#And we are children of empty graves | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cowpokemythology · 3 months ago

Text

immortal he, return to me.

playlist pairing: ghost!jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader word count: 8.8k description: the sea swallowed your heart the day it took your husband to a watery grave, two lives cruelly ripped away by the stranger's greedy hands. but, you should've known, he was too stubborn to stay away for long. tags: angst, smut (18+), lots of grief, mentions of canon-typical violence, gore?, spoilers for fire & blood/s3, lots of talk of death and the supernatural, inconsistent and unclear ghost lore because it's just vibes. a/n: this is my first fic, please bear with me. ALSO first time writing smut, sorry if it's cringe as hell. also, sorry it took me ten million years, life kept me busy. from here on out, i will not tease with false promises of release dates lmao. the quote in the beginning is from paradise lost by milton.

“our state cannot be severed, we are one, one flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself."

The beaches of Dragonstone crawled with winter’s mist and your Jacaerys was dead.

He had promised you a safe return.

You’d stopped him before he’d left that morning. Pleading, a hand clasping one of his own. The way his calluses, worn from swordplay and dragon riding than any real work, brushed against your skin is still imprinted into your memory. You do not know why your mind clung to this empty detail. Perhaps, you knew even then, that this would be the last time you’d see your husband.

Your touch had been gentle, easy for him to break through if he wished to brush past. He’d stopped for you, though. When his honeyed eyes had met yours, they were softened.

“My love…” He’d murmured, a low lilt. The way he moves back into your orbit almost makes you believe that there’s an invisible tether, endlessly tugging you back into each other.

He raises your hand to his plush lips, brushing them across the ridges of your knuckles. His other slides around your waist, melding to the small of your back and drawing you close. The familiar smell of cedar and dragon smoke envelops you, something so uniquely Jacaerys that he never could wash away. The warm lines of your bodies pressed against each other. Your chemise is a flimsy barrier between the heat of him, the blood of the dragon. You’d always privately thought that if anyone could simply feel how warm he was, that any barb of bastardry would be swallowed. You could still feel it through his thick doublet.

Your heart hurts with his affection, worry carved into every crevice of your face. If you could, you would tug him back into bed. If he was entwined with you, beneath the safety of your furs, he would face no danger. You would keep your sweet boy with constellations of freckles and raw umber eyes and he, in turn, would keep you.

You were too old, now, to hide like children.

He sees this, of course he does. He speaks before you can put voice to the multitudes of protests on the tip of your tongue.

“I must go.” He tells you, the words whispered against the back of your hand. You see the resignation in his expression, the trepidation. But a fire burns there too. One that has been raging since he’d returned from the North to a keep bereft of Lucerys’ laughter.

He’s been hungry for this, to fight, to avenge his brother, to win back what his mother had had stolen, to prove himself to those who sneer at his parentage. He’s been reeling against the council for months to put him to use. That much, you can understand. You cannot rebuke his going, however you can’t help but lament over the peril of it all.

“I know…” You reply in a resigned breath, your eyes memorizing everything about his form.

He hums in response. His hand releases yours in favor of cupping your cheek, you can feel his warmth branding your skin. You lean into the touch as if you’re freezing. He gently drops his head to slant his mouth over yours, not yet a kiss.

“I will return to you, you must know that. I do not think even the Stranger himself could keep me from you.” Jacaerys whispers against your lips. It was a promise of the cosmic kind, but uttered with the naivety and assuredness of youth. You were both hardly twenty, you had lives stretched out for leagues in front of you. It did not seem plausible, then, for such strong lights to be extinguished.

“Do not tempt him.” You murmur in response, a furrow in your brow. You’ve never been pious, but this day was as good as any to be superstitious.

The puff of breath that leaves him is amused and then he’s kissing you.

His mouth is pillowed against yours. You respond to it eagerly, eyes fluttering shut as you melt into him. Soft hands curl into his padded doublet, pressing yourself so close it seems you’re trying to meld your body to his. And maybe you were. If you could, you’d thought you’d make a home for yourself in his ribs and stay there for all eternity. His hands flex slightly around your waist, a pleased noise leaving his throat.

You try to pour your prayers to him through your lips, to imbue him with safety. He kisses you as he always does; sweet, gentle, and all-consuming. There is a withheld passion in him that sets you aflame. He makes your body buzz and your blood sing.

The kiss does not last nearly long enough. Dark ochre eyes flutter open to meet yours, his lashes like those of a doe’s. Jacaerys has always been heart-achingly beautiful. Every bit of him, perfectly sculpted by the loving hands of unforgiving gods. You wondered if they’d regretted it, if they’d melded his cupid’s bow and carved out sharp shoulder blades and decided that this beauty was to be ephemeral.

“Come home to me.” You breathe out, beseeching him with your gaze.

Jace’s gentle smile in return is woefully disarming. His thumbs brush over your hips, as if he too, were memorizing the feel of you. The way the pads of his fingers catch on your nightdress make you shiver. He presses a final, gentle, kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.” The words are pressed into your skin.

His warm hands retract from you regretfully, like waves receding from a stalwart shore. His eyes take you in for a moment more before, in a turn of red velvet, he’s gone. The thud of the mahogany door shutting behind him is a resounding omen of sealed fate.

When the dragonseeds do return, their heads are hung low in face of their costly victory. Your husband was not among them, nor was his steed. It seems the dragons sensed the loss as keenly as their riders. The scaly beasts seemed deflated, mournful. Far less proud than how they’d left, with a true dragon prince at their helm. Their chuffs are low, quiet. Everything was stilted, heavy. The stench of sulfur and the sharp tang of iron that hung in that room has not left you since.

It is Addam of Hull who tells you. He kindly takes your arm, guiding you a short distance away. With your heads bent towards each other; he tells you of your husband’s bravery, his strength, and his fate. Of bolts embedded in tender flesh, numb fingers grasping to ship wood, and the blood of the dragon returning to the salt of the sea.

