not at all.”

Hoseok rationalizes it by thinking- If you were going back to Geumjae and if he was still alive, you’d never let him walk into his clutches. You would never let Geumjae lay a hand on him, so he won’t let you go to her. Will do everything in his power to get you off of this fucking train.

“I’m sorry, Hobi- I’m-”

He pulls himself closer to you. Lips touching your temple just like the sunlight. Your warm thigh pressed to his warm thigh.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing to make up for. If we want to survive this then we need to do it together.” Hoseok presses a kiss to your hairline and lets it linger there. “I won't haunt you if you won't haunt me."

“You don’t understand-“ 

“Why? Why do you have to be the one? If you can answer me that honestly and in a way that makes sense, then I’ll let you go.” Hoseok says the words as he drags his nose across your hairline in a small scent mark. A growl rolling in his throat. His hand itching towards the back of your neck- if he were able to scruff you- he could drag you off this train with or without your say-so. 

Hoseok won't do that to you unless it's absolutely necessary. He won't scruff you maliciously but honestly, he'd damn the consequences at this point. You know the risks, and yet you let his hand settle on the back of your neck. He doesn't scruff you yet.

You are on the train now, but you could get off of it. Hoseok managed to convince you once he can convince you again. You do not respond to him, but he doesn’t need you to. He continues on word vomiting out his feelings. Drenched half in panic and half in fear that if he stops talking you’ll tell him something heartbreaking. Hoseok can’t handle any more heartbreak today. 

"I know you’ve been in a lot of pain. I’ve known it since the first day I met you. But this self-sabotage- sacrificing yourself because you think your life isn't worth risking the rest of ours- this isn’t the way to do it. This isn’t the way that you get out.” 

This is the question that you’ve been asking the whole time he’s known you. All of this is just trying to get out of the holes that you dig for yourself. The graves that you haunt. Graves of things that might have been and the things that should or shouldn’t have happened to you.

Your voice is so small and quiet, your palm in his tightens just a little bit. “How do I? How do I get out?” 

"You can start by just getting off this fucking train."

You eye him like you think it’s impossible like it can’t possibly be that easy.

The announcer overhead is telling you you’re almost to the next stop. To mind the gap and such. The same way people mind children and precious objects. Mind the gap. Such a strange turn of phrase. How do you treasure the space between one motion ending and the other beginning? The end of one place and time and the beginning of another. 

“How do I do it? How do I-” 

Hoseok laces his hand with yours again and pulls you up onto your feet. The train is slowing. “I’ll show you just- follow me. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you. 

You do follow Hobi, you follow Hobi off the train as he coxes you softly onto the platform and onto the frosty tracks. It’s mid morning by now and the sun is streaming in that bright yellow way when he tugs you up the stairs slow. Slow because he still has to. His body aches from yesterday. Both of you are bruised and tired but together. Clinging to each other- his hand and your hand and not a breath of space between.  

In the parking lot, there is a red car double parked across the lines closest to the stairs. Jimin and Yoongi and Jungkook are already standing outside, the doors blown open. Jimin falls into a squat the second he sees you. Head in his hands. Running through his hair and tugging. A cigarette discarded on the concrete bouncing before it rolls to a stop and burns.

“Oh thank fucking god, Tae would have fucking killed me-” 

Jungkook groans and rests his head on the hood of the car, hitting it with an open-palmed slap. It echoes in the empty parking lot.

"That sentence is substantially less funny today than it would have been yesterday.” 

Yoongi is just staring at you fists and shoulders tight. You watch him swell the closer that you walk. Every step made in trepidation. He's breathing heavy, eyes wild with panic and anger and his hair stands on end. His eyes are bloodshot and his scent is almost acidly salty. The kind of salt that guides metal to rust and break. The salt that melts cities. That crunches under your feet next to dark puddles from snowmelt. 

When you're 3 paces away he seems to break, stalking up to you and jabbing a finger in your face. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again I swear I’ll-” Yoongi breaks himself off. Shaking so viscerally that it's hard for you to keep your hands by your side. but you stand your ground as Hoseok swats yoongi's jabbed finger away. his other hand tightly laced with yours.

“Yoongi, let’s just get into the car and go home- please. Let's not talk about this here.” The parking lot is mostly empty, but the danger still lingers. There’s too much to talk about. Moonbyul's name rings in Hoseok's ears like the subtle hum of hearing loss, like a high-pitched shriek. There are things more important than Yoongi's anger. 

But Yoongi’s not done with you- oh- he’s boiling with rage. Shaking with it as he opens the door for you, every action, every little moment restrained. His anger is palpable. You get into the back of the Lamborghini and Hobi follows.

You can tell he wants to slam the door but doesn't. He shuts it extra extra soft but you flinch anyway. He gets into the driver's seat every moment controlled but tense, like he'll explode if he moves with any more energy than necessary, a firework with a fuse burned all the way down just begging for heat.

Yoongi waits for everyone to buckle their seat belt but you don’t, frozen watching him in the window and then the rearview mirror when he gets into the front seat. Yoongi doesn’t even get around to starting the car. Sliding the key home but the beep goes once, twice, and then a third time because you don't have your seatbelt buckled. The others wait in silence.

“Yoongi-“

“Fuck!” He kicks open his door again with a stream of spat explicatives. Slamming it shut this time. The others don't say anything, completely silent in the face of his anger.

Yoongi doesn't get angry. You've never seen him like this before. He wrenches your door open and for a horrible moment, you think he's going to yank you out of the car and tell you to get lost.

Yoongi's murmuring things to himself, so low that you almost can't make out what he's saying as he pushes himself into the backseat. The backseat of the Lambo isn’t that large. Hardly big enough to fit two people let alone four.

Jungkook lets out a belated “Hey!” at being squished up against the door but Hoseok just reaches around him and unlocks it for him to get out. Jimin is already out of the passenger seat and heading in the direction of the driver's side as Yoongi scrambles with your seat belt, jerking it over your shoulder and slamming it home.

"-Fucking asshole- of all the stupid omegas in the world I had to be mated to the fucking- dumbest- little- fucking-" The belt digs into your shoulder extra tight and Jimin starts the car wordlessly. 

You're closed in on both sides by him and Hobi on the other. They switch and shuffle. Jimin pulls away from the train station, gentler this time but still faster and with more finesse than you'd do it. Yoongi is still looking at you, glaring, tears in his eyes with wet cheeks, his voice low and uncompromising. 

“Give me your phone.” 

“My what?”

“Your. Phone. You used it to call her didn’t you?” You nod after a second, slowly pulling it from your sweatshirt pocket and handing it over. 

Yoongi takes your phone and breaks it over his thigh.

It’s a bit impressive really- the show of strength. He brings it down once and the screen breaks, winking out like a shooting star. Another and it bends just a little, a third time- and it's practically at a right angle. It breaks so easily in the face of adrenaline and anger and fear. 

You make a small noise, not a whimper but a descending sound. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at you, wild. Like he’ll break even further if you complain. Hoseok’s not sure he’s ever seen Yoongi this broken.

"Just- There were pictures of Noodle and Tae on there.”

Fear and anger are an intoxicating mix to anyone- let alone someone who almost lost their person. He goes at your phone until its jagged edge bites into his hand drawing blood. Then he tosses both pieces of your phone onto the floor of the car like they're paperweights.

One of the pieces hits your shoe with a small metal clink, and even Hobi looks down in surprise at the sound. 

Yoongi laughs and then bends over. Yanking the gun out of your boot. Small, shoved there. Hoseok didn’t notice. He's not sure why it surprises him- that you'd be armed. You're not an idiot, you know the risks, and you were armed the last time that you tried to run away.  

He holds it out to you, long fingers wrapped around the barrel pointed at his chest. The handle facing you, the barrel of the gun level with his heart.

“You want to do the honors sweetheart?"

Jungkook’s worrying away at his lower lip, turning around, nervous. “Yoongi-" but Yoongi just holds a finger out, cutting him off. He's watching you, waiting to see what you'll do.

Jimin very gently reaches back and takes the gun from Yoongi. The beta lets him. Jimin flicks the safety off with a twitch of his thumb. And takes out the magazine one-handed that he hands to Jungkook before he puts the body of the gun barrel down in the cup holder where it rattles freely. 

“Don’t fucking do that. we do not point guns at ourselves or each other in this pack.” 

Yoongi hardly looks mad, he hardly reacts to Jimin at all. Jungkook's eyes flicker nervously from Jimin to Yoongi, then to Jimin's shoulder.

Jimin's flush sits on the top of his cheekbones, "Jin-hyung gets a pass obviously."

You quirk an eyebrow at your mate, not impressed in the slightest, not even intimidated truly. Hoseok doesn’t think you’ve fought since you tried to leave the first time. 

“You didn’t really expect me to go unarmed, did you? Thought I could at least take one of them out- at least Moonbyul before they-” Jimin breathes hard through his teeth and Hoseok actually laughs, although he sounds a little unhinged. Yoongi runs his hands through his hair, pulling a little.

“I didn’t expect you to fucking leave me either but here we fucking are.” Yoongi has never raised his voice with you- he never raises his voice period. But anger and terror have made his words sloppy where usually they strike exact.

In the mirror, you see Jungkook’s jaw clench as Jimin accelerates home a little faster. Yoongi crowds you against Hoseok. Resting his forehead against yours, you can hear the grit in his teeth as he grinds them together nearly spitting, but it’s quiet. 

“If you try something like that again, you will see a side of me that I do not want to show you. Do you understand?” 

That makes you unnerved, and makes your lower lip start to tremble. Your “Yes.” Comes out so quiet that Hoseok is sure Jimin and Jungkook can't hear it in the front seat over the Lambo's purr. 

You’re unable to meet his eyes, Yoongi has never been rough with you, but he’s shaking with the effort to hold himself back from screaming, yelling, crying. There are no words for you, no words that he could ever say that might hold you. He is so angry he can’t even fucking speak. 

For a terrible moment, you think that he's going to hit the seat in front of you. But then he tucks your hair behind your ear out of your face so that he can look at you properly. 

This is Yoongi's karma for leaving the pack all those months ago. He's come to know their pain so keenly, this was only a few hours of what they endured but still- this is exactly like that. 

“You know- I’ve never wondered if you need me, but sometimes I wonder if you love me at all.”

His hand slides down your cheek, gentle in the way that he goes, and it hurts so much more than a slap or punch ever would. It stings. Everywhere Yoongi touches you stings. 

“I know you don’t love me the way that I love you- I’m not that dumb, but-" 

Your face screws into a whimper, and you can't whisper out that you're sorry quick enough. Yoongi guides your forehead back to rest against his. Still angry, still spitting the words like they take something from him. You should deny what he says and you want to, but you’re mute in the face of your mate's anger.    "How many hours do you think will exist between your death and mine?”   You’re silent as Jimin drives, but his eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror. You don’t see any pity in his eyes maybe because Yoongi, like you, had nearly left them broken. Had actually left and stayed gone. Yoongi will never quite deserve pity for words like those. Yoongi directs your face away from Jimin and back to his.

“How many god damn it!” He grips your cheeks, gentle, fingers that touch so softly, that cradle you, shaking all the while. 

“Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last 5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough to apologize and you don't make it easy- I don't-

"Yoongi. That is enough." 

Jimin is steely. Cutting him off before Yoongi can say something that he regrets and that he doesn't mean. But Yoongi won’t continue anyway. He's crying so hard he can’t see your face, can’t even see the way that you crumple.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder for the remainder of the drive. Pushing away your hands every time you try and wrap them around him until you’re crying with how frustrated you are. Keeping that one point of contact only, his crumpled face pressed against your mating mark. 

He doesn’t want your touch- the touch of someone who hurt him. This is the first time that Yoongi has denied you something so simple, something so habitual as your arms around his shoulders. 

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, your words come too late. "I'm sorry, i'm so sorry Yoongi I didn't mean- please believe me- I didn't- Please i'm so sorry-"

It’s a pity isn’t it; someone always has to love the other more. This is the oldest story, and there is no other story. Karma comes just in time or not at all. But right now? Right now it does not feel nice being Yoongi’s karma for leaving the pack all those months ago. 

The car ride is mostly silent for the rest of the drive. The car has barely stopped when Yoongi scrambles to get out. The car door flings open with the momentum of Jimin stopping. The hood is hot when he skims his fingers across it steadying himself to round it and dash inside.

Your hands shake too hard to unbuckle yourself as Yoongi hurries, he almost runs. Hoseok gets out of the car, shouting "Yoongi!" but your mate doesn't turn around, doesn't do anything but barrel past the others. Pushing away their worried questions and hands to get inside the house. 

The bindings on your hands are already bleeding a little bit, your hands chubby and swollen, and unable to see the seat buckle as you claw at it. 

A warm chest hits the side of your face as strong arms reach around you. Jungkook unbuckles you, close and filling the backseat in Yoongi's absence. He holds you for a second, giving you a squeeze and a sideways hug. "Just give him a second it’s gonna be alright." 

You stare at Jungkook for a second. Wiping your tears away with a curled fist. He looks tired. “I mean you’re literally his mate so- it's not like he can really...” Jungkook trails off, and the keys jingle in Jimin's hands as he waits. mute and unreadable, staring at the steps where tae stands with Jin and Namjoon.

"Aren't you guys going to yell at me too?" Jungkook snorts, and when you pull back to look at his face, he doesn't look angry, he doesn't even look tired. 

"That wouldn't solve anything." Your face crumples further, but Jungkook just starts to pull you to the edge of the leather seat to hug you better under the guise of firmly setting you on your feet. 

"What I am gonna do is make you go work out with me. I'm gonna make you do like- so many burpees in punishment for making me run that early in the morning."

You laugh wetly and Jungkook giggles, nuzzling the top of your head. Gripping around your waist to pick you up just a little. 

Jin looks just as puffed up as Yoongi but so much less angry, wrapped in your big blue blanket like a cape, a corner pulled over his head and ears like a hood, his fluffy bunny slippers poking out below.

The wooden planks of the deck have dried in the winter sunlight and Tae is barefoot where she stands, silk robe too thin for the winter chill. looking at you with that same hollow look she’s had for the last day.

Jin doesn’t try to grab Yoongi as he stalks past. Namjoon sends a conflicted glance at him and then at you. His shoulders are pinned up by his ears, the scraggly five o'clock shadow he wears looks tear tacky. He looks at you for a single second but then heads into the house after your mate. You blanch, but you're not surprised that Namjoon needs a second before he talks to you too. 