Many eyes, draconic and human alike, averted their gazes as a raw cry tore itself from your throat. Your hands clawed at your chest for a heart that no longer existed. It lay at the bottom of the sea, with so many other sunken wrecks and bones.

The light has gone out of your life. The world around you is grayed and dull, the fog and winter clouds invade in his absence.

You have not known life without Jacaerys, and that remains true even now. You’d been at each other’s sides since the glow of youthful infancy, to the awkward, jutting limbs of adolescence, to the shining pride of (what you could barely call) adulthood. The yarn of your fates, your souls, were intertwined. Together, you formed a tapestry that was supposed to tell the tale of a prosperous king and queen. You knew him better than you knew yourself. You knew his skin was as soft as downy petals, the smell of the oils you’d run through his curls each night, the way his warmth bled into you, and how his smile felt pressed into your collarbone.

You knew his kindness in the way he’d pressed daisies into your palms as children, you knew his strength in the way he wielded steel easier than breathing, you knew his frustrations in the tick of a jaw over a comment of dark tresses, and you knew his tears; hidden away in privacy. You knew the way they’d shimmer in his eyes until he could not withhold them any longer, the defeat in a downturned head as the first droplet slid down his cheek. You’d hoped he’d always know the feel of your lips as you kissed them away and kept them close to your heart.

You would never kiss him again. Nor would you ever know him, feel him.

Without him, you’ve withered, more phantom than woman.

You did not leave your bed for two weeks. It is a sea you drown in. It’s much too vast without another body to keep it warm. You shiver despite the furs piled upon you and you hardly ever find sleep. When you do rest, it is fitful, light, or forced by exhaustion. If you’d had the capacity to think of it, you would’ve been surprised that you did not drown in your tears.

You keep your curtains closed. Gone are the days when you invited a welcome sea breeze to billow through your rooms, there was no longer a Velaryon prince to share in it. You refused to lay eyes upon the endless azure blanket that had stolen your breath from your lungs.

It was much like a tomb, your rooms. It was shrouded in constant darkness. You did not even permit a lit candle or hearth. You would not feel any more warmth, even should your chambers set alight with you inside. All comfort seemed to be extinguished with the soul of Jacaerys.

There was a constant pain in your chest, an ache where your heart used to reside. It was bleeding, seeping out of your every pore. It was so empty yet the weight that pressed upon you was greater still. It was difficult to breathe without him. This weight kept you lying, motionless, in a bed that was now only yours.

It took all the energy you had to force some of the food your handmaiden brought you down your throat. It all crumbled like ash in your mouth.

At first, the sobs that had racked your body had hurt your ribs. No comforting hand of a maester or handmaiden could rouse you from these fits of grief. It felt pathetic but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Who could blame you? You’ve lost part of yourself. You’d never hurt so much.

It came in fits. Lots of your time was spent in a haunted daze. Unseeing eyes gazing at a wall or ceiling, hands tangled in furs drawn up to your chin. It was as if your mind refused to live in a world without Jacaerys in it, therefore it would not take part in it. The passage of time meant little. You would wake and soon it was nightfall again, another day spent bleeding out in bed as you stared at uncaring stone.

You can see the concern shining in the eyes of your maids. You can hear them murmuring to each other as they prepare your chambers, when they think you sleep. About your ashen skin, your frailing body, of the heartache that has drained every bit of life from you.

At some point, and you really can’t remember when, you’d drug one of his old cloaks to bed with you. It had been in a moment of haziness in your grieving stupor, a late night when a storm raged not just in your heart, but outside the walls of Dragonstone. Your bare feet had drug across the floor with a soft scrape, leading you to his old wardrobe. A cloak, of deep crimson, found its way into your hands. It was an old one, one he had not donned for some time. But it was soft and weighted in your hands. Sheltered amongst his other dressings, it smelt distinctly of him. Of rosemary oil, old cedar, the smell of Vermax’s scales, and the underlying hint of the specific musk that clung to his skin. The fabric has not left your hands ever since.

You distinctly remember a time, in recent memory, when he’d returned late to your chambers from flying with Vermax. He’d left for the dragonmount with a tick in his jaw and a deep furrow in his brow, frustrated by his perceived coddling by those at the council and his own mother. Sometimes, there was a restlessness in him that not even you could settle. You knew, far too well by now, that it is a burden he must unleash in the sky. When he’d returned; his shoulders were unburdened, his curls windswept, his cheeks tinged with lasting nips from the air, and a small smile revealed a small dimple in his cheeks . A light sparkled in his eyes as he laid eyes on you, his wife.

You’d laughed as he swept you into his arms. You had soon wrinkled your nose and wriggled in his hold as he buried his face to your neck, his nose was still cold from outside. His curls tickled your chin and jaw, the smell of dragon was thick and cloying in your nostrils.

“At least wash first, Jacaerys. Your smell will transfer to me.” You’d huffed, exasperation laced with ever present affection. He’d merely hummed in response, a bright smile spreading against your skin. His arms pulled you even closer, melding your bodies together as he lent over you. He nipped lightly at the skin of your neck in retaliation, making you jolt in his arms. Any additional scolding died on your tongue as he brushed those sinful lips up your throat to smother your face in kisses.

You would give anything to smell the heavy scent of cinders and sulfur on him again. He could smell of volcanic ash for the rest of your life and you would not care so long as he was breathing in your arms. You lay, prone with suffering, clutching the cloak to your chest. If you closed your eyes hard enough, you could almost pretend he was beside you again. Your tears soaked the fabric like blood seeping through gauze. The smell of him faded by the day, and you still refused to let go. Your face was pressed to the fabric, almost as if you wanted to smother yourself in it.

“Please, please, please.” You mouth into the red expanse, begging for a return of something that will never come.

You could only find sleep clutching the linens, like a child with a prized blanket or doll.

It is on the morn of the third week without him that you find the strength to leave your chambers. That is when he begins to come back to you. -

Since rising, you can hardly stand to be in the keep of Dragonstone. It is too empty. Barren. You drift the halls like a ghost, palored and untouchable. The twisting walls and damp darkness feel all too much like a crypt.

You have not seen the Queen since the news of her son’s death. The servants whisper to each other in fear, about the mother who has had all love burned away from her with the loss of her eldest. You do not try to go to her, you fear to lay eyes upon the woman Rhaenyra has become.

Baela is on the back of Moondancer more than ever before, flying the dragon to near exhaustion every day. You understand it, you can no longer stand the stifling labyrinth of the keep yourself.

That is why, today, you’ve taken to the beaches.

You had scarcely allowed your handmaidens to run a comb through your tresses before you’d been up and moving. You’d thrown a woolen dress over your chemise and some shoes before abruptly departing, with his cloak slung over your shoulders like a blanket. You’d ignored the confused calls of your helpers, you’d apologize to them later. The walls had felt as if they were closing in on you, suffocating you. You’d remained in there too long. A moment longer, and you’d felt as if you’d be buried under ancient rubble. It’d caused a thick panic to seize your throat, you needed escape. You couldn’t breathe that stale air any longer.

You keep your eyes trained on the sand in front of you. You refuse to acknowledge the water, as if that would give it power over you. The sound of the sliding waves, coming, receding, and coming again, seemed to taunt you. You are glad for the heavy fog. It covers you like a shroud, hiding your heavy grief and sunken disposition to the eyes of all, including the gods.

The sea is greedy and unknowable. It has stolen from you, it mocks you. Yet, you cannot help but feel the nostalgia and comfort from the constant white noise. When it was sunny, he used to walk arm and arm with you along these very same shores.

The sand tracks your steps, a reminder of the breath that still fills your lungs and your blood still flowing through your veins. Even if you were missing your heart. The wind blows your hair around you, the occasional wisp of it brushing your cheek. The cold bit at your nose and cheeks, you kept the lower half of your face buried in the crimson cloak around your shoulders.

You do not know how long you walk for, you’re in a daze. You could have made entire laps around the isle and you would not notice. Your eyes flick up once, to gauge your surroundings, that’s when you see him.

And it is him. You know it is. You’d know him anywhere, even at this distance. It’s the faint outline through the fog, tousled curls, a billowing cloak, a lithe form. It makes you stop in your tracks, your breath evacuating your lungs.

You’re left stunned. Your body doesn’t know what to do with itself. Your stomach drops and your heart hammers painfully in your chest. Your limbs are paralyzed. Your eyes are trained on him, chest scarcely moving with breath. You watch him as… he seems to be watching you. The world has frozen. Your body doesn’t know whether it should be afraid, hopeful, or some other third emotion.

Have you gone mad? Has your grief touched you so deeply that it has irrevocably harmed your mind? Your gut twists with the wrongness of it all, of this. He was dead, you knew this. The ocean holds its breath. You feel a sweat break out along your brow, alarm bells ringing in every section of your mind. And that isn’t right, this is your Jacaerys. That was him. It was him-

The tether that seems to immortally tie you together tugged at your heart, reeling you in like a fish on a line. Every fiber of your being buzzed with the urge to rush to him, to combine his sinews with your own so he might never leave you again. You want to cling to him so tightly that your nails would draw rivulets of fire and blood.

My love, my love, my love-

You shut your eyes tightly, taking three deep breaths. For an instant, the scent of cedar engulfs you so completely that it sucks the air from your lungs. There’s a brush of fingers across your cheek that causes your body to shudder, they are frigid. A faint whisper of a low, regal voice reaches you on the wind.

In a moment, it’s all gone.

You open your eyes. There is no one around you. The fog is empty of all its secrets. The sea continues sighing as it always does. The smell of something earthy and pungent reaches your nose, the wind is picking up. A storm is on the horizon.

You stand there for a moment longer, every sense searching for any trace of him.

When the rain starts, you’re forced to turn and pick your way back to the keep.

The storm that began when you left has not ceased, that does not stop you.

You keep coming back to that spot. Over and over and over again, hoping for just a glimpse of him, any hint.

You feel as if you’re going mad. You can feel him there, something of his presence. You know him, you would know him anywhere. He’s there, he’s here, somewhere. He’s trying to get back to you, like he promised.

And yet, you do not see another trace of him for a long while. You keep returning to the shore each day. It’s almost an obsession, the search. You pace around the beaches, heading down at dawn and only coerced to retreat at nightfall.

There is one day when you break down. You stare down the Narrow Sea with angry eyes. Your hands and chest tremble with the extent of it. Why won’t it reveal him to you again? Why must it take everything? Why must it withhold him?

You wade into the surf, despite the cold air around you. It laps at your calves. It begs for you to wade closer, to dive beneath it’s all knowing depths to drag your heart back to the surface. The laughing white tops dance and swirl, turning your legs numb only after a few moments.

In the turn of a moment, you snap. You curse, spit, and cry at the ocean. You kick and throw sand like a woman deranged. You hiss out venomous words of hatred and raving disgust. You beg and cry for your husband back. You offer the ocean anything it wants.

The outburst leaves your chest heaving. You slowly slide to your knees, sobs wracking your chest as the rain soaks your clothes… his cloak is heavy on your back. It almost feels like cool arms around you. The waves soak your dress, the push and pull of the tide causing your body to lull to and fro.

A knight of the Queensguard finds you just after sunset, still sitting where you collapsed. He thinks you are almost dead. Your hands tremble, lips blue, eyes glossy. Your whole body is wracked with powerful shivers, yet you hardly notice when he calls out to you. Your gaze is still trained on the dark ocean, waiting for any slight glimpse of brown hair or pale skin. -

Your efforts, it seems, are not in vain. You sense the traces of him constantly after that.