The pervasive sound of wrenching can be heard echoing out into the porch, and a look inside says that Namjoon’s got a hand on Yoongi's back where he's bent over the sink. Throwing up nothing because your mate had hardly eaten last night- worried about you and Hobi. You've never felt more undeserving of him, the guilt hits you harder than any words ever could.

You swallow at the bottom of the steps. Hoseok and Jungkook and Jimin behind you, hand on the small of your back urging you forward gently. Willing to let you stray more than a few steps away after chasing you down.

Jin is extra tall and on the upper step, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face, he places a hand over the back of your neck scruffing you smoothly and evenly until you almost fall, knees already shaky. Jungkook steps up and grabs you before you hit the floor. But Jin just stoops. Lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“When this is over, when everyone is safe, we’re going to have a long long talk about this. About why pups don’t make decisions on their own. Give me your phone.”

You can hear Jimin’s grimace in his voice, “Yoongi already broke it.” 

“Are you angry with me?” You ask lower lip wobbling, tears drifting down your nose, “Please don’t be angry with me- please-” Jin squeezes the nape of your neck again, harder. You see sparkles in your vision- your body compensating for Jin's touch even though you're so tired you feel like you might pass out. You easily submit to the scruff, you'll do anything Jin asks right now just to temper his disappointment.

Hoseok grabs under your elbows to keep you standing. Between him and Jin and Jungkook- you’re a soggy little bundle of omegas. You don’t see it, but from the railing, Tae cups Jimin’s cheek. 

Jin croons. “Hush pup. Come inside where it's warm. We've got a lot to talk about- mostly what we can do besides make rash decisions like that." 

Hoseok's hand is on Jin's wrist before he has a chance to continue. Eyes bright with something that looks an awful lot like hope. 

"About that..." Hoseok gulps, “We think we figured out how to get out of this Jinnie. I have to talk to Yoongi about it again but-” Jin tugs Hoseok onto his other shoulder.

“I think we’ve figured a way out of this.”  

You sniffle where you're tucked against Jin's chest, but you’re right next to his scent gland when it swells with pride, sweet and milky. Jin runs the back of his hand softly over Hoseok's warm cheeks, and croons.

“Good puppy.”

~-~

The next time you call Moonbyul, you’re all sitting around the dining room table. The blinds are drawn and Noodle has been fed. Jimin’s collection of guns lay on the table in several neat little rows, the barrels of them pointed in the same direction like the legs of some long-dead arachnid. 

A list of demands and a dialogue are written out in front of you but they're not for you. Jin and Yoongi will be doing most of the talking. You've done nothing for the last hour it took to hatch the plan other than sit obediently at the reach of your alphas. Willing to trade little 'I'm sorries' and the barest attempt at teasing after you'd gotten up to get a glass of water and they'd all flinched. Jimin had even gotten up and out of his chair before shaking his head and sitting back down. instincts reacting to your movement before his brain caught up.

"Would it make you feel better if you put me in handcuffs?"

"Only if they're the fuzzy ones." 

"Jk- now is not the time.”

All in all, Jungkook and Hobi seem to be the ones who are the least angry at you for trying to pull that stunt. Jimin's just a little more tactile with you than usual pulling you to sit close to him at the table. rubbing over your knee. Fiddling with your hands and gently avoiding the wounds there.

Namjoon still can't look at you, eyes flickering away every time you speak. Not angry- but maybe still upset- still working through his feelings. 

There are more important things to work through; the plan, the facts of what you know, a list with numbers sit next to your dialogue. The facts of everything connected with arrows and different handwriting and a good bit of doodles- courtesy of Jungkook and Tae (and you- when she'd prodded). 

Your list goes like this:

Moonbyul is not an alpha (verified by Hobi) (ew it's so gross to think of you with another omega hyung)

Only an alpha can rule the family. (That's a little sexist) (I didn't write the rules Tae)

LEVERAGE. 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ (JK- stop doodling on official FBI documents.) 

Yoongi hasn't spoken a word to you since he came inside the house and you don't expect him to right now. That’s hardly the most important matter at hand. Baby steps.

Baby steps. 

You call her with Jimin’s work burner. The one he keeps in his car and uses exclusively for instructions about which murder and which target needs to be taken out. Moonbyul answers on the first ring and guesses it’s you before you even have a chance to speak. The others had unanimously decided that you wouldn't be speaking for this conversation. You don't mind sitting back for this. 

Whatever makes them happy, whatever makes them feel better. 

Her voice strikes a chill down your spine, now that you know that she's the one who hurt Hobi. It's her he sees behind his eyes on his worst days and it's her voice he hears when his internal monologue becomes vicious and self-shaming. You hear it differently than you did before; a cross between a snake's hiss and the purr of some dark-furred jungle cat. 

“Any much longer and you’re going to be late pup, you know how impatient I can be.” 

It's surprisingly difficult to not give her a piece of your mind. Your hands tighten into fists, your bones and skin all tight where you'd hurt your hands. But before your knuckles can even go white a big hand covers yours, prying your fingers apart so that your fingernails don't dig into the gauze, still bloody. You look up at Namjoon. He shakes his head, just a little, and you relax your hands.

Yoongi leans over the table so that his voice comes across clearer over the speakerphone. 

“I think you’ll want to be patient for this alpha- or should I say omega.” 

Hoseok holds the edge of the table hard, leaning in too. He's sure the hitch of his breath must be audible over the phone. But Moonbyul doesn't remark on it. Jin’s hand remains settled on the nape of his neck and you wish you were sitting next to him too.

Yoongi scoots himself closer to the edge of the table. On the side opposite from you. “The claws of an alpha don’t suit you, cousin.”  

Moonbyul laughs and none of you smile. The tone of her voice shifts, a bit more serious. “They fit me better than they'd fit you. Let me see how deep your bite is or should I ask Hoseok? Is that pup there? How about Minnie and mommy?” 

Tae folds her hands over her chest, affronted, but doesn't speak either. Your hand goes hard on Namjoon's wrist and he grips yours back just as hard. Holding out his hand for Hobi's across the table. 

You open your mouth to retaliate- for the comment on Tae alone (you're not sure how Moonbyul found out about your nickname for her) but Jimin mouths across the table, “Don’t” You're all silent, waiting for her next move.

Jin's FBI training kicks in. Negotiation and kidnappings had been a course he'd been required to take during his orientation to the fbi. and his voice is measured and polite.

"I think we're past the point of petty jabs and assassin's, aren't we? Let's talk, pack omega to pack omega."

“You want to parley then? Make a deal?”

Jin drums his hands across the table. Nervous but his voice doesn't shake, not even a little bit.

“This has gone on for long enough. Let’s meet.”

~-~   Moonbyul comes in with the quiet. 

The hours drag on in the space before she arrives at the house. The pack perks up in the direction of every errant sound or neighbor in your cul-de-sac. The sound of the little kids across the street leaving for Saturday morning sports, of the dull scape of someone shoveling out their driveway, the rumbling of distant cars on the highway.

It’s a Sunday, isn’t it? Strange, that this kind of thing should happen on a Sunday. Jimin stares out at the driveway, leaning against the railing, and thinks it must be some sort of punishment both wretched and divine. He smokes his cigarette, spitting the smoke out like he's burning, and shakes off the shivers of a god he doesn't believe in.

He finishes his cigarette, then he and the others and ready the house for Moonbyul’s arrival. 

Hobi feels every tick of the clock like the beat of his heart knowing that she’s on her way. She’d started driving after Jimin had shown her a video of his guns being thrown into the river. A meeting without any weapons will be as safe as anyone can get.

But still- the pack isn't stupid. Hobi watches from the kitchen as Jin tapes the pack’s sharpest and largest kitchen knife under the kitchen table in front of his seat as well as Jimin’s and Yoongi’s just in case. 

Allowing her inside the den goes against every instinct. To have their softest most safe place violated by the presence of someone who has hurt them like this. It's almost too much. But to have the upper hand and have this meeting on their turf is more than they’ve hoped for. So Namjoon restrains his growls, hand still held in yours at the table. After a tangle of so many hours and days of all this violence, the pack takes their chances for a way out. 

You'd discussed the meeting happening at the house before you'd even called and agreed. Talked it out between the eight of you the idea location for any meet up. Only Namjoon was against it- but he's been overruled by Jin and Yoongi.

You’d remained mostly silent and agreed with Yoongi when it came to a vote. Warm big eyes on him, waiting for a hint of approval that never came. Jimin thinks that wound is going to take more than simple obedience to heal. 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to think, or what to do. Jin and Jimin take over most of the planning as far as what’s going to be said and how. Everything needs to be carefully orchestrated for this to not go poorly. Everyone needs to be on their best behavior. 

But there is hope here, on the edge of their scheming is a plan that might work- this might really work. You all might get out of this unscathed. Even Yoongi who’s never taken a simple breath outside of this life of murder and secrets. Who has had this violence built into his blood from the moment he was born. Yoongi was born a liar. Yoongi always thought that he'd live and die belonging to his family- at the will of their beck and call.

Now he's not so sure. 

He feels like he’s hyper-aware of you, in your orbit the way an addict is always aware of how little or lot is left of a drug. Every twitch and movement of your body sets him on edge. But when you’re not watching- Yoongi watches you. Tensing with every step you take in the direction of the door, heaving a thankful sigh whenever you pass by it. 

He tries not to touch you but it’s hard. He’d taken your shoes and locked them in the closet upstairs, it's silly but it's necessary.

His pulse is still beating so fast that it scares him a little. The mating mark at his hip aches with every step, he wonders if yours aches with every word or breath. Pressed there against your throat where he'd kissed countless times, where he'd nuzzled sleeplessly just last night. Breathing in your scent because it soothed him. 

It still soothes him, even if he doesn't want it to. 

Yoongi spends every few minutes bent over the kitchen sink or the toilet, the revulsion curling up in his gut like a snake dragging its teeth down the sides of his heart. You’d left him again, actually left him again. Yoongi wants to scream and cry but- 

But there are moments of you saying you’re sorry- to Tae, to Jimin, and Jungkook- who stubbornly wraps his arms around your back like a living blanket and makes you stoop forward with his weight. Or Jimin who rubs his chin across the top of your head and jostles you with the aggressiveness of his scent mark, catching your wrists in both of his hands roughly in a way that almost- almost has Yoongi intervening. He's just clumsy and tired. 

All of you are. 

There are other moments of Jin lingering close, speaking to you in the soft stern way that has you deflating that makes Yoongi’s body hum in that mate way- that way that lets him know you need him. 

Namjoon hasn't changed the bandages on your hands yet, even though there's a tiny bit of blood on your right one. Yoongi wants to ask him to change it out but can't make his mouth form the words. 

Hobi watches you from wear he rests against the couch, pointedly not sitting on the spot that Jin cleaned of blood. Holding a bit of ice to his throat and sipping on water. Able to talk now- for real. Voice strengthening with every minute. 

Yoongi pauses by his side and asks, loud enough for you to overhear "aren't you angry?" Hoseok doesn't miss the way your shoulders tense. You’re looking over things and talking with Jin and Jimin, clarifying something- some rules about the family that only you and Yoongi know of. There are documents on the table with the title FBI property- do not reproduce or take off premises. 

He tips his head back against the back of the couch, Hoseok’s legs sprawled out, aching from running so hard and so fast and being so out of practice with it. Fuck- Hoseok is so tired. So anxious and so keyed up by the knowledge that Moonbyul will be here within the next hour. He yawns in Yoongi’s face without covering his mouth. His stretched lips full of teeth teeth teeth. 

Yoongi feels his anger quiet even before Hoseok shrugs. "i don't know if my anger would make it better. i care more about making sure we all get to wake up tomorrow without feeling like shit"

Jungkook echoes the same sentiment on his way past. “Same like- I cannot wait to nest” And Jimin nods, blonde hair fluffing. Even namjoon's subtle agreement as he does the dishes makes yoongi feel...Not better...but maybe a little less angry.

Namjoon does the dishes, but you're his close shadow. They could wait- but Namjoon needs something to do with his hands besides holding onto yours. You still haven’t talked at all, and haven't apologized verbally to him for that phone call. He wants a wide birth and you give it to him.

Survival first- and apologies and forgiveness later.  

"I think motive counts for something too," Hoseok says, looking at you across the room helping Namjoon stack dishes without being asked. "You didn't mean to hurt us when you left, but you felt like you had to." Yoongi swallows hard and feels like he's the one who's been choked in the last 48 hours.

If there’s one thing Yoongi hates, it’s how love makes you forgive. (Yoongi wouldn’t be standing in this house right now with the pack if love wasn’t this way). You could hurt me and I’d ask for it, beg for it really, as long as I’m still yours. As long as you stay. 

At the beginning, the fact that Yoongi loved you more always hurt the pack, Jin especially. But watching Yoongi’s eyes follow your movements as you're asked to do some small remedial task to appease the pack, watching you do it with so much sweet eagerness. the pack find that they're thankful for it.

You say you’re sorry to anyone who will listen. And Jungkook's endless replies of "it's okay" make Yoongi's ears itch in the interim.

The moments and minutes stretch out long.

But about an hour before Moonbyul is due to arrive, in the quiet panic of making sure things are ready and just waiting, Jin tries to convince you to go upstairs for the entirety of your meeting. But as much as the pack doesn't want to admit it you might be the best at getting what you want from Moonbyul. They're prepared for you to be a little bratty about it, to push back a little regardless of the circumstances.

What they're not prepared for is Hoseok standing up in the center of the room, setting his icepack on the couch with a small crunch, before he says “I want to see her again.” 

It's met with an immediate rejection, and a barrage of questions from the other alpha's, Jimin and Namjoon especially have their hackles raised. Yoongi actually checks his ears to see if they're bleeding. Jin quite literally grabs Hobi and shakes him a little. But he’s convinced that he needs too. He’s got questions for her that no one else can answer.

You had been the one person who had agreed with him. Some questions can only be answered by the person who hurt you. 

Moonbyul isn’t stupid- she won’t walk into your den without a few face cards in her hands. You won’t let her come here without a card up your sleeve either. But aces are aces- a royal flush will beat 4 aces every time, and it’s up to you who wears the crown. 

You watch the pack put on the air of royalty. Watch Namjoon recline at the head of the table the picture of Pack alpha ease. Scent blockers are applied to all of you liberally out of necessity. You rub it into Hobi’s scent gland yourself (You won’t let Moonbyul get a wif of him).

You watch your mate settle into his shoulders; neck held high. Putting on the same Placid but brutal he'd worn the first time you'd met him. That untouchable coldness that all members of the family wear out of necessity. 

But Yoongi had never been good enough at keeping the warmth out of his eyes. Even back then.

Moonbyul comes in a black car, non-descript. She's driving herself today. No extra ears or extra packmates attached to her hip. Even Hyejin is absent and it’s strange, strange to not see her get out of the car with her.

It sets you off kilter when you peer out the window. Lingering until Yoongi comes close. Your breath hitches as his hands touch your shoulders. Urging you upstairs without a word, an unspoken heaviness in his eyes.

Regardless of what you'd agreed, now that she's here. yoongi doesn't think he can do this if you're not upstairs safe.

“But Yoongi- Hobi-“ Hobi stands by the door. If he's going to talk to her you want to be by his side. But Yoongi's scared, you can see it in his face and feel it in the mating mark.

You think you'll have a few more moments to sort this out, but Moonbyul does not knock on your door, she just lets herself in. 

“Cousin!” she starts, splaying her hands like she’s about to go in for a hug but Yoongi does not smile, Yoongi does nothing but glare at her until her smile and her hands both drop. 

Seeing Moonbyul again after so long does not feel like just seeing her photograph. For a second Hoseok feels cold, so so cold looking at her face. Her fair skin, her silver hair. Tunnel vision and the most dizzying mix of fear and anger and alpha posturing that he’s ever felt. His instincts yell at him, screaming in his ear that he needs to run, needs to get away. 

She smells different, metallic and medicinal, different than her sweet omega peppermint smell that he remembers. It's stronger now- more musky. the scent of an alpha and not an omega. Hoseok wouldn't be able to pinpoint that it was an artificial change if he hadn't smelled the same sort of hormone shift on Tae.

He’s distantly aware that there are people in between him and her, you, Yoongi, Jimin, Namjoon, and even Jungkook who fluffs up, looking determined and like he’s about to unleash all 5 years of experience he has teaching kickboxing on her. (Tae stays at the back of the room- the soft and delicate fairy star child that she is- but even she subtly stands straighter, eyeing Moonbyul’s stiff black coat with the same air that Anna Wintour might wear while viewing a subpar fashion show).

6 feet away and every bit of his instincts is yelling at him to move, to run. His heart thunders in his ears like a battalion of racehorses. How stupid of him to think he was ready- that seeing her face after all these years wouldn’t hurt- that the fear wouldn’t be there- his breath hitches and-

She grins at him and Hoseok flinches. 

In his peripheries, he sees Namjoon and Jimin start to say or do something. Hoseok had put himself- almost perfunctorily in front of you. But after a second with your hand on his wrist tightening, you put yourself between him and her. Stepping around him and Yoongi in one clean movement and blocking his face from view. Moonbyul just raises her eyebrows at you.    Before anything more can happen- before any jabs or warnings can be exchanged, a grey mass skitters across the floor. As quick as a bullet and twice as violent. Out for blood and the bringer of death.

Puffed up and looking large and menacing. Noodle yowls loud, a war cry, before driving his needle-like teeth into Moonbyul's ankle and right through the leather of her Louis Vuitton boots, ripping them with a vicious toss of his neck.

“What the fuck-“ 

Moonbyul startles, knocking into the wall in her surprise at your cat's viciousness. She hardly wastes a breath before she kicks Noodle clear across the floor. 

You gasp and Tae makes a noise. But Noodle is totally fine, He goes hissing and spluttering, and claws his way right back for more not deterred in the slightest. He leaves gash marks on the shiny floor as he aims himself, back to bite her again. 

You have no doubt that he’d be headed for bloodshed and her other ankle if Yoongi didn’t scoop him up from the floor and hold him to his chest. Honestly- Noodle looks more surprised at Yoongi holding him than he does about getting kicked. 

“If you touch my fucking cat again, I’ll fucking kill you." Yoongi's deadly serious. No part of him joking as he says it.

It's barely 60 seconds in and this meeting is already going to shit. 

Namjoon steps up and steps around Yoongi’s shoulder shoving the beta behind him as Noodle starts to squirm in Yoongi's hold.  “Please, lets just get this over with.” He tips his head and gestures to the dining room table for her to sit. 

Tae takes Noodle from Yoongi’s arms. Checking his stomach. Glaring at Moonbyul who does not grin, does not smile, only tucks an errant hair behind her ear.

The sound of chair legs scraping the floor is the only sound as the 9 of you sit in silence. Noodle stays in Tae’s lap, big tail swishing as his beady yellow eyes track Moonbyul across the room. Everyone’s silent, settling. Yoongi and Jimin are the ones seated closest to Moonbyul. You and Hobi are the farthest by Namjoon on the other side. 

“Well- you’re the one who wanted to talk.” But Moonbyul is not looking at Jin and Namjoon and Yoongi- she’s looking at Hoseok- who can do little but look at her through his bangs. Skin burning when she looks at it. A feeling like Hoseok wants to hide and maybe shower until his skin falls off almost overcoming him and making him run. 

“I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to get you fucking flayed out on this kitchen table and-”

“Jimin.” Tae cuts him off with a snap of her teeth around his name. Her hand is on Hobi’s thigh, holding him still keeping his thigh from jumping up and down under the table.

“The time for violence is over,” Jin says sternly. 

Moonbyul grins, “is it?” she drags a sharp nail over a groove in the table. A spot where a bullet or maybe a knife grazed it, probably from the last few days. You wouldn’t know where it came from even if you thought hard about it.

“Some would consider the very act of possessing something that’s mine violence and you have two things that belong to me.” 

Hoseok shivers, and you narrowly avoid snapping a smart retort at her. Jimin’s fingers hover around the knife under the table. Ready to wip it out and drive it clean through her hand splayed on the table. Ready to kill her in the next second if the pack wish it. He’s half convinced he should do it before she opens her mouth because Hoseok looks like he’s going to be sick all over the table and Tae is shaking faintly. 

But then Jimin looks up, meets your eyes, and takes his eyes off of his target for a second. You shake your head a little imperceptibly. 

“Some would also consider lying violence as well- how well do you think that the rest of your family and organization would handle the fact that they’ve been lied too?”

Yoongi settles, tilting his head. Jin and Yoongi are a dangerous pair when they talk through things like this. “We both know that all I’d have to do is pick up a phone and you’d be dead. You and your pack. If you kill me- someone will tell and you'll die. If you touch my pack again- I'll tell and you'll die. And if even think about taking my mate from me again- if i start to sense that you've tried to manipulate her away from me in the slightest- I'll kill you my fucking self."

She turns to you, mirth toying at her lips, "I got away with killing the beta once, what makes you think I can't do it again?" 

Jin smiles at her, it's an honest and genuine smile. "The truth is- you gave us too much time to think. Too much time to figure it out and plan. There's a trigger clause out there. On a computer you couldn't possibly find. If I don't log in every 36 hours, an email will be sent with pictures of her recipe book to the director of the FBI, and you'll go down for it."   Moonbyul turns to you, narrowing her eyes, "You'd risk going to prison or being killed? Rather than be with me?" 

You shrug. "You- prison- tomato tamato. And besides- I know enough- you made sure I knew enough to be useful to them. I'd probably land a sweet gig in witness protection."

Tae pets over noodles head, smiling at you, "We could call Noodle meatball."

Yoongi straightens, getting you back on track. "We'd also send pictures and evidence to the heads of house too; you'd have to take your pick who you'd want to deal with- them or the Feds."    Moonbyul goes quiet and for the first time but you know you have her backed into a corner with this. This secret- this secret is truly her undoing. She fidgets, settling herself firmly into the uncomfortable chair. 

And then it comes, her concession, “What do you want?”

Yoongi nearly lunges forward with how eager he is to outline your terms. “Release Jimin from his contract. Let Y/n go and relinquish the bullshit claim you have on her. Don’t punish Jin for working for the FBI and never contact me again for my responsibilities as a beta. Leave us alone- never touch us again and you can have your empire. We won’t say a word to anyone about your true sub-gender.” He lays his hands flat on the table. "But lay a finger on any one of my packmates and I'll tell everyone what you really are." 

Moonbyul is a manipulator first and foremost, and a good one at that, you don’t know if it’s honesty or a simple tactic when she turns to Tae and appeals to her.

“You’d let them do this for what? One female alpha to the other?” Moonbyul’s eyes are too empty for her to be totally honest. Jungkook can’t stop his flinch. She knows what she’s doing. How to find the weak spots in your conviction and press at them.  

“One trans person to another? You'd let them forcefully out me? don't you know how wrong that is?”

You physically can’t look at her, you have to look away- and Jimin looks like he wants to punch her, jaw rolling- preparing to spit before Tae splays her hands on the table, chipped nail polish catching the light. 

Tae struggles to find the right words. “I don’t know if your reasons are the same as mine.” 

Moonbyul scoffs, crossing her arms. The mask slips at the same second. “Sure they are. You chose to become a woman rather than stay a man because you liked the set of qualities your life could have as a woman better. That's no different from me choosing to be an alpha over an omega because it gave my pack and me the most security.”

You know, you know in your heart that security isn't what Moonbyul's after, it's always been power, but Tae's scent starts to leak around the scent blockers, going sour.

Tae sits back in her chair. “That’s the thing- it wasn’t a choice.”

Moonbyul’s fingernails are digging into her arms in an effort to keep her hands busy. “Was it? You were comfortable being a man once until the risks outweighed the benefits of not being honest with the people you love. That seems like a choice to me- if it wasn’t a choice- you’d never have had to tell anyone- they’d just have known.” 

Moonbyul has always had a terrible knack for finding people's soft spots, Hoseok knows this, and yet he can't say anything. Can't come to Tae's defense. Can't scream at her to shut up- to not touch Tae. To not find the weakest link or perhaps a link she can exploit.

Tae’s hands tighten into a fist and she swallows, before standing up from the table. Noodle falls to the floor with a jingle of his bell collar and an offended meow. Tae leaves the room heading up the stairs and leaves you behind. Done with Moonbyul and the conversation, A choice in itself. You follow her, heading upstairs after Tae with not even a glance in Moonbyul’s direction. 

Moonbyul laughs and laughs and laughs, it’s a little unhinged. The pack stays silent. They just watch her. Yoongi settles into his shoulders and when she leans back in the chair and tucks her hair behind her ear, she’s still smiling.

“Alright cousin, let’s draw up terms.”

The family does things in old ways, a smear of Yoongi’s blood and Moonbyul’s blood on the bottom of a slip of paper and their names ink signed. A red seal printed with both of their initials. Paper that Jin will burn up later because what’s written on it could condemn them all. She also writes up a release of Jimin’s contract too- this one does not get burned. While Jin types up his resignation too.

“I’d still laser off your fingerprints if I were you.” Jimin is already planning on it. He’s not too worried about the loss of income or the family possibly rolling on him and using his long history of murder to put him in jail. He still has his other job after all.

In the end, Moonbyul leaves not with a bang, but with the click of the closing door, soft as all can be. Violent with the gentleness of her actions when she gets up from the table and says goodbye to Yoongi and only Yoongi. But when she makes to leave, she has to pass by the stairs where you wait.

You do not speak from up on top of the stairs, where you’d gone after Tae and left after she told you she was fine, that she wanted to be alone for a moment. Now Moonbyul smiles from the bottom step. Her teeth catch the light like the pearls at the bottom of the ocean.

“I guess it was never going to be us, was it?” Her eyes flick to the mark on your neck and all at once you’re reminded of the feeling of it;

Geumjae’s teeth sink into your throat, the pulse of your veins around his teeth, the feeling of his tongue hitting your skin and the pain and shock of it. Her smiling feels like that. Her smiling up at you makes it feel like she’s taking something from you. 

“There is something in you that’s hungry pup- hungry for more than they can give you. And when they realize that- when they realize that you’re more like me than like Tae- Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting for when you decide that this is not enough.” 

Your finger trails down the railing of the stairs. You don’t meet her eyes. “That’s the thing isn’t it, I do get to decide, don’t I? It's my choice.”

But Hoseok is there, between you and her, and there’s no one between the two of them. Not Noodle or the others although Yoongi gets up quick and comes over to his side. Both of you hem Hobi in. 

“Wait- I just have one question for you- before you go.”

Moonbyul hovers, hand on the door. Almost out of your lives for good. You keep a hand on Hobi’s back, holding him, letting him know you’re there. You can feel the tremble in his shoulders. 

“Why did you do it, why did you hurt me like that when you could have just left? I’ve thought through it for years but I’ve never been able to figure it out. Did you know that you were hurting me when you did it?”

“Yes,” there isn’t a bit of remorse in her face, none at all. 

Maybe Hoseok is expecting something like this- something like this: “I thought if we broke you down, we might be able to remake you into something great”

“I didn’t need to be changed I just needed you to love me.”

 But there is none of that. It’s infuriating and it will bother him for years later but what Hoseok gets is this: 

“There wasn’t a reason, we were just bored and waiting for my father to give me the chance to transition.” transition into power or transition into an alpha? She doesn't clarify. She’s remorseless, nothing in her inflection indicates that she regrets what she did. 

“You weren’t the first.” 

Hoseok feels nauseous like he's going to be sick on the entryway floor. Hobi doesn’t respond and she leaves without a second glance behind her. Out of your lives for good. Leaving Hoseok standing there in the precipice of the door, watching her pull away from the house and staring at the empty driveway after she’s gone. He'll never see her again after today.

Namjoon gets up and opens up a window, clearing the house of her smell of peppermint.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until you dab your sleeve at his cheek. Yoongi at his front and you holding him from behind, keeping him together as he cries and cries and cries. Jimin puts himself between you two and the door, a knife that he'd tapped under the table in his hands.

Jungkook huffs. "Should have stabbed her when you had the chance Minnie."

Closure escapes him, just out of his fingers. Hoseok wants to run after her and demand an apology. But he doesn’t know what’s better, an apology that’s hollow or none at all. No one talks for a moment while they watch her car pull out of the driveway and leave. No one says a word. 