One morning, you catch the tail end of his scent on your sheets. You spot a red flash of velvet turning down the hall, hear murmurings that sound strangely like his voice when you stand on your terrace, feel a caress on your cheek when you cry, feel the brush of curls under your chin when you try to rest at night combined with a heavy weight on your chest.

He is trying to come back to you, you know it.

Every day he gets closer. -

You have not dreamt often since his death, but when you do it is always the same thing.

It begins with you falling. The air is so limitless that you think you might be flailing until you turn to dust. It is not dark, nor silent. The air is bright and you can see clouds above you. Around you, the screams of men, the roar of dragons, and splintering wood consumes your hearing. The smell of sulfur and burnt flesh makes your stomach turn.

Then you hit the water. Your body is wracked with pain from the impact, every limb stings. You’re stunned with shock and cannot move, sinking. You will drown here. Up and down are confused in your scrambled mind. When your lips part for air, water invades like a greedy interloper; filling your lungs and aiming to take your life. Your limbs flail and claw towards where the light shines down, reaching for you.

Finally, you break through the waves, coughing and sputtering. Your lungs heave with the exertion of spitting up water while simultaneously fighting to get air in. Legs kick beneath you to keep you afloat, though every movement shoots pain through you. When you hit the water, it felt like hitting hard earth. Your body burns, exhaustion begging you to just cease and let the sea claim you.

Adrenaline burns through your veins like fire. You cannot give up. You made a promise.

A piece of driftwood bumps into your side, a savior amongst the chaos. You cling to it, your hands shaking. If you could just hold on, hold out, you could make it back to her. What else could you possibly do? And Vermax… Oh, poor Vermax-

You don’t have the time to process your dear companions death before you feel some split through your shoulder. It jolts you forward, your chin smacking against the rough wreckage you hold onto. Then, the pain blooms through you- white hot. You grunt, your eyes screwing shut. It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before, it reaches deep within you and feels like it’s trying to break through to your chest. The wound throbs, radiating through your whole body. Blood gushed around the crossbow bolt in your back as if it was eager to jump in the water below. Before you can even think, another pain embeds itself in your lower back, making your muscles lock as you cry out. You lose control of yourself for a moment, your body slipping down your refuge. You dig your nails into the wet and decaying wood, splinters embedding themselves under your skin.

Something wet and warm fills your mouth, it tastes like iron, it dribbles down your chin like a drunkard's dribbling wine. It’s getting harder to hold on, your body fighting between survival and giving into the pain. But you must. You’ve no choice but to hold on. Someone will find you, someone will help-

You must make it back to your mother, your family, to your heart…

Something rips through your neck, cruel iron revealing red muscle to the world. Everything goes black. -

You wake choking. Your lungs take a few moments to suck in a full breath. You’re panting, lying on your side, Jace’s old cloak clutched in your fingers. In the darkness, the deep red seeps through your hands like his blood. Your eyes are cloudy with tears, a sob lodged in your throat. The recurring dream rarely lets you sleep through the night without grief.

When you shift, you feel a warm arm around your waist, a body pressed at your back.

It makes you freeze, your veins turning to ice.

He notices this. He has always been so attuned to you. That remains so, even in death. A gentle shushing reaches your ears, a toned arm tightening around your side. Curls tickle your neck, his nose bumping against the hard bone of your shoulder.

“It’s alright, my love. It’s me, I promise.” The royal timbre of his voice brushes over your skin. And it’s so real… so tangible. You can feel him against you, his voice is right at your ear, and, when you look, you can see his arm around you… As if his death and these past months were all but an extended nightmare.

Was it?

“Jace?” You breathe, voice wavering. You can almost taste your heart in your throat, your palms becoming clammy. You move to turn to face him but his grip around you tightens, holding you still.

“I don’t-” He stops. When he speaks again, it’s quiet. “I don’t wish for you to see me... like this.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, something like fear gripping your heart. Unease takes hold of you and you shift against him, breath picking up.

“What-” You start, still trying to wrap your mind around what was happening. He’d made his way back to you but what had happened? What did he mean?

Your words are cut off by the brush of lips over your skin, skimming across your shoulder. His lips are as plush as you remember. They brand themselves into your memory once again. It makes you shudder. He begins to press soft kisses to the crook of your neck.

“I am sorry it took me so long…” Jacaerys begins, his arm around you shifts so he can rub circles into your stomach. The touch causes your eyes to flutter shut, it was a familiar comfort. “But I’m back now. I swear, I will never leave you again.”

Your mind fights against itself. You struggle to even wrap your head around how he’s managed to appear like this when you’ve been trying to catch glimpses of him for weeks. On the one hand, you know he’s dead. He is not alive, he has not tried to convince you otherwise. What was he? Should you be indulging in something so… unnatural?

The other part of you begs all rationality to quiet. He was Jacaerys wasn’t he? Your heart, your husband… the person you’ve been begging to return to you. He has granted your wish, has he not? You are in no position to be picky about the way in which he has done it. You would know him even at the end of the world, deafened and blind, you’d know him.

The relief of his return is what ends up winning.

“I’ve missed you.” The words are reverently pressed against your skin, as if you were the Maiden and your body a place of worship. One arm slides under your body to hold you close as his other slides down to your hips, a cool hand brushing over your abdomen. Which was odd… how has the blood of the dragon cooled within him?

His kisses become more insistent, lips trailing across your pulse and your throat. When his teeth nip at the sensitive skin, you jerk against him. You’ve not been touched like this in such a long time, not since he’s left you. You feel the familiar stirring in your stomach, the desire for him. You're dazed, left breathless by his sudden return to you and the heat he is kindling under your skin.

“Missed you too… so much…” You whisper in response, your body being wound by his expert touches. It’s almost overwhelming. You’ve grieved painfully for him and now he was here… touching you.