And then Jin gets up from the table and walks over to the kitchen. Namjoon follows him. Tae’s at the top of the steps, she’s changed her clothes from her PJs and washed off the scent blockers. Her hair hangs shaggy and messy over her glossy face, her bangs in a curly pink roller, and her skin pearly from her skincare.

She doesn’t smell distressed or upset. She doesn’t smell like anything at all but she’s wearing her favorite pink sweater. She comes close, runs her hands through Hobi's hair.

"I'll be fine, just give me a second I just need-"

"You cry for as long as you need to ho-baby."

"Yeah- cry as much as you want, use me as a napkin for all I care." your shirt is wet at the collar where Hobi burrows in.

Jin opens up the pack's liquor cabinet. Small and just to the side of the fridge. None of them really drink- but occasionally patients give Namjoon expensive bottles of whiskey for saving their lives. Jin pours himself a full glass of the most expensive bottle of it. No ice. He pours a second glass for Yoongi without asking.    It’s barely noon, but when he asks “who wants a drink?” Seven hands shoot up.

~-~

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Notes:

the very fist part of this chapter where hoseok and her are on the train was a part that i liked until final edits and then it felt??? idk??? clunky??? maybe a bit repetitive???? idk what it is and it's way too late to fix it T-T

this chapter is really an ode to what i originally thought of for bily, in the og version of this story yoongi was supposed to hate the m/c at the beginning for taking him away from the pack. i think his anger at the end is entirely justified- it's also like- his karma for leaving at the beginning you know? he might take it a bit too far in his reaction but tbh- i think we can cut him some slack for everything he's ever given to the m/c- all of the unconditional love.

i think that the train is like- a metaphor for getting better, or not getting better and keeping going on the reductive patterns that make you sick, because the things that make you feel better- like picking at a sticky scab- will only make you scar deeper. this is the last moment for the m/c, the moment she starts to heal for good.

the moment where hobi and the m/c are walking up to the car and yoongi is there i litterally see him puffing up like a studio ghibli charecter you know? or maybe like noodle whenever yoongi comes close.

honestly- the line where yoongi says that she doesn't love him like he loves her made me fucking sick when i wrote it like???? not me lowkey not giving them a happy ending. but i think that the part of bily thats always been fun to experiment with is how people sometimes people hurting you doesn't change how you feel about them.

did you catch the reasons wreched and divine refrence????

the line that yoongi says “Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last ////5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough too apologize and-" is very much a refrence to what hoseok says to yoongi at the begining of the series "You won’t even tell me now when I'm fucking dying over you, suffocating under the weight of things you just won’t say- and you don’t even care!” and i think thats pretty.

i think the yoongi parts will either make you guys feel vindicated or upset. i think it's up to you if he goes too far when he's angry- but i do think it's very human of him to get so angry like...the m/c is his whole fucking world...he will get over it! don't worry! he's just momentarily angry!

the part between when the pack call her and she arrifes felt really clunky while i was editing it, i decided not to take it down too much because i wanted you guys to feel some of their anticipation- but maybe it's too much. it's this kind of part that might get seriously paired down once i go back through bily and clean it up

"fuck this bitch"- noodle probably

noodle is like my favorite charecter i swear to god i love him so so much. i had the idea that he would be the only one to get some bloodletting in since the very begining of the series before he was ever written into the story. this is also the begining of them sorta being friends like- after this noodle is alot more tolerant of yoongi.

Moonbyul discloses that she has some pretty uncomfy views of being trans in this! i think it's pretty obvious that it's not meant to be like 'this is how all trans people are' and more of an effort to contrast tae- we are also talking like fake secondary genders here as well so- do with that what you will!

i also wanted to make the point with hobi and moonbyul's part at the end that sometimes the people who hurt you have no remorse, you don't get clousrure from them because they'll never admit that they shouldn't have done something. and the biggest closure that you can get is from giving yourself the strenght to let go. in a way- this directly contrasts the parts on the train in the begining. in order to heal a wound you have to stop touching it.

this chapter may feel like an ending in a sense because it is an end of all the mafia parts. truly- after this chapter we won't see any more violence or blood or anything close to the last 6. it's all happy endings from here <3 Thank you for sticking with it!

<3

[mcondance]

till death starring stu macher

dead dove, do not eat. like the dove is actually fucking dead.

written from stu’s pov-ish.

remember when i said i needed stu to kill me and then fuck my corpse as a final act of desecration and perversion? happy halloween. and happy kinktober.

he’s proud.

lifeless, but still warm. the blood pouring from your abdomen is still bright, rushing red. his skin prickles with what he’s feeling.

jesus.

you’re still so pretty. prettier, really, now that he’s conquered you. now that you’re his victim.

so his hand draws to your hot face, and he wipes away the tears you’d shed. he’s in control of himself. the only one in the driver’s seat when he raises up over you and gazes at you with blown pupils, like he did when you were still here.

his mind is moving a million miles per hour, bouncing off of logic and murder and perversion, as his eyes dart down to the waistband of your sleep shorts, tiny ones you only wore when you were alone, or with him. you trusted him.

you trusted him. he’s hard. ridiculously hard, harder than he ever got when you were alive, even when you were letting him turn you into something unrecognizable for his pleasure.

he killed you in your home, in the space you let him into because you really, really trusted him, even when it was obvious you shouldn’t have.

it’s your fault, really. stupid girl, not smart enough to know the man she was fucking was a killer.

how did you not know, he thinks.

what a pretty body.

maybe those guys are right, maybe his knife does represent his dick. they have to be, with the way it felt nothing but sexual when he sunk it into you, when you called his name and looked right into his eyes like you used to when he fucked you, when he kept going even when you pleaded with him to stop.

his bloodied hands drag your shorts and panties down your heavy legs and waste no time in pulling his pants down. black blown-out eyes focus on the fountain of blood pouring from your stomach. this is sexual, the blood, the wound, the kill excited him more than your cunt ever did.

he loved your cunt. still does. he loves your blood, too. he swears to god it’s a different red than everyone else’s, a gleaming vermillion he’s never seen before. pleasure is pleasure, your warmth wrapped around him felt good. but he liked to hear you beg more, to see you wrap your hand around his wrist and plead with him to let go as your eyes began to flutter.

your eyes. shut closed forever.

you feel just like you did when you were alive. still tight and wet and your tits bounce just like they used to. jesus, they’re so pretty, feel so good under his hands.

he’s sweating. it drips down onto your neck as your body rocks with his movements. he’s fucking you, hard, rutting into you and grunting and groaning with so much feeling he thinks he’s going to fucking explode.

one last time, he gets to defile you, to steal your innocence and light and make you his.

you screamed when you first saw him. mask on but shroud forsaken. terror, then confusion, then realization, then fear.

you couldn’t be faster than him even if you tried your hardest.

the sound was beautiful. your shoulder firm under his hand as he held you still.

his mind is on fire.

you felt betrayed, really. brown eyes big and hurt like you couldn’t believe what he’d done. he sunk down with you, guiding you to your living room floor as he watched your life leave you. he watched your blood pour from your wound. he nodded as you reached up for him, rubbing his face and pleading as if your show of connection in your final moments would mean a thing to him. still, unmoving as he listened to you beg him to “get some help, stu, please, please help me, why would you do this, stu, oh my god, oh my god, god, stu, please. please, please, pl—.” he watched you take your last breath, and he savored it all.

his hips stutter as he cums, and he pulls out to jerk himself onto the hole he carved earlier. lights flicker behind his eyes as his rubs the tip of himself through the bright red blood, smearing it all over your stomach.

he owns you. from the moment he saw you, he owned you. in life, and in death.

[thatgoblin]

141 Men Losing Their Partner

Summary: Dead Dove Don't Eat.

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT PERTAINING TO PREGNANCY, DROWNING, CAR ACCIDENT, MURDER, NO HAPPY ENDINGS.

Price

It had been a normal day for John, texting you at lunch to see what you wanted for dinner. It was Friday, which meant that it would be a lazy weekend after a grueling month of missions followed by an equally grueling week of training with cadets. Nothing seemed out of place as he pulled up to the house he shared with you, a small townhouse that was perfect for the time being, but with talk of a baby, you would need more room soon. 

“Love, I’m home,” John called, holding plastic bags full of Chinese cartons holding low mein and sweet and sour pork. “Love?” There was no answer. The inside was eerily quiet and John knew that quiet meant bad things. In the field, it meant that people were on the move and hiding it, but at home it meant you were either gone or hurt. After being told you would be home and waiting, he was on high alert. 

Guns weren’t a common item, but with his position he had one stashed. Stalking through the house, handgun held out as he cleared rooms, he was moving on instinct. Years of training from doing this through blown up buildings and searching for the bad guys was the only thing keeping him from running through the place and screaming your name. 

When he got to the kitchen, he spun around the corner with the gun raised, slipping on something slick and wet. Catching himself on the counter, his breath left him. 

There was so much blood. More than he had ever seen before, not even when he interrogated or was locked up in a Russian prison or even the fucking battlefield. Nothing compared the scene before him. 

John shook as he set his gun down, starting to hyperventilate as he locked eyes with your lifeless body. You were on the floor, your throat slit and body stabbed to the point that it looked like someone put ground beef on you. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t. You were the safe place he had from the world. Everything about you had been his soft landing place. He had worked so hard to keep you separated from his job and it was all for nothing. 

Going to his knees, he crawled to you. John’s hands trembled as they touched your face in disbelief. He was unable to take a proper breath, the smell of your blood stinging his senses as he pulled you to him, pressing his face to yours. There was no conscious movement as he began to rock and weep softly. Holding you tight, he stayed there till Laswell showed up. She had been invited over with her wife for a double date. Kate tried to pull him away as her wife called the police, but it triggered him to start screaming. Even when the police showed up, it took an ambo arriving to sedate him for him to let go of you. 

“Be careful with her,” he sobbed as the medics put you on a gurney. “She’s allergic to penicillin. She gets hives. Please, she needs-she needs-”

Kate held him as he broke, going silent. “We were going to have a baby,” he whispered, tears soaking his beard. “We wanted to get a new house and have a baby. We wanted. . . What am I going to do?”

Gaz

You had been on a date with Kyle, a fun outing that was desperately needed after being separated for months. You went to dinner at this greasy burger place then went to an arcade that had a giant purple dragon he swore he would get you. After five tries and lots of swearing, he finally did it. “My hero,” you cooed, holding your prize as you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Ready to head home? I don’t think this guy is meant to be carried around for long.”

“I am if you are,” Kyle said with a grin, giving you a wink. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulled you along to get to the street. He held his hand up to hail a cab, holding you close as you pressed against his body. It had been too long since you had last held him and with having him home for a few weeks, you were refusing to let him go any time soon. 

“Can’t get a bloody cab for shit,” he huffed. You were about to tell him you could call for one when you heard tire screeching. There was no time to react to the car hitting the curb then the pair of you. It was milliseconds and even if either of you had been looking at it, there was no escaping it. 

The car had been speeding when it barrelled over you two. Kyle flew over the hood and slammed into the windshield as you were dragged under the tires. Screams from everyone filled the air as the car stopped for just a moment before swerving off to leave you.

“Ky-Kyle,” you wheezed, laying on the ground. Your middle had been crushed and you couldn’t feel anything below your chest. It hurt to breathe, making you choke and gasp as Kyle forced himself to drag himself to you.

“Doll,” he groaned, his leg at a bad angle and his head bleeding profusely. “Don’t move. Stay with me.”

“Kyle,” you choked out. “Cold.”

“No, please,” he whimpered, collapsing next to you as people gathered to try and help keep you still as others called the ambulance. “Darling, don’t. Please.”

“Love,” you whispered as he took your limp hand. “You.”

“Help is coming, please, just hold on,” he begged as you stayed still and quiet. “Darlin’? Baby? No, no, no, no.” The ambulance didn’t arrive for nearly an hour. Price showed up well before them. He made Kyle stay still as he kept calling for you, holding your hand. Someone had draped their jacket over your top and another person laid their’s over your middle, hoping to give you some decency as Kyle demanded that Price help you. Even when he was in danger of snapping his spine, paralyzing himself for life, he still made you the priority. 

“Gaz,” Price said softly. “She’s gone. I’m sorry, lad.” 

“No, please. She’s just-just quiet,” Kyle sobbed, his physical pain not even compared to what he was feeling when he was made to let go of you for good.

Soap

It had started out as a weekend trip to blow off some steam. You and Johnny had gone to a resort in a warm climate with crystal clear water and amazing food. There was plenty of mixed, frozen drink and tanning lotion for the pair of you to get some nice warm color back into their almost sickly complexions. 

Johnny made sure to get plenty of pictures of you in your bathing suit, specifically your ass. You  gave him shit, but he just laughed and took more. Included in your stay was a boat tour of a cave. It wasn’t the rainy season so it was safe. No sudden surges or unexpected storms. Johnny said he’d been in more dangerous pools in the UK, making you relax and trust that things would be fine. 

You weren’t the strongest swimmer, but you were good enough to get by. Add in a life jacket and Johnny next to you, you felt safe. Untouchable really. What took you by surprise was the rumble of thunder as you got halfway into the tour. 

“Don’t worry, it will miss us,” the guide said, easing any worries that would pop up. Holding Johnny’s hand, you were about to make a comment about the glowing algae when you heard a clicking pop. Turning to him, you were left speechless. 

“You know I’m not good with words, but I think this speaks for itself,” he said, holding up a rose gold ring with a set of yellow diamond leaves. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you said softly. “Yes! I would hug you aggressively, but I don’t want to lose the ring and tip the boat!” You cried with a shrieking laugh. Sliding the ring onto your finger, he pulled you close for a kiss as flashes from the phone the tour guide held reminded you that you weren’t alone. 

“I got everything recorded, Mr. Johnny,” he said with a grin, handing Johnny’s phone back to him. 

“Thanks, Mate,” Johnny said with a grin, keeping you close. As the guide turned the boat around, thunder rumbled again, much louder that time. “We’re still good, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, we’re heading back now, no worries,” the guide said as he navigated the slowly raising waters. You held onto Johnny as the thunder got louder and you could see the lightening was able to be seen from the front of the cave. 

Another rumble lasted longer, making you look around at the water. The rumbled quickly turned into a rushing sound, getting louder in seconds as a monstrous wave slammed into the cave, sending all the water rushing back. The rush slammed into the boat, making the bow lift high. With the guid on the back of the boat and you and Johnny in the middle, the weight distribution didn’t save you from being tossed into the water as the boat capsized. 