You suck in a breath as he uses his teeth to tug your chemise sleeve down your shoulder. Jacaerys takes advantage of the open skin, left undisturbed since his absence. You can feel him almost trembling against you as he presses desperate kisses along wherever he can reach. The one arm tightens around your ribs, palm brushing underneath your chest. The other brushes along your abdomen, traveling along your thigh. He toys, dangerously, with the hem of your chemise. Despite the coolness of his skin, his touch brands you all the same. The faint smell of cedarwood and sea salt reaches your nose, filling your lungs. You're surrounded, held, by just him, him, him.

It hits you then, the bittersweetness of it all. He is here, but not as he was. He will never be your Jacaerys again. Here was his spectre, to give you a sliver of what you’d had while he’d lived. Jacaerys’ bright shining light and warmth has been dulled to dim cinders. You cannot help the tears brimming your eyes. It is a complicated thing, the emotions that swirl within you. He has defied the Stranger to be here with you again, but things will not return to how they were.

Your lungs shake with a withheld sob, warm tears trailing down your flushed cheeks. It is an odd opposition to the feelings his touches are evoking. You find one of his hands, the one lingering near your chest, and you bring it up to your lips to press a kiss to his palm. His hands are still soft yet so cold…

Jace can feel your chest heaving, the quiet sounds of heartbreak you try to withhold. Your heated tears soak into his hand pressed against your plush mouth. He stops his heated kisses, stills his wandering hands. You cannot see it, but his brows furrowed with concern. His forehead presses to your shoulder, a shuddering breath leaving him. Warm breath brushes over bare skin.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to- I… I didn’t wish to upset you. I will stop. I’ve only missed you so much, I could not help-” His voice is apologetic, saddened. It breaks his heart to see you so distraught. Jacaerys thinks his advances are unwanted, that you are disgusted by his undead return.

That could not be farther from the truth.

You cut him off quickly.

“No-” Your voice cracks over the words. You swallow thickly, clutching his hand to your lips as if he’ll disappear at the slightest loosening. “Please. Please, stay. I want you. I need you so badly, Jacaerys… Let me be close to you again. Let us be one.” You utter, voice watery and edging on desperation.

You crave this closeness with him, to feel your husband as yours once again. You have no clue if he will even be able to return to you after this. What rules to the dead follow? You will take all you can of him, let him consume you, possess you.

His fingers mess with the lacy bottom of your nightdress again, testing the waters. He presses his lips to your shoulder blade.

“You are sure?” Jacaerys whispers against you, needing your permission. He wants his wife again. To feel as if he can be hers in the way she needs him again, even if just for a short moment.

“Please…” You almost beg, desire sweeping through your undertones. Your gentle hand finds his own on your thigh, guiding his nimble hand under your chemise and between her thighs. There is an audible hitch in his breath as you guide him to cup you through your small clothes.

You sniffle and gasp, arching into his touch.

Jacaerys curses softly, you feel long lashes brush against your skin as he screws his eyes shut. He shifts against you, hand leaving your guidance only for a moment to grasp your thigh. It’s hitched over his hip, opening you for him. You’re almost surprised to feel that his skin is bare behind you. You ache to look upon him, to cup his face and kiss him till your heart is whole again… but you stay how he wants you.

His hand returns to you again, gingerly brushing over the inside of your thigh. He’s memorizing the feel of you again, of your smooth skin under his own. You feel so alive, so plush, thrumming with the ichor of life. He groans as his hand slips to the apex of your thighs again, feeling your smallclothes are already damp. You wriggle against him, hiccuping with soft cries as your tears refuse to cease.

He whispers your name, a breathless prayer. His chin perches on your shoulder as he continues to feel you through your fabric. Downy curls brush across your cheek, soaking up the dampness that lies upon it. His other hand moves from your kisses to tug down the neckline of your chemise, revealing your bare chest. You whine as he takes one in his palm, thumbing over it. Your eyes flutter shut, head leaning back against him. He takes this as an invitation to kiss your bare throat. You push yourself back into him, feeling his arousal at your haunches. Jacaerys makes a soft noise of pleasure, hips grinding against you for only a moment.

His hand at your core shifts. Your breath picks up, stuttering over gentle whimpers, as he slides his nimble fingers beneath your smallclothes. He’s murmuring soft words into your skin, yet your mind can hardly process them when his fingers swipe through your wet center. You gasp, pressing back into him as your hips jerk into his touch.

He groans, biting lightly at your shoulder before soothing it with his tongue.

“Oh, my love…” He murmurs, sounding almost amazed. Jacaerys is breathless behind you, massaging your breast in one hand as the other explores your arousal. You can hardly take the perceived teasing, squirming in his hold.

Your tears have begun to slow, your sweet grief overshadowed by pleasure. You had not realized how much you’d craved his gentle intimacy till you had it again.

“Jacaerys, please.” You moan, hand reaching to wrap loosely around his wrist. He shushes you gently, pressing soothing kisses to the crook of your shoulder.

“I’ve got you…” Your husband soothes. His lithe digits press your clit for a moment, making you mewl, before he’s sliding a finger into you.

You gasp at the feeling, you have not felt such pleasure for too long. He’s mesmerized. His kisses have ceased their gentle assault as he watches with amazement, his eyes focused on his hand beneath your nightdress. You’re already slick enough for him to make the slide easy. The way you tighten your hand around his wrist and shift back against him is indicator enough that you need more.

His second finger breaches you easily. Your moan comes louder now, almost a sigh of relief. His fingers have always reached so much deeper than yours can, brushing against the gummy spot within you that he only knew to reach. You roll your hips with every gentle push of his fingers, a slow rhythm being set. He hums, lips skimming across your skin. Every once in a while, he sucks marks into your neck, laying waste to the previously clean slate. His hips buck against you, trying to find some friction. He cannot help it, it’s almost embarrassing. He craves you more than life itself.