You screamed, grabbing for Johnny as you were pulled under. There was no preparation to stay under too long, your lungs burning as you blindly clawed at the bottom of the cave to find the side or top. Bursting through the surface with a choking gasp, you didn’t have time to get another breath before you were pulled back under by the rip that had been made by the current. Not even with the life jacket were you able to break through the water. 

Johnny was able to grab the guide and get him to higher ground in the cave. Dragging him onto rocks, he began to scream your name. Where had you gone!? You were right there! “Where are you!” He screamed, ready to jump back in.

“No, you will drown! It’s not safe until after the storm!” The guide cried as he grabbed Johnny’s arm. 

“My partner is in there!” Johnny snarled, but the guide fought with him, keeping him where it was safe while you were left on your own. As the flash storm rolled on, just a few minutes after it showed up, your life jacket floated out from the back of the cave. It didn’t mean anything, you could still be alive. Despite the water calming, the guide made them stay on the rocks till a rescue boat came in, shining a light on them. “There’s someone still in here!” He yelled as the men climbed into the boat. 

“We know, we have her outside,” the rescue worker said, helping them sit before turning the boat around.

“She’s okay?” Johnny asked, surprised as he never saw you since you fell from the boat. The man was quiet, not looking at him. “Is she okay?” He pushed. “Can you fuckin’ tell me if she’s alive or not!?” He snarled. All he received was silence. When the boat came out and he saw a white sheet laid over a body on the beach, he jumped from the rescue boat before it could stop. Running over, he was screaming your name as the police were taping off the beach. One of the officers tried to stop him, but he easily shoved them aside as he kept screaming. 

You were still and silent as he picked you up, refusing to let anyone near you as he wailed in grief. Holding you, he rocked the two of you as the police tried to control the growing crowd. There was nothing they could do to help him, as news crews began to swarm the beach to get pictures of the grief stricken man holding his fiancee’s body as her hand with the engagement ring dangled free for them to take pictures of and plaster on the front pages.

Ghost

 You were just a month and a half shy of being full term. When Simon had been called to do a mission, you were pissed and ready to fight Price, but Simon calmed you down before you could come at the bearded man with a cricket bat. It wouldn’t be that long and he’d be back with plenty of time for the baby to be born. 

It had only been two days when you felt contractions start. At first you thought it was Braxton Hicks contractions, but then you felt your water break. When you went to the bathroom to check, you found that it wasn’t your water. It was blood and it was soaking your underwear and pants. Calling an ambulance, you unlocked the front door so they could get in. Once you were sure they were on their way, you called Simon’s emergency line. It wouldn’t go to him directly, but he would know what was happening right away at least. Leaving your message, the ambulance arrived soon after.

Crying, you held your stomach as you were strapped to a gurney and rushed to the hospital. You weren’t being told anything, just to keep breathing as the pain grew. With your phone in your hand, you kept checking it to see if Simon was able to call, but there was nothing. At the hospital, you were rushed into surgery as you begged one of the nurses to call the emergency line again to see when Simon could call. She promised she would keep trying as you handed off your phone. Once in surgery, you were put under and the last thing you thought was a plea to any deity listening to save your baby. 

Simon got the message and was gone. He didn’t ask permission or explain. His whole team was with him, though, getting him back home as quickly as possible. It was nearly five hours later in a plane to a helicopter that took him to the hospital with some of his gear and mask still on. Jumping out of the helo before it could land fully, he ripped his mask and vest off to throw to the side as he sprinted to where you were. 

His head was empty aside from the drive to get to you. You had to be okay. You had to be. There was a nurse waiting for him at the stairs, stopping him from running blindly through the hospital. 

“Mr. Riley,” she said, not flinching under his gaze that was fire and rage. 

“Where is my wife?” He growled, towering over her. 

“You’re wife. . . I am so sorry, but she didn’t make it,” the nurse said. Simon could only hear the ringing in his ears that he would hear when he was near a concussion grenade going off. “Her uterine lining ripped and she had lost too much blood by the time she arrived at the hospital.” None of her words seemed to register to her as his team came up behind him. 

Every word was lost on him as he stood there, not responding to anything she said. Not even Price shaking him could bring him to. 

“What about the baby?” He finally asked, coming out of it enough to think of that. “Is she okay?”

“She’s stable and in the NICU. Despite being born rather early, she is healthy and will stay there till she’s considered to term to make sure she has the best chance of surviving,” the nurse said. Simon nodded, going quiet again. 

“I want to see her. I want to see my wife,” he said. The nurse nodded, knowing he would do it anyway he could. His face said it all. Taking him to the OR, she waved others on when they stopped to question why four men were being let into the room. The team held back while Simon moved forward to the white sheet covered table. With steady hands, he pulled the cover back to see your face. You looked like you were sleeping. He would watch you before you awoke for the day and this was the same face. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stroking your hair. His gloves were long gone, leaving him bare to the world he struggled to hide from. “I’m so sorry. I should have never left.” Leaning forward, he pressed your faces together as he quietly cried. He had lost his family, then found you and it was a breath of life to him. Now you were gone and left him with a small piece of you. He didn’t know if he could do it without you, if he could be someone his daughter needed or wanted. Simon didn’t know how to be a good partner till you came along, so how could he know how to be a good dad without you?

Masterlist

Taglist: @birdstoprey @sebbytheraccoon @pricescigar @alwaysshallow @sae1kie @sleepydang @lexi-zsy09 @ghostlywhiskey @ghosts-cyphera @poohkie90 @neothewitch @shadofireshinobi @sadslasher13 @0alk0msan @xaestheticalien

[hikarry]

I imagine Crowley, in his long existence, has never ever even attempted to cook or bake something. After all, eating has always been an excuse to take Aziraphale out and hang out. And it's not even like he eats a lot. He clearly prefers drinking.

And yet, when they move to the South Downs, it's a bit different, innit? The South Downs is no London where in every corner there's a restaurant or a bakery and there's always a new spot to discover. If they want to eat out they have to drive for a while and it's not like they have a lot of options. All in all, it's just not very efficient. But Aziraphale likes food. And Crowley loves to watch him eat.

I have no doubt Crowley becomes the cook of the household, all for the love of the angel. And he also ends up liking it cause he likes to follow recipes and keeps his mind busy. Aziraphale's smile is just a bonus, really.

Alas, it takes a while for him to get good at it and the first time he tries can be described as one of the most frustrating ventures of his life.

At first he decides to wing it. Something simple, out of the stuff they have in the refrigerator and the pantry. How hard can it be? Humans have been doing it since de beginning of time! It turns out it can, indeed, be quite difficult. He burns everything, makes a mess of the kitchen. Somehow there's flour in the counter tops and he hasn't even touched the flour! Or was it sugar? Regardless, he didn't use sugar either!

He ends up caving in and pulling his phone, searching for EASY and BEGINNER FRIENDLY recipes. The angel doesn't need to know about it.

Welp, even following the recipe he ends up with his sleeves soaked with water, an egg on the floor, somehow the flour is back even tho he miracled it away 10 minutes ago and a burned hand, that he heals not before screaming bloody murder. Luckily Aziraphale wasn't at home.

Eventually, in between all his failed attempts, he starts running out of supplies and starts miracling them as he needs them.

After 3 hours, and 10 minutes before Aziraphale is due to arrive home, he is finally successful and extremely exhausted because of all the miracles.

When Aziraphale arrives, Crowley presents him with a somewhat fancy grilled cheese sandwich (yes. He started with proper meals and ended up in sandwiches).

"Oh dear, you made this?"

"Yup."

"I didn't know you could cook!"

"It's a sandwich, angel. Can't really be considered cooking."

They walk to the living room, when Crowley remembers you can see the kitchen from said living room, and it still looks like a war zone.

"It looks scrumptious, nonetheless!"

"Yeah, thanks." He snaps his fingers behind his back to tidy up the kitchen and close the window he had opened because of the smoke and the smell of burned food before they actually arrive in the living room. "Do you want some tea with that?"

"That would be lovely."

Okay, tea he could do in front of Aziraphale. Tea is easy. Just some warm water and leaves. He has done it a million times before for the angel. He can't fuck it up, right? After the most humiliating 3 hours of his life, he isn't so sure.

[gilbirda]

Personal coach Red Hood

This one goes for @impyssadobsessions, for giving ideas and encouraging me to write this!

Part 1 || Part 2 - Part 4

-----

It was supposed to be your pretty standard run-of-the-mill bank robbery with hostage situation. He had it under control, and told the others that if they dared swing in and “help him out” he would shoot on sight. Given that there were civilians involved, and they weren’t quite sure if he was serious or not — and Oracle confirmed that everything seemed okay via the security cameras — he was left alone tying up the robbers in peace.

That was until a hostage made the stupid mistake to be brave, or a fucking idiot if you ask Jason, and tried to rush one of the guys before Jason had a chance to subdue him.

Who exactly shot first, he couldn’t be sure; but in the following chaos and screams Jason had to prioritize making sure that no one innocent was caught in the crossfire, which gave the perps the chance to escape.

With a sigh, he connected back to comms. “So… “

“They escaped, right?” Barbara’s tone was flat. Which was code that she was laughing at him.

“Yeah…”

“And you want me to alert the others.”

He sighed again, doing a final sweep just in case another hostage got funny ideas. “Yeah…”

Barbara hummed in his ears. It wasn’t a good sign. “Maybe that’s not needed.” And before he could ask what she meant, she added: “Your stalker is already on the move.”

Jason felt cold just before he was flooded with anger. Of all the stupid things! She had put herself in harm's way so many times and now she pulled something like this? Did she have a deathwish?

He rushed outside to prevent a very probable murder to find —

“Hi!” She said again, a giant smile on her face, waving one hand. “I saw them escape so I jumped in, I hope you don’t mind.” She started talking at a high speed. “So I was following you but couldn’t get inside in time and when the lockdown happened I just thought maybe you’d need backup or something? There were some guys on the rooftop but—”

“What the hell were you thinking?” He growled, maybe louder than he intended.

She blinked and got quiet. Finally.

Even the usual crowd of curious civilians watching from a safe distance stopped murmuring.

“Are you that stupid!?”

Jazz blinked again. “What?

He tried to pinch his nose, but forgot he had the helmet on. He chose to rub the helmet instead.

“Do you want to die?” For some reason this amused her, which really didn’t help her case. “Stop following me around and strong-arm yourself in dangerous situations like this!”

She frowned. “But I’m fine? I can take care of myself.”

She lifted her hands to show she was still in one piece, but Jason grabbed her right arm and pulled her towards him. Her hand was bloody and her knuckles were red, probably going to bruise.

“What’s this, then?”

“That’s not even mine,” Jazz rolled her eyes, but tried to pry her hand out from his grasp. Jason didn’t let go and grabbed her left shoulder next, growling when Jazz whimpered. “Okay that was me being distracted.”

He let her go and pushed her away. “If you show your face in my territory again, woman, you’ll pray you left when you had a chance.”

He turned around and walked to the knocked out guys on the ground, not caring if Jazz — if she was still there watching him. It was better for everyone if she abandoned the idea of vigilantism, or training with him or whatever was supposed to make sense in her head.

When the police arrived, she was already gone.

---

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[in1-nutshell]

Why hello 👋 sorry to trouble with this extremely long request but I would like to make a request where MTMTE lost light crew gets teleported to the prime verse where buddy is megs daughter and guess they we're having some trouble with tfp megs cause he is hogging all the energon and lost light decides to help them with their and during that time MTMTE megs got pretty close with buddy and she was happy to have her dad back even if he was from a different universe

And tfp megs ends up deciding to kidnap his own kid and abused her pretty badly to the point where she was missing some limbs, bleeding a lot too and he like refused to let knockout treat her wounds so when they tried to go rescue her and megatron holds her by her neck showing them the damage he has done and shocking everyone

Something like immediately snapped in MTMTE megs and his old self resurfaced and he nearly beats tfp megs but tfp Optimus and his MTMTE Optimus manages to hold him back from killing tfp megs and they rush buddy to the med bay in attempts to save her and she lives and the tfp decepticons decides to join tfp Optimus they kept there decepticon badges ofc but their working with him only

As for MTMTE crew they had to go home megs decides to ask buddy if she wanted to come with him to his universe (the answer is up to you) I do not know what else to write

P.S: please let breakdown be alive in it and sorry for it being so long

OH MY!

Who needs a roller-coaster when you cane have emotional rollercoasters?

Hope you enjoy!

Megatron's daughter with the opposite personality gets kidnapped and MTMTE Megatron finds out

SFW, Platonic, ANGST, Mentions of injuries, near death but everything turns out ok, Familial, Cybertronain reader

TFP/MTMTE

Megatron’s forces were taking more and more energon mines by the day.

The resources were dwindling to dangerous levels.

The team needs them soon and fast.

Thankfully they found an untapped energon mine ripe for the taking.

Buddy helped get all the carts ready and the drills prepped.

“Everyone ready?”--Arcee

“Wait! I’m coming too!”--Buddy

“Are you sure about that Buddy?”--Bulkhead

Buddy firmly grasped her drill piece.

“We need as many servos in that mine getting the energon as we can. I’m going.”--Buddy

Optimus looks at Buddy for a second.

“Keep close.”--Optimus

Buddy smiles and salutes.

“Absolutely!”—Buddy

The team landed in one of the darker areas of the mine.

But the light from the energon crystals made up for most of the visibility.

It was time to get to work.

The team spread out through the cave while maintaining some proximity with each other.

Buddy managed to get the deeper crystals that had managed to wedge themselves in between the rocks.

She ventured to more of the outskirts of the cave trying to reach a particular energon vein.

She felt off.

Sudden shivers would run down her spinal struts.

It felt as if someone was watching her.

She started walking towards the others.

The feeling just grew, and she picked up her pace a bit.

She was still a few yards away from the others.

Out of the corner of Optimus’s optic he saw Buddy walking faster than usual back to the group.

Buddy then heard it.

A familiar sound of a blade being pulled out.

She froze in place.

Her spark beating out of control.

No…

There was no way he was here…

Optimus looked at Buddy’s fear-stricken face and went to walk over to Buddy.

Buddy slowly turned around to see who was behind her.

Optimus saw something drag Buddy into the darkness of the cave with her screaming bloody murder.

He started running towards the darkness.

The team followed behind him.

The screaming continued until they reached an opening in the cave.

The glow of the moon and groundbrigde shown upon the two figures.

Buddy beginning held up by her throat thrashing in pure fear.

The one holding her was none other than her father.

Megatron.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Optimus Prime and his lackey’s.”--Megatron

Optimus drawing out his canon with a steely gaze.

“Let her go Megatron.”--Optimus

The rest of the team has their weapons out and ready to fire on command.

“And why would I do that Prime? She is my daughter, not yours.”--Megatron

Megatron squeezes a bit more making Buddy squirm even more.

Buddy looks at her family with tears in her optics.

“G-go!”--Buddy

“What?”--Arcee

“I-I’m not worth it—urgh--I’m not worth it!”--Buddy

“Let her go NOW!”--Optimus

Megatron just smirks at the Prime and throws Buddy through the portal and dashes right after her.

Prime sprints to the portal but it closes at the last second.

He looks in horror at the place where Buddy was just there.

She was just there…

Optimus can hear the frustration and calls to Buddy from behind him.

He shakingly reaches his commlink.

“Ratchet…”--Optimus

“What is going on in there!? I can’t get a good reading on Buddy and half of the team in blowing up—”--Ratchet

“Buddy has been taken.”--Optimus

“…What? What do you mean taken?!”--Ratchet

“Megatron…”--Optimus

Ratchet on the other end slightly covering his mouth.

“No…”--Ratchet

The team returned to base, and they set out to immediately find Buddy.

There was no telling what Megatron would do to her.

They needed to find Buddy.

 A few painful hours passed and there was still no trace of Buddy, Megatron, or the Nemesis. Everyone was on edge waiting for some sort of clue to come.

The Bots were getting desperate.

That’s when the portal opened.

Portal opens.

Miko looked at it wide eyed, grabbing Jack and Raf.

“GRAB ONTO SOMETHING!”--Miko

Bulkhead quickly scoops up the kids.

The team holds onto sturdy objects digging their pedes into the ground.

“YOU KNOW WHAT THIS THING IS MIKO?”--Wheeljack

“IN A WAY! THAT WAS THE PORTAL THAT GOT ME AND BUDDY INTO THAT ALTERNATE DIMENSION!”--Miko

Several figures shoot out of the portal and land sprawled out on top of each other on the ground.

The portal closes.

The team has their weapons out and pointed at the pile.

“GET OFF OF ME!”--Rodimus

“I WOULD IF YOU’D GET YOU TAILPIPE OUT OF MY—”--Drift

Tailgate bounces from the top of the pile and lands roughly on the ground.

“Ow!”--Tailgate

Miko squints a bit before smiling widely.

“Bulkhead put me down.”--Miko

“What? Absolutely—”--Bulkhead

“Hey Whirl! Whirl you in there?”--Miko

From somewhere in the middle of the pile Whirl hears Miko and furiously digs himself out of the pile.

Whirl gets out and spots Miko waving widely at him.

“Miko!”--Whirl

Whirl walks up to Bulkhead.

Bulkhead holds the kids closer.

“Don’t worry Bulkhead he’s a friend!”--Miko

“Yes my future Amica!”--Whirl

“AMICA?!”—Bulkhead and Wheeljack

Whirl snatches up Miko from Bulkhead and plops her into his cockpit.

“Hey, we’re in Miko and Buddy’s dimension.”-Tailgate

The rest of the Rod Squad gets up stretching and saying hello to Miko.

“Umm…”--Smokescreen

The rest of the crew looking at Team Prime, who just looked confused.

“Oh right! Lost Light crew meet Team Prime!”--Miko

MTMTE Optimus makes his way to the front with Rodimus and…

“What is HE doing here?”--Arcee

All guns trained on MTMTE Megatron who was looking around.

“Who Megs? He’s on our side now.”--Rodimus

“Our side?”--Ratchet

“The war is over in our dimension.”—MTMTE Optimus

Both teams look at the differences between TFP Prime and MTMTE Prime.

“Wow, didn’t see you the last time we went to the Lost Light.”--Miko

“I was visiting when the portal sucked most of us in.”—MTMTE Optimus

“Where’s Buddy?”—MTMTE Megatron

“Yeah, where’s Buddy!”--Tailgate

“Calmly Tailgate.”--Cyclonus

“Tailgate?”--Arcee

“Yep, that’s my name. But where is she? She’s going to be so happy when she see us!”--Tailgate

Team Prime looks down slightly.

“What’s wrong?”--Rung

“Not too long-ago Buddy was kidnapped by this dimension’s Megatron.”—TFP Optimus

All the Lost Light crew freezes.

The Lost Light crew is now out for blood.

Brainstorm and Perceptor helped Wheeljack and TFP Ratchet create a stronger signal booster.

That way they would cover more ground to try and find Buddy’s signal.

Instead they found a strange SOS Signal.

Knockout, Breakdown, and Steve had created the link.

“What do you Con’s want?”--Bulkhead

“Easy Bulkhead, we aren’t looking for a fight.”--Breakdown

Yeah like I believe that.”--Bulkhead

“Listen, we don’t have much time before this signal gets discovered so shut it!”--Knockout

“Go on.”--Optimus

“Steve is inputting the coordinates of the Nemesis.”--Knockout

“Your… giving away your position?”—MTMTE Megatron

“Who’s that? Never mind, if you want to get Buddy follow these coordinates.”--Knockout

“And if it’s a trap?”--Arcee

“It’s not! Buddy is not going to make it if you don’t come NOW!”--Steve

“Breakdown what does he mean by that?”--Wheeljack

“We can’t say anymore Bulk, just get here fast.”--Breakdown

“And don’t hurt any Con that doesn’t try and attack you!”--Steve

End transmission.

MTMTE Megatron, MTMTE Rodimus, MTMTE Optimus, and TFP Optimus are the ones to come up with the formal plan to rescue Buddy.

Everyone else works together with the sole thought of getting Buddy back.

They manage to infiltrate the Nemesis once the coordinates are inputted.

Most of the Lost light crew insist that they come to help, but later agreed fo a small party to join Team Prime.

Some stay behind on base with the medical supplies ready and in case they need back up.

When the rescue team enters the Nemesis, they encounter the first vechicons.

They are parting ways to let them pass through the halls.

They pass by Breakdown and Knockout who point in the right direction, no questions ask about the other bots with them.

They noticed that Soundwave was on the med slab unconscious with his visor cracked like a spiderweb.

As if someone hit him…

That’s when they meet Starscream.

He isn’t a problem after some punches.

That’s when they hear muffled poundings.

They don’t hesitate to knock on the door.

All weapons are up.

This is when the Lost Light crew finally meets this dimensions Megatron.

He has energon coated on his servos and some clear dents and slight cuts to his sides.

But what really gathers their attention is the pool of energon gathering around his pedes.

There is a couple feet away from him was a small frame

Still…

Unmoving…

MTMTE Megatron clenching his servos into giant fists.

“What. Have. You. DONE!”—MTMTE MEGATRON

TFP Megatron looking at this slightly familiar mech next to TFP Optimus.

“And who are you to demand such a thing from the Almighty Megatron.”

“We’re the ones who are going to send you to the pits if you don’t answer the question.”--Rodimus

TFP Megatron laughs as he grabs the limp frame in his servos.

The small frame has too many large slashes and dents.

Most noticeably, their entire right leg is gone.

Whirl almost tackles him to the ground but gets held back by the Wreckers who are equally fuming with anger.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER!?”--Whirl

TFP Megatron laughs.

“Nothing I can’t do to a traitor of the Decepticon army.”--TFP Megatron

He throws Buddy to the wall.

She falls to the ground unmoving with a slight trail of energon trailing behind.

SNAP!

MTMTE Megatron screams and tackles TFP Megatron to the ground.

The fight wasn’t even close to being fair.

TFP Megatron is out in seconds by the sheer anger this Megatron packs into his punches.

“YOU!”—MTMTE Megatron

BANG!

“DON’T!”—MTMTE Megatron

SLAM!

“DESERVE!”--MTMTE Megatron

BANG!

“HER!”--MTMTE Megatron

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

It takes both Optimus’s, Rodimus and Magnus to tear him off of his counterpart.

Most of the other party had already left to the base with Buddy.

MTMTE Megatron just heaves heavily.

He doesn’t regret anything.

He grabs some chains and bounds TFP Megatron from escaping.

The sound of static alerts the remaining bots.

Soundwave was leaning on the wall with the rest of the Decepticon’s behind him.

He asks if Megatron lived.

TFP Optimus nods.

Soundwave nods back.

Steve walks forward.

“I want to join your side.”--Steve

“Wow… wasn’t expecting that.”--Whirl

“We are done working for Megatron. We follow Buddy now.”--Steve

“So, you’ll become bots?”--Arcee

“Not exactly, we’re still Cons through and through. But we’re taking it back to its original ideal.”--Breakdown

“Peace.”--Soundwave

“Breakdown and I can come and give any medical assistance that’s needed.”--Knockout

TFP Optimus nods.

The remaining rescue team plus Knockout and Breakdown enter the groundbrigde leaving the vechicons to the ship and put Megatron in stasis lock.

It was all servos on deck to keep Buddy from flatlining.

After several hours of intense surgery and fixing, the medics came with the news…

Buddy was finally stable.

She was going to pull through.

The Lost Light crew insisted in helping around the base and with New Cybertron as much as they could while Buddy recovered.

MTMTE Megatron rarely left her side alongside several other bots and cons who visited often.

When Buddy did wake up the first thing, she saw was MTMTE Megatron gently holding her servo.

She was internally freaking out still trying to process what was happening, but all the fear left her when she saw the tears coming from his red optics.

She knew exactly who this mech was.

Buddy started bawling clutching MTMTE Megatron with as much mobility she had.

MTMTE Megatron gently soothed her as the others came in.

Everyone told her story of what happened during her rescue.

Soon enough the portal comes back for the rest of the Lost Light.

Buddy being held in TFP Optimus’s arms waving and hugging the crew as they make their way to the portal.

“Buddy… you know you could always come with us.”—MTMTE Megatron

Buddy freezes.

TFP Optimus freezes.

“Really?”--Buddy

“Yes, the decision is up to you.”—MTMTE Megatron

Buddy looks at MTMTE Megatron’s servo and TFP Optimus.

“…I think I’ll stay here. Someone’s gotta keep the place clean when you guys come back.”--Buddy

MTMTE Megatron smiles and lightly hugs Buddy.

“You take care of her Prime.”--MTMTE Megatron

“With all my spark Megatron.”—TFP Optimus

“Farewell.”—MTMTE Megatron

Megatron and the others enter the portal and vanish.

The portal closes.

Buddy smiles and hugs Optimus.

He hugs back feeling relief.

Everything was going to be okay.

[hina-hina]

Hello! can I have a (seperate) fluffy headcanons for Ghost, König, Soap and Alejandro reacts when his and f! s/o's baby says their first word which is "dada" or "papa"

Hello friend!! This was such a cute request to go with the Ghost one I just made as well as the addition of the other characters!! This was a really fun one to write I hope you like it!! Thank you for requesting!! (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ

|| Ghost, König, Soap and Alejandro Reactions to their Baby's first word being Dad ||

Warnings: some angst

|| Ghost

He never would have guessed that his child's first word would be his name due to how much he works

He hates having to leave the two of you so much

He always takes off his mask before going anywhere near his child because the last thing he wants is them to be scared of him

He can't stop a small smile spreading across his face when your child see his face and giggles

But one day, he comes back from a mission utterly exhausted and just forgets he has his mask on

You and your child are sat in the living room floor, playing with a pile of colorful blocks

Without thinking, he just approaches to watch you guys closer

You give him a tired smile but your face quickly drops when you notice his mask

"Simon, your mask-"

But it was too late, the small child had already seen him

You both hold your breath as the small child just stares at the man with a curious expression, when suddenly their face lights up:

"Dada!"

He gasps quietly as the child immediately tries to go to him

He drops to his knees immediately to steady the child as they smile, little hands going up to clusmly push the mask off his face

The child throws their little arms around his shoulders as he grabs them into a big bear hug, eyes watery

You approach the both of them and are quickly accepted into the hug as well

|| König

A bit of the same situation as Ghost

I would imagine he would be a little self-conscious of his face

You always reassure him that he's very handsome

So, on one of your rare days off, he's sitting with your small child while you cook dinner

"Come on, Schätzchen, say mama."

He is quietly trying to get your child to say your name first because he wants to see your expression when it happens

He really doesn't want their first words to be while he's gone

However, the small child just stares back looking just confused

"You can say it! Mama!"

But the baby just does something unexpected

They shake their tiny head quickly from side to side, pointing one little hand out at König"

"Papa!"

His jaw drops immediately

Something distantly clatters in the kitchen as you come sprinting from the kitchen, practically vaulting over the couch

"Did they just...?"

"I-I..."

But your just laughing, swooping down to grab the child into your arms and slumping down into König's lap

"Your so smart, sweetheart!"

He wraps strong arms around you

"I'm sorry, Maus, I was trying to get her to say Mama, but..."

"Oh hush, big guy,"

You press a big kiss to his cheek then go back to praising the child as he hides his proud smile into your neck

|| Soap

You two would 100% be the type of couple to start a bet about it

He claims its unfair because work takes him away so much so whenever you two have video calls, he is constantly dropping not-so-subtle hints to your child

So, whenever you two are alone you almost always refer to yourself in the third person

If you slip up and do this in front of Soap, he will no doubt tease you about it

So when he finally comes in for leave, the two of you are constantly trying to get the kid to say your names

"C'mon dear, just say dad!" "Stop it!!"

But eventually it happens in a way neither of you had planned for

You had just put the baby to bed and the two of you were sitting on the couch, watching tv and having a drink

The two of you were just relaxing in eachothers arms, almost falling asleep with the warmth and softness of it all

That was, until your child starts crying and screaming bloody murder

Soap is immediately in fight mode, jumping up and running upstairs with you hot on his heels

When he passed into the bedroom, he was momentarily relieved to see no one was it there

However, he was still on edge but the child's ruddy, tear-stained face as they stood with the help of their crib bars

He is quickly approaching the child, grabbing them under the arms and lifting the crying baby from the crib

"Oh, honey, did you have a bad dream?"

The child's small body shakes, "Daaaaaaad!"