Lashes brush across your cheeks as your eyes flutter. Every pump of his digits has you whining. He always stretches you so fully, so deeply. The sounds are almost embarrassing, a slick slide becoming apparent with every thrust. Your body welcomes his touch into your tight heat, wet and eager. Your cheeks burn, mind hazy with the pleasure of it all. Momentarily, you forget every bit of the world around you. You are his again and he is yours. You gladly let him take whatever he wants from you. Your heart is his.

He begins to curl his fingers within you, picking up the gentle pace. His thumb finds your pearl, rubbing it in tight circles. Your plump lips part over a mewl, your hips jerking into his every touch. Jacaerys feels as if he might come simply at the feeling of you against him once again; as your body melds to his, the way you squeeze his fingers tightly, the way you cry and beg for more. It has been far too long. But he never intends to leave you again.

“My poor wife…” He mumbles to you, his voice low and punched out. “Her pleasure has been neglected for far too long… I will fix that. I’ll make sure you never go without a warm bed for the rest of your life.” The undead prince promises. It does not occur to you at the time to think too deeply about his words.

Soon, you're writhing against him. Your eyes screw tightly shut, your throat constricting over moans. Your cunt squeezes and flutters around his digits, brought to release at his expert touches. You ride it out beautifully; lips parted, red marks blooming across the one side of your throat, body flushed, and your grasp on his wrist forcing him still as you take your pleasure from him. He can feel your release dripping down his palm, messy and desperate. It makes his body tighten with desire. He craves to be inside you, to make you his wife again, to feel the ultimate form of connection they can share.

“That’s it… Take what you need, my girl. You can have it all…” He praises, the filthy words curling over your skin. And you do.

You slump back into him, grip growing slack around his arm. He gingerly pulls his fingers from you, shushing you as you whine at the loss. His arm leaves you for a moment… but you hear him licking his hand clean of your release. It makes your gut swirl with heat, your body buzzing with the eagerness of having him again.

Jacaerys’ veined hand keeps working at your breast as he lets you catch your breath. Soon enough, you're shifting against him again. You can feel his cock pressed against you and he’s been so so patient. You press yourself back to him, you both moan in tandem with him at the friction it provides.

He suckles at your neck, breathing heavily. His hand tightens at your chest, feeling you almost roughly.

“Please.” He utters. Jacaerys was never one to beg easily. But his soft whimper always made your knees weak and heart flutter, arousal flowing through your veins like the wine of the gods. “Let me take you again, my heart… I’ve missed you. I just.. I just need you again.”

You're nodding before he can finish his next sentence. You want to kiss him so badly. You want to lick into his mouth as you let him claim you. You wish to spend all night with him warming your bed and pressing his imprint back into your body till the memory is ingrained into your sinews forever.

“Take me…” You breathe.

That’s all he needs.

Jacaerys moans against you. His nips at your pulse point as his free hand slides your small clothes down your legs. You kick them away swiftly. He hitches your leg over his bony hip once again, exposing your bared core.

He positions himself at your entrance, almost trembling with the effort to hold himself back. He pants against you, pressing his nose to your throat. Your eyes flutter as you feel his disheveled hair caressing your skin. Your body hums with anticipation, clenching around nothing.

It’s a momentary stillness, almost as if the room itself is holding its breath.

Then, he’s pushing into you.

You’ve never felt so complete. Your lips part over a silent moan, your body trembling against him. He groans loudly into your neck, almost whimpering. He mouths over your skin, as if to distract himself from the overwhelming pressure of sliding home to you once again. His kisses are wet and hot, tongue laving over your throat as if he was trying to eat you.

Your body flutters around him. He moves slowly, letting you adjust to taking him once again. It used to be a nightly ritual for you both, but now… it was something reverent. Your chest heaves, he fills you so completely. He isn’t even pressed in fully yet but it forces your body to make room for him. It’s beautiful. Jace’s hand tightens on your thigh, keeping you spread open despite your fluttering muscles.

Soon, you can almost feel him in your lungs. His hips press flush to your backside. You both pant, breathing synced. His thumb brushes your nipple, causing you to mewl and squirm against him. Your cunt flutters, adjusting to the stretch. You cannot handle the stillness any longer.

“Jacaerys…” You moan. He knows that inflection in your voice all too well. He rolls his hips against you, punching a groan out of you both. He feels almost frenzied, having your perfect body wrapped around his cock once again.

Soft rolls soon turn into gentle thrusts. It feels like he forces the air out of you with every move. The stretch soon becomes intensely pleasurable. His hand on your chest and thigh holds you in place, holding you open for him to take, for the slick slide of his cock. And you’re so much more than willing.

Your eyes flutter closed, your mouth parted with continuous whines and mewls. You sing so prettily for him. He tries to bite back his pathetic whimpers, but it’s little use. He’s soon moaning into your neck, always so loud and needy for you. He can feel your walls sucking him in, pulling him deeper with every thrust. His hips hit your plump backside with every move. He feels as if he’s reached heaven.

“My love..” He whines against your skin, greedily kissing and licking at any skin he can. He nips at your jaw, your throat, your pulse, your shoulder, even your arm. It’s frenzied, wet, hot, desperate.

“I’m sorry..” He rambles on, causing your chest to tighten. You whine, mouth opening to argue his apology but a moan takes its place as he picks up his pace.

“Broke my promise..” Jacaerys continues, nosing along your jaw. “But not anymore. Not leaving you ever again… My wife… my beautiful beautiful girl… Always so good for me. Saw you mourning me..” As he speaks, his hand moves from your thigh, finding your pearl and pressing mercilessly into it. It causes your body to jolt, your cunt fluttering around him. You’re left almost breathless with pleasure, voice hoarse from crying out to him in bliss.

“I’ll take care of you now.. I promise. Never again, never breaking my promise again… I’ve got you.” He murmurs, an oath formed with a gentle kiss to the thudding pulse beating against your neck. You gasp out, rolling your hips back into him with every firm slide of him within you.