He spins around to face you but you just smile lightly and approach to help sooth the child

Despite what you might think, he doesn't rub it in your face

However he does brag endlessly to the others on 141

|| Alejandro

Like König, he was also quite scared that he would miss his child's first words

Unfortunately, this fear doubles when everything goes down with the Las Almas Cartel, Hassan, and the Shadows

The whole time he was being held by Graves and the Shadows, he would be scared he wouldn't ever see you again

But, of course, he makes it out and when he gets back home your waiting for him, your child in your arms

He is so happy to see the two of you, especially after all the pain and uncertainty

He's just about to rush up to the two of you when the small child sees him and opens their arms wide,

"Papa!"

He stops for a moment, but quickly recovers and sprints up to you wrapping you both up in a hug

"Since when could you do that, mi vida?"

You laugh wetly around happy tears, "Just now, I guess. I can't even be mad."

He smiles his charming smile and kisses you softly before giving his kid one of the top of their head

The two of you go home and he's happy to be able to spend time with the both of your after all the fear of before

[yourlastbraincell-kiwi]

Veiled Promises

A/N: My first Paul Atreides story! I think this’ll be a series, only cause I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger, we shall see. Also, not sure of any typos and spelling errors, but I hope it’s good! ❤️

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Fem!Reader

—————

‘(Y/N)?’

My mother called out to me, in very faint tone of voice. I squirmed a little in my sleep, refusing to open my eyes.

“(Y/N). Please.’

I waved away my mother dismissively, wanting nothing more than to get some rest.

‘Wake up!’

My eyes immediately opened, at my body shot up looking around for my mother. I have no idea, what that voice was, but it was not my mother.

I got up from the comfort of my bed. My silky, satin sheets, draping onto the cold floor, and looked out the window.

I stared at the horrifying sight just a few feet away from my bedroom window. The place was up in flames, crashed vehicles and aircraft’s, and people lying flat on the sandy floors.

I wanted to look away, turn my head move my body, but it was almost as if my mind wanted me to see this.

My eyes began watering due to my staring out the window.

I then watched as they brought a group of people brought a person out into the middle of the sand. They separated and spread out. And on person stood in-front of the captive.

Once the guy moved out of the way, I could see who the unfortunate person standing there..

That being my mother.

I knew for a fact it was her, no matter how crowded a place may be, or how far away she would be from me, I can always spot her no matter the situation.

I started tearing up even more, and tried hard to break free, from whatever hold was bestowed upon me.

I watched as the person raised something about their head and swiftly bring it down.

Not know what else to do, I screamed. I screamed bloody murder at the top of my lungs.

The person turned to look up at my bedroom window, and I stared back at him. Hoping maybe my stare would turn him into stone, like Medusa had done.

I felt helpless.. I feel helpless..

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)?” I heard, in my ears, and I felt someone touch my shoulder, “Wake up, honey.”

I jolted awake, and looked around the room, clutching the sheets in my hands. “You’re okay. It’s okay, you were having a nightmare again.”

Abigail had informed me and patted my face dry with a towel.

Abigail has been a servant of my House since I turned double digits. She was always there for me, when I needed a talk, or needed someone to solely listen. And she did no matter what, and I loved her for it.

I stared at the window from across the room, breathing heavily. And Abi noticed, getting up and shutting the window for me. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

I couldn’t find the words to say a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ so I just shook my head. And Abi nodded her head in acknowledgment, “You know where to find me if you do, okay?”

I nod, as Abigail put a calming hand atop of my shoulder, before leaning in and placing a kiss on my forehead, before standing up. “I left some water for you over there, and your father wishes for you to be up and ready for breakfast in 10.”

“I understand.” I said softly, my vocals feeling strained from probably yelling in my sleep. Abi gave me a small smile and left the room.

I move closer to the edge of the bed, reaching over to take sip of water. I let out a long sigh, before standing up to put on some clothes.

After finding an outfit suitable for breakfast, I walked into the dining hall, and sat down across from my father.

“Morning, (Y/N).” My father said, and I nodded my head, not wanting to hurt my vocal cords anymore than I already have. “So, I’ve been told that you were screaming in your sleep last night?” He asked and I replied with a shrug of my shoulders.

“Nightmares again?”

“I guess so..” I murmured under my breath, and slowly began to eat my food, but he quickly picked up on it.

“When are you going to get that treated?” He asked, seating his fork down. “It’s not going to treat itself, (Y/N).”

“I know it isn’t, and I-”

“So, what are you doing to do about it?”

“I don’t know, maybe visit the physician or something. Why are you so annoyed with me having nightmares?”

“I am your father, I’m concerned for you and those nightmares of yours.” He says, and I role my eyes.

“The only thing you’re concerned with is finding a possible suitor for me. And you think I can’t find one with having nightmares. They’re normal.”

“Yes, they are normal, but you’d been having one day and every night. That is not normal.” He replied standing up and walked over to my chair and put a hand on my shoulder. “And I do want to find a suitor for you, but I promise you, your health comes first. Understand?”

I nod and he rubs my shoulder, “Promise me, you’ll find some way to at least, bring the amount of nightmares down. I don’t wish to see or hear you suffer every night, my dear.”

“I’ll try, for you father.” He smiled and kissed the top of my head. “Now, I need you in full dress, we have people coming to see us today.” I roll my eyes, and finished my breakfast before going to find Abigail to help me out.

~~~~~

“How do you think this’ll go?” Abi asked as she helped me put on my dress.

“Not sure, same as all the other times, I presume. Bad.”

“Oh come now, they weren’t bad at all.” Abigail says and I give her a look.

“You must’ve been in the wrong place, cause everyone knows how badly it went.” I said, with a laugh, and she joins in.

“Do.. Do you think this suitor will be the one?”

“It’s definitely a possibility, but I know that if it doesn’t turn out the way, father wants it to go, he’ll definitely be at his wits end.” I reply and Abi nods, and fixes a couple strands of hair.

“Well, I hope the day goes well, and you find the one, m’lady.” She says, taking her things and left. I look at myself once more in the mirror before leaving my room to find my father.

~~~~~

“Father?” I call out softly, and find that they are all in the common room, waiting for me.

“Here she is. (Y/N), I’d like for you to meet, Leto Atreides, and Lady Jessica of House Atreides.” I smile and do a bit of a bow to the both of them.

“And this is our son, Paul.” Leto introduced, as I bowed to him as well, noticing his eyes following my every move.

“Pleasure to meet you all.”

“I’ll take Lady Jessica and Leto, out to the gardens, why don’t you and Paul get acquainted, hm?” I nod to my father, and direct Paul to another part of the house.

Oh, what a long day this’ll be..

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Under the mask

Kinktober day 2

Paring: fem!reader x Ghostface!amab!Nat

Warnings: SMUT, DUB!CON, Dom!Nat, Sub!Reader, implied murder, blow job, unprotected sex, riding, Daddy kink (I’m sorry), stalker behavior, clit play, slight dumbification

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional!

Masterlist- kinktober

A ghost made it was through your hometown. Hiding in the shadows to wait patiently for its next victim. The community in your city was terrified to say the least. The police was useless having no idea who the gruesome could be. The only clue which they did have that the killer must be a male. No woman could be this sadistic they thought, they suspect. Oh how wrong they were. Why the cops interviewed some innocent man Natasha made her way through the cold city. This years October was especially cold leaving anyone outside to freeze especially at this hour. However Natasha was burning in desire. Desire for you. She was watching you for a week now, her body was longing for your youth and sexuality. You were different than her other victims she didn’t want to kill you. Not yet. She wanted you to be hers. There was only one problem; your boyfriend.

You were alone tonight like so often you tried to call Peter to see if he was home but he didn’t pick up making you suspect that he was out with friends . Peter, your boyfriend, rather went out to have a drink with his friends and some chick named Gamora. To be honest you suspected him cheating on you. He’d smile at his phone all the time came home late at night smelling like cheap perfume. You didn’t leave him either, to big was your fear of ending up alone. You made your way into your apartment building up the stairs facing the door. You press the door handle down to notice that the door was unlocked. You looked at the handle confused not knowing how the door could be unlocked when you checked it twice the this morning. You tried to clam your nerves by thinking it must’ve been your boyfriend and not the killer. What would be the chances?

Once you were in your apartment you called out for Peter. No response. You felt a shivers down your spine something was off you weren’t alone here. Your instincts set in and you rushed to the door. Your hand was nearly touching the handle as you felt to arms grab you roughly. The persons bloody knife on your neck pressing the sharp steal against the soft flesh of your throat. “What I nice catch eh?” She pressed you hard against her. “It’s a shame you had to put up with such an excuse for a boyfriend but I took care of that sweetheart” Her touch felt strangely comforting better than Peters could ever have felt. “We are going to have a lot of fun tonight”

The woman with the mask found herself with you on your couch again. The white screaming mask and black clothes hiding her identity from you. You were afraid of her but also aroused at the sight of her bulge. “I’ve you are a good girl I’ll leave you unharmed bunny.” Her voice was sweet like honey pulling me in to her. “Yes of course Daddy” Your knees hit the hard ground as you watched Natasha unbuckle her belt moving her hips away from the cushion to pull down her pants and boxers freeing her thick length. She was big to say the least the biggest you had had yet. “You’re so big daddy” you said in an awe wrapping your hands around her erected penis. “I know bunny but could girls can take it” Your plump lips wrap around her deep red tip your tongue circling it making the woman with the ghost mask throw her head back groaning. You swallowed a few more inches bobbing you head up and done.

You pull away again licking up the sides of her cock spreading the saliva up her thick shaft making her crazy. You lick her balls and the woman above you was in heaven and you. You enjoyed it more than you should. “Do you like that daddy” you ask in an innocent tone your tongue on her shaft again. Nat moaned nodding how how badly you wanted to see her

face twist in pleasure maybe later you thought. You wrapped around her again put this time she had decided that you were way to confident. She place her hands on your head holding it in place as she roughly fucks up your throat making you gag and whimper. The sounds you made were running vibration down her veiny shaft as she grew even more desperate. Her groans turned into whimpers as she emptied herself into your throat. Hot cum shot down into your stomach as you swallowed everything she gave you.

Roughly she pulled you up making you sit on her lap avoiding her still hard member. “Good girl“ she whispered in your ear pulling you up and forward your entrance right above her tip. Slowly she pulled you down making you cry at the feeling of the stretch. You pushed your face into her neck as she filled you up to the brim. She moved your hips back and forth making you cry as you rode her your legs shivering. You clenched down hard as your arousal dripped down your thighs. You babbled some unrecognizable words at he feeling for her finding your sweet spot “Fuck you little slut too cock dump to talk” her hands found your clit. She pulled the hood back rubbing tight circles. “Do you like your clit getting played with” she groaned into your ear. “Fuck I’m gonna-” Natasha interrupted you “cum cum with me” you clenched down hard as you both had your releases her painting your velvet walls white. You collapsed on top of her.

“Ready for round two?”

:)

I do not own these characters all rights go to Marvel

[lovelybucky1]

I'm the one who requested the drug deal Jonathan Crane thing and I f*ing love it p.p Thanks for writing that! That was the first request I made on Tumblr that got an answer and I keep smiling like a cheshire cat when I look at it xD

Also I wouldn't mind at all if you ever decided to make a sequel (no pressure, though) :3

my inbox is open for cillian characters! please keep the request coming, i love them so much 🫶🫶🫶

warnings: dubcon, kidnapping, mentions of drug use, AFAB!reader, mild knife play, hitting/punching, mild blood, unprotected sex, breeding kink, degradation, really nasty horrible stuff, 18+ minors dni

part 1

masterlist

jonathan isn’t gentle in the slightest. his nails scratch your skin as he tears your clothes off of you, not bothering to even undo the buttons or zippers. he mutters to himself under his breath as he manhandles you without care

you fought him at first. you hit and scratched and bit and squirmed, but after a stinging slap to your face and a threat to your neck, you decided to back down. you dont make it easy for him, of course. you lay limply in the cramped van as he tries to manipulate your arms and legs to get your clothes off.

“you fucking bitch,” he spits, teeth still bloody from the well-aimed punch you got in. “no wonder he gave you up without a second thought.”

giving up on trying to get your pants of, he picks up a long hunting knife from the floor and slices through then with ease. somehow he didn’t cut you, but you suppose the fear was part of his plan

you were now left only in your underwear in a dark van with a psychopathic potential murderer. he looks at you hungrily, like he can’t tell where to begin with you. you try to close your legs, but he grabs your thighs and slots himself between them so you can’t hide yourself

“that didn’t have to be so difficult,” he hisses

“you said you like when they fight back.”

he grins, and if you didn’t know what you do now, you’d be charmed by it, but all you can see are the maggots that come from his rotten insides.

he reaches down and begins to undo his fly. he pulls his pants down just enough to free his cock, and even in the dark you can see how hard it is. you know he won’t be gentle, and the size makes you nervous.

“i can give you something for the pain,” he suggests. “you won’t feel a thing except pleasure.”

“i’m not taking anything from you.”

he pulls your underwear aside and slaps your pussy to see you jump. “smart choice. i was lying,” he smirks.

he lines his cock up with your entrance and pushes in slowly, but unrelentingly. you cry out as he forces his way inside of you, carving space out for him as he goes. he has no care for your comfort

“fuck! you fucking asshole!”

“awh, does it hurt?” he asks condescendingly. “your little cunt can’t handle all of me?”

a scream rips out of your throat when he roughly thrusts into you. you try to push him away, pushing on his chest, neck, shoulders, and arms, but there’s no use. he laughs at your pathetic attempts to get him off of you

“you can’t escape it. let me use this dirty pussy like you let your boyfriend,” he smirks. “think about him, hm? you trusted him, thought he was a real nice guy, didn’t you? he’s the one who got you into this. he’s the one who let me do this to you. doesn’t that make you angry?”

tears sting in your eyes again as you think about your betrayal. he did allow this monster to violate you like this. you never would have done something like that to him.

“now look at you. you went from a happy couple to a duggie and his whore. well, now you’re my whore.”

jonathan fucks you hard and fast, clearly only using your body to get off rather than making it good for you too. his hips slam against yours and each time you hit your head against the metal wall of the van

“fuck you!” you scream, throat raw

“i’m doing you a fucking favor, sweetheart. you know what would’ve happened if i left you out there with him? you’d be in a living nightmare right now, praying for god to put you out of your misery.”

you pick your hand up and palm his face, pushing on his nose until his head is turned to the side. a growl escapes his mouth and he grabs your wrist tightly, ripping your hand off of him.

jonathan’s face flashes with rage and he pulls out of you entirely. for a moment, you think it’s over. that is, until he grabs you by the hair and pushes you face down on the floor. before you could get up, he drapes himself over your back and lines his cock up with you again

“you’re making me regret keeping you,” he hisses as he pushes inside again. immediately he resumes his brutal pace, fucking into you too deeply.

“then- fuck, let me go”

“i can’t do that. you’ve seen my face. you know too much.” he leans down to press his mouth against your ear. “i could kill you, or you could shut the fuck up and take my dick.”

you try to scream, but he seemingly read your mind. his hand clamps over your mouth and he shushes you.

“fuck, baby, ‘m close,” he pants. his hot breath is sickening as it fans over your neck. “where do you want me to cum?”

“pull out,” you say, but it’s muffled by his hand. “pull out!”

“what’s that? cum inside? you naughty little thing,” he chuckles.

he lets go of your mouth and moves his head to push your head against the floor. his thrusts are erratic and sloppy, his hips hitting yours rapidly until a strained groan escapes his mouth and you feel his cum flood your cunt.

“shit!” you yell, but jonathan is unbothered

jonathan lays on top of you, his dead weight pinning you to the floor as he catches his breath. his softening cock remains inside of you and you cringe at the feeling

jonathan finally gets off and you sit up to try to find your clothes. before you could look, jonathan pushes you back down with his foot to your shoulder. you watch as he kneels in front of you and positions your legs where he wants them.

he has your legs spread with your knees up, used pussy on display. before you could realize what’s happening, there is a camera flash and a mechanical noise

“what the fuck?” you exclaim, finally realizing what he just did

“just in case you get any ideas,” he smirks, holding up a developing polaroid.

[mybworlds]

Chapter 1: The Mermaid of The Narrow Sea

Title: The Mermaid of the Narrow Sea Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Summary: Essos. You are a slave since you were a little girl. One day you are sold to a mysterious man who could be your only chance to escape and be free.

Masterlist Rating: M Series Warnings: Age gap, slavery, violence, blood, death, alcohol use, slow burn, sexism, smut, dom/sub dynamics, rape attempts Extra warnings: there's a vicious brother (oc), Ellaria is a jealous woman in this story.

Before to start... my idea is to twist Oberyn's biography a little bit and intertwine it with the main character's story and what happens in Westeros in the next chapters, so I'm not sure what will come of it. I hope you like this my (new) story.

This is my second story in the Game of Thrones universe, the other is a SanSan, you can find it in my masterlist, I'm a lil afraid to write about Prince Oberyn 'cause I know he's very loved, who doesn't? ;) If you want let me know what you think about.

follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Thanks for the dividers @idontgetanysleep

Fire warms your sun-ruined skin, your hair is a shapeless tangled heap, you wear a tunic too small for your body, it's a woman's body now, not a child's.

Your eyes are likened to burning embers especially when you get angry or challenge even with your gaze your masters. You are a slave. You've been a slave since you were a child. Your mother had been captured when you weren't even five, and since then you along with other men, women and slavers have done nothing but roam the eastern continent.

You are a beautiful young woman, your proud look and posture stand out though you are only a slave. For these your qualities, you are called the Mermaid of the Narrow Sea.

People who had enslaved your mother move from place to place, from inland to the shores of the Narrow Sea.

That day you are dragged by those bloody people back to the shores, and on that day the wind blows hard shaking the barren lands overlooking the Sea and shaking the hair of everyone there. You and other women are gathered there by the cliff, all are afraid since they all fear what may happen to them, you don't. You watch raptly as the waves crash on the rocks, then you scan the horizon with a wistful look.

"Soon, very soon we'll see what you are made of," hisses one of the men threateningly in your ear who had also tried in the past to take you by force.

"I'm not afraid." you challenge him by turning your gaze toward the man who raises his hand as if to strike you, but then has second thoughts: hitting you would not scratch you, take that look away, or satisfy him.

"Someday, you damn bitch, someone will tame you," he says grudgingly and then walks away.

"When that day comes, I'll be ready," you whisper, but it's more of a reminder to yourself to never give up and never bend no matter what happens.

You promised to yourself this ever since you witnessed the rape and murder of your mother. Your mother was sold to a prince or king in Westeros, out of the goodness of this prince or king, whoever he was, you were bought too. One evening, however, the man showed in your quarters, your mother, probably sensing what was going to happen, immediately made you hide in a closet filled with sacks of grain, bread and other food making you swear not to go out or be heard for any reason in the world.

When the man was there, you witnessed something that no one should ever see: your mother, the woman who gave birth to you, the woman who loved you, the woman you always saw as your rock, slapped and thrown to the ground and then her screams overpowered by the man's obscene sounds and words.

You closed your eyes and plugged your ears tightly, almost unable to hear after so much you pressed your palms over your ears. When you dared to open your eyes again, you saw the man's sword rise and fall on your mother's neck and blood gushing copiously on the floor, on her clothes and on the man's sword. Your mother choked in her own blood as the man wiped his sword back against the woman's now blood-soaked dress.

When you were able to come out of your hiding place, you found your mother with her eyes wide open in an expression of pure terror painted on her face, from then on you swore to yourself that no one, ever, would touch you, neither a slave nor a merchant nor a king nor a prince.

"She is the Mermaid of the Narrow Sea, gentlemen." you are introduced by a plump man who sells women for a good price in exchange for wine, silk and spices "Beautiful as you can see, she will be able to satisfy your every fantasy, she is an obedient girl who knows her place."

You stare grimly and hard at all the men who stare at you as if you were an animal for slaughter. You see some talking excitedly, others licking their lips as if you were a tasty exotic dish to be put on the table.

"More than Mermaid seems to me to be ready to rip our throats out," someone comments, provoking general hilarity.

"I kill those who provoke me only," you reply venomously bringing down general silence, slaves don't speak, someone hits you from behind causing you to fall to your knees. The men laugh, but this doesn't make you lose your resolve or your hard stare.

You quickly get back on your feet.

People whisper, the plump man tries to sell you in every way, but no one buys you. One of the slavers pulls you away, when you are in a separate place he ties your hands and feet with a very heavy chain, "I should rip that damned tongue out of you!" the man threatens you and then kicks you in the side and walks away. In front of him you didn't react to that gesture, but now that you're alone you squeeze your eyes and moan in pain, you want to see what he did to you, but you can't.

You hide your head between your legs, you don't cry, you never cry, there is no point in crying, you just have to hold on. The day will come when you will be free and you can get rid of these heavy chains.

The next day someone wakes you up with the usual indelicacy and brutality, they release you from the chains and pull you by the arm, "Move, the market has ended and you're staying with us this time too." you don't know if there is disappointment in his tone of voice or what, for you for sure it'll be another terrible trip. You don't know where you will go, but they certainly won't treat you well, they never have. They are not going to start today.

All of you slaves - mostly women - are chained by the wrists, lined up in a row to each other, your slavers are on horseback, only a couple of them on foot and they are there to poke and prod you to walk, not all of you holding their gait. Someone dies under the scorching sun, someone from lack of food and water. Your lips are parched, your eyes burn from the sun and sweat dripping from your forehead, but you don't give up.

Not today.

Not today.

Not today.

You keep telling yourself, this is not the day you die.

Slavers stop to unhook the dead bodies and as you others who were further behind are about to stop too, one of the damn ones trips you and part surprise and part lack of food, you fall forward.

"Oh, you've fallen, Mermaid!" he uses that nickname with the tone of someone who wants to taunt you, you look at him angrily "I was hoping you'd be the next to die!" he adds with a venomous grin.

"Instead I'm still here," you say grudgingly, he's about to kick you, but you can't take it anymore, you block the man's foot in midair who falls backward. The anger, the pain, the resentment built up over all those years until now explodes with a force and violence you didn't even think you had: you pounce on the man by sitting on him and start punching him repeatedly in the face, you lose count of how many blows you inflict on him, his face becomes a mask of blood and he screams, screams attract the attention of the other men who grab you by the armpits and pull you away, in pulling you away you kick him in the middle of the legs and making the asshole scream once again.

"Fuck you!" you scream in exasperation.

"Now I'm going to kill that fucking bitch," the man says holding his face and making to get to his feet and reach you, one of his own stands between you and you hear him say "At the next slave market in Meereen we'll get rid of her, you'll see." this doesn't quite convince him because his eyes land on your face still distraught with rage and he tries to reach you again, the second man insists "There someone will heal your wounds and we're going to drink good wine, I know there's a good brothel too, you'll relax and forget about her." maybe this convinces him because he looks at you with less hatred and then he looks at his companion, you see him smile and his interest in you fades.

You can breathe.

"Be careful," a dark-skinned man next to you says, you look at him suspiciously "that guy, Aziz, is a dangerous man," he continues, referring to the man you hit.

"I can take care of myself," you retort looking at him grimly.

He chuckles "I saw, but try to avoid any more shows, you are too young to die." he looks at your face, "I hope that when you are sold because you will be, your master will treat you better than you have lived so far." you lower your head for a moment and find yourself barely bending your lips upward, you have never really smiled, doing is so strange.

The city of Meereen presents itself splendid and imposing to your eyes. It's the largest city you have ever been in up to that point, you walk looking upward and your eyes wide open in wonder although you know why you are there. What strikes you most are massive triangular-shaped structures, they are gigantic, who knows what they are for! You are in a noisy city, deafening almost, everywhere there are people buying and selling, there are goods of all kinds and types, before long it will be your turn again and the poor unfortunate souls like you.

They make you wear a knee-length cream-colored dress, one of the slavers dares to move your hair and you in response bite his hand earning you a slap in the face, it hurts, especially if he has hit you with a hand full of rings, "I sure hope you leave, you insolent fool."

When they have fixed you and made you presentable for sale, you get out of there. You are in chains again and this time you go to a wide open space that is swarming with all kinds of people, from prospective buyers to the merely curious. You keep your head down. Buying and selling is something that has always made you sick and that you have always refused to listen to; you go up on some kind of stage as if you were there to make a spectacle of yourself, you feel a disgust at those pigs selling you and the equally obscene buyers watching you as juicy meat to be put on the table.

"She is the Mermaid of the Narrow Sea," once again you are introduced this way by a huge man who pulls you by the arm beside him to show you to the audience of shoppers. You stare at the many faces, your head spinning, wishing to be left alone, to escape, but...

"I offer 1,000 copper stars," you hear one man shout, "2,000," shouts a second, you move your eyes from corner to corner, then there is an offer that interrupts all possible bids "10,000 gold dragons," everybody's head turns hearing such a sum. You remain breathless, no one had ever bid that much for someone like you, you try to spot the buyer, but he's wearing a hood therefore it's impossible to tell who he is.

"Sold." decrees the man beside you, you are immediately grabbed by the arm by someone else who hisses grudgingly in your ear "Finally, you damn whore, your time has come, now you will know that we were only docile lambs!"

It's Aziz, you look him in the eyes and with an expression full of disgust you tell him "Finally I've ruined that ugly face of yours, you monster!" he's about to hit you, but he's interrupted once again from another man "Stop it, it's none of our business now, go and collect from the buyer and hand it over to him now, it's none of our business anymore." says the second man barely looking at your face.

You and Aziz exchange one last glance, before he finally - and forever - walks away from you, you will never see him again. You hint a smile.

You are free from his obscene look, his stinking breath, his slimy hands. Free.

Free to go to another cage. The smile disappears again.

You are not free at all, you never will be.

The buyer enters the tent, he still has his hood over his head, and only then does he take it off, he's a man maybe in his fifties, or maybe something more, and then you realize that you can no longer escape the violence that has always marked your life and hollowed out your skin, you can never escape, never.

You are always a prisoner.

"I was just sent to buy you, I'm handing you over to your master's brother," is all the elderly man says to you, you can only nod, you are still a cargo.

The man pulls away the curtain and invites you to follow him, invites? Oh, it would be the first time someone has treated you like a person instead of an animal. You obey, you cannot object. Your hands are still tied and then there are too many people, you want to run away, but not now. Not today.

Just a little further on, there is a palanquin on which the man makes you get on and then he gets on as well. You don't speak, he barely looks at you, you are on alert, you don't know what the man's real intentions are, he might attack you, tempt violence, you don't let him out of your sight. You are ready to snap.

The palanquin stops, the man gets out before you and then helps you down. You are... in front of a brothel, you can't believe it, your master has bought you to make you a whore, your lips tremble and you lower your gaze for a moment, "Come." the man says in a sigh, holding you by the arm, you don't have the strength to resist and at the moment not even the strength to run away, even if you wanted to.

You climb the steps of the building and enter, the room stinks and it's dark. You can hear in the distance the unmistakable sounds and moans of sex, laughter, someone sneaks up totally naked in front of the two of you, you widen your eyes frightened, maybe you should start getting used to it, you will stay there now. Your master probably runs the place, maybe he himself will want to first-- you try to restrain yourself from vomiting at the idea, at the horror of that scene.

You wander between the various rooms until you come to a last room to which the elderly man knocks once, twice, three times with his fist as if it were a signal, someone from inside opens and leaves the door open. The elderly man opens the door completely and lets you in as well, "I have brought what your brother wants, my Prince."

"Hand her over to him don't give her to me," says a bored voice from behind, it's a man, looking out the window, he's rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"My Prince, Prince Mors said to give it to you--"

"To spite me!" he exclaims "He knows how I feel about it, and what does he do? He orders you to bring me a slave he wants! Set her free," he sentences again without looking at you, you widen your eyes, not knowing what to expect.

"My Prince, I'm sorry, but your brother..."

The other man sighs, "I know, but if it were up to me, I would free everyone."

"I understand, my Prince, but without slaves there would be no one left to perform certain tasks and chores," the elder continues.

The two of them keep talking as if you are not there with them, you start to think that maybe if you start walking slowly backwards, maybe... at that moment the younger man turns toward you and you don't really know why, but you almost feel like you've been paralyzed by his piercing gaze: your eyes plant themselves in his, you find yourself swallowing without even knowing why, you can't lower your gaze even though in front of that man's you'd like to, his gaze almost seems to want to burn you inside, it's such a strange feeling, so disturbing, you see his lips stretch upward and then you realize that's the end.

You can't move anymore.