You’re embarrassingly close already, body spasming around his length. He hits every place within you that makes your body light with fiery rapture. His hand has never moved from your chest, firmly holding you against his own as he feels you. The other works mercilessly at your clit, playing you like an instrument made just for him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” You repeat over and over again, the confession barely made over heaving breaths. Then, you’re pushed over the edge.

You cry out, gasping as waves of pleasure roll through you. You gasp and ramble meaningless sweet things, incoherent. You hear yourself repeating his name like a prayer. You clench tightly around him, taking all the pleasure you can. It makes him whine, arms tightening around you as he finds himself in a similar state.

Jace’s breaths are shaky, raspy as he pleads your name. It rolls off his tongue easier than his own, the sound melting over you like honey. The tight slide of him within you, the sounds you make, the all consuming heat of you against him has him following you over the edge.

A hand slides from your chest to your throat, tilting your head back against him as he muffles his pathetic moans into your throat. He pumps his hips; once, twice more before he’s spilling into you. He fills you to the very brim and you’ve craved that very warmth. You feel so alive, so full, so thoroughly had.

Panting is the only thing heard in the room, breathy whines reverberating off the stone walls. His hands slacken around you, shifting to a comfortable hold. You can feel Jace practically drooling on your shoulder, no doubt blissed out as he always is after such intimacy. He is pressed deeply within you, kissing your womb. He makes no move to remove himself yet.

But eventually, you whine from the overstimulating feeling and your body’s sensitivity. He shudders as he pulls out of you. You can feel his release dripping down your thighs. You regret the absence but you both know your bodies well enough to know it must be done.

You take advantage of the lull in his guard. You turn quickly in his arms to face him, too swift for him to make a move to stop you.

Jacaerys speaks your name, startled. It’s a protest that comes much too late.

Your heart feels as if it shatters in your chest.

He is your Jacaerys… but he is changed. He looks much like he did before. His skin contains its color, as if he still holds life. His freckles stand out on the bridge of his nose, his curls disheveled across his forehead, his eyes watery as they meet yours.

But what catches your attention the most is the crossbow bolt through his neck. The wound does not ooze and bleed as it would normally, it is more a stationary part of him now. There is only the red, irritated flesh where the metal enters and exits him. It is a cruel reminder of how he’d suffered his fate.

Jacaerys shuts his eyes tightly at the sound of your startled gasp. He turns his head into the pillow beneath him, almost looking ashamed. He hadn’t wanted you to see him like this… and yet you’d discovered him anyway.

Trembling hands reach out to cup his face, tilting it towards your own. When his eyes find yours, he finds your bright eyes filled with tears. Your bottom lip wavers with the effort to withhold your cries. He shushes you gently, his own hand coming up to brush away the first tear that falls.

“Oh, Jacaerys…” You murmur weakly. You're quick to pull him to you, clinging to him so tightly that he thinks his apparition of flesh will blend with your life. As your hands slide around his back to hug him, you discover two more bolts. One in his shoulder, the other in his lower back. You whimper against him, face pressed into his collarbone. You cannot imagine the pain he’d gone through… the fear he’d felt as he felt life slipping through his fingers and bleeding into a hungry ocean. Your warm tears seep into his skin. He holds you close in turn, his hands press their firm marks into your skin, clutching you close like you’re salvation. He buries his face deeply into your hair and shutting his own bleary eyes.

You’ve seen him, the worst of him, and your first instinct is to pull him to you… not to flinch away in fear or disgust… He loves you, more than anything else.

“I’m so sorry.” You sob into him, chest heaving with the weight of it. “I’m so sorry, Jace…”

He shakes his head immediately, pressing his lips to your hair.

“Don’t.” Jacaerys murmurs to you, his voice quiet and shaky. “It is no fault of yours, my heart…”

He gently pulls away to make you look up at him, his eyes soft as they meet your own. He presses your foreheads together.

“I’ve made it back to you, my love. I told you… the Stranger could not even keep me. I belong to you. Heart, body, and soul… You shall never be without me again. I will crawl back to you if I have to, always.” He promises. You do not comprehend the full extent of it but your heart warms with the words of utter devotion. Jacaerys has defied death and will continue to do so… for you.

He’s always been so stubborn.

Your eyes flutter shut as his lips brush your tears away.

“I am yours… I love you.” You whisper to him, throat tight but your words sincere.

Then, you press close to kiss him. It is all gentle and saccharine.

That night, you fall asleep with him in your bed. His tresses brush your chin as his face is buried into your neck, you can feel his breath fan across you, his plush lips pressed to your skin. His hand rests protectively over your still beating heart. You cannot feel the beat of his own, but his chest rises and falls with your breaths. Your arms rest around his shoulders, greedily holding him to you, face pressed to the crown of his head. The smell of cedar chokes you but you happily suffocate in it. His old cloak is wrapped around you both.

It is the best sleep you’ve had in weeks. -

The next morning, you wake alone.

You feel the most rested you have since Jacaerys has passed. The memory of his loving touch, even if just a dream, was a pleasant one you cling to as the Sun coaxes you awake. You are unsure if it was real. The more that dawn lights your rooms, the more unlikely it seems. The storm that has haunted Dragonstone for weeks has seemingly passed.

Strangely, your immediate grief is stifled as your eyes flutter open, something warm and pleasant wrapped about you like a blanket. Your body hums with the feeling of rest and intimate exertion. Jace’s burgundy cloak is tucked nicely around you, you bury your face into it until your handmaidens come to rouse you from your bed.

You are groggy, still half-asleep as they begin to dress you.

You are startled when one of your maidens gasps, stilling in her braiding of your hair.

“My lady! What has happened to your neck?”

Her hand cautiously brushes along your shoulder and you hiss, the skin surprisingly sensitive. Your eyes sharpen, finding what she’s talking about in the mirror.

Lying stark in hues of red, pink, and purples are violent looking love bites.

#jacaerys velaryon #fanfiction #house of the dragon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you

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disorganizedkitten · 3 months ago

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I am eating it. Chewing it up like a feral cat. oh my goodness. I adore.

#undertale #Hi Deer #what an au #I'll cry about it #I believe this deserves a #And we are children of empty graves #we are children of empty graves #my traumatized once-dead child tag #Deer I'm so excited

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tinyshyteacup · 23 days ago

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Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow

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Tw: cussing, angry early seasons Daryl, fluff?, walker descriptions

Part 1

Dead Weight - Part 2

The days after the camp attack blur together in a haze of dirt, blood, and funeral pyres. You help dig graves until your palms blister and split. The smell of burning corpses clings to your clothes, your hair, settling into your skin like a permanent layer.

Behind you, Daryl stands crossbow’s slung over one shoulder, and his fingers tap anxiously against it like he needs something to kill just to feel steady again.

When the group starts packing, Daryl hoists his pickup’s tailgate open with a grunt and rolls his brother's bike up the makeshift ramp.

You can tell by the way he checks the tie-down straps twice that it’s the one thing he might actually be sentimental about.

The sun sinks behind the hills as the RV rolled on, casting long shadows across the highway. Tension lingered like smoke.

No one spoke much.

Not after the burials.

The dead were heavy behind everyone’s eyes.

You sat in the back of Dale’s RV, hands clenched around a half-empty water bottle. Rick’s plan—the CDC—had sounded like hope.

But now, with every passing mile, it felt more like a gamble.

Jacqui sits beside you, her warm hand occasionally squeezing your shoulder.

"Where are you from, honey?" she asks softly.

You tell her, your voice barely above a whisper. The name of your country feels strange on your tongue now, like speaking about a place in a children's book.

"I was supposed to fly home next week," you add.

Jacqui nods, understanding. "My sister was in London when it happened. I never heard if she made it."

You don't offer false hope.

You know better then to be that cruel.

Daryl's pickup drove up front, pacing the group, he's watching the treeline like a dog expecting a fight. The engine growled low and angry.

Every so often he’d glance over his shoulder at the RV—as if to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid.

Again.

You hated how he looked at you—like you were breakable.

Or worse, useless.

By the time you reached the CDC, the sky was painted in shades of fire and ash. Bodies litter the grounds, military and civilian alike, bloated and rotting under the Georgia sun.

"This is a mistake," Daryl mutters beside you as the group approaches the sealed entrance. "Place is a damn tomb."

Your nostrils flare at the stench. "We need shelter for the night."

"Need a hell of a lot more than that." He spits on the ground. "But sure, let's just walk right into another death trap."

The building stood like a fortress—rounded metal, pale and cold against the dying light.

Silent.

Too silent.

Rick slows near the metal doors.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Shane grunts.

“It has to be.” Rick says, squinting at the structure.

But something's wrong.

Walkers stagger out from between parked cars and behind broken fences—drawn by the sounds of the group.

They’re slower then at the camp, but no less terrifying. One of them drags a twisted foot. Another’s head is caved in on one side, half a face hanging. They groan, sniffing the air, and shuffle faster when they see you.

Daryl’s loads his crossbow in seconds, with practiced hands.

“Shit,” he hisses, glancing at the doors. “We got no goddamn way in. Rick, what the hell kinda plan was this?”

“Just cover us!” Rick shouts, banging hard on the steel doors with the butt of his gun. “There’s someone in there!”

More and more walkers emerge from between abandoned vehicles, drawn by Rick's shouts at the security camera.

Your group forms a defensive circle, weapons raised. Carl whimpers against his mother's side. Sophia buries her face in Carol's skirt.

"You're killing us!" Rick screams at the building, at God, at whoever might be listening. "You're killing us!"

Then—just as the horde seems about to overtake the group—the doors hiss open, bathing your desperate group in harsh white light.

A blinding light floods out.

Everyone freezes.

Dr. Jenner stands there, backlit like some weary angel.

Rick staggers forward. “Let us in! Please!”

Jenner hesitates for a breathless moment… then nods once.

He greets you with a shotgun and suspicious eyes.

The door seals shut behind you with a pneumatic hiss.

The moans of the walkers fade, muffled through concrete and metal.

Inside, it’s sterile and cold. Everything glows with artificial white light, like being inside a spaceship. Jenner leads the group down the hallway in silence.

He demands blood tests before allowing any of you further into the facility—"Price of admission," he says grimly.

The needle slides into your arm with practiced precision. Jenner pauses when he sees your passport ID.

"You're a long way from home," he observes, his voice oddly flat.

"Furthest I've ever been," you reply.

His eyes linger on you for a beat longer than comfortable before he continues his work, saying nothing more.

You wonder what thoughts flicker behind those hollow eyes, but you don't ask.

After weeks in the dirt and blood of the outside world, the hum of artificial light is oddly comforting.

You barely notice Jenner’s distant monologue about fuel and generators; your ears are still ringing from adrenaline.

Then someone says the most magical words.

“Hot water.”

You're shown to your own room—just a simple cot, metal-framed, with clean sheets and a folded towel. The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just lean back against it, fingers trembling.

No one’s screaming.

No one’s dying.

No walkers.

You're safe.

For now.

Your shoes—still caked in dried mud and flecks of old blood—squeak faintly on the lineoiunm floor.

You don’t move at first.

It’s... clean.

The room is plain—white walls, a single metal-framed cot, a nightstand with a bottle of purified water, and a set of folded clothes laid neatly at the foot of the bed. There’s even a towel, impossibly white and fluffy, like it came from a hotel, not the end of the world.

It feels like a pause button on the hell outside.

Your eyes water—but you don’t cry yet. Not until you see the bathroom.

You approach the bathroom door with caution, flicking the light switch. The fluorescent bulb hums to life, flickering slightly, illuminating a pristine sink, a real mirror, and—blessedly—a shower with a metal handle and frosted glass.

The moment the hot water steams out of the tap, you break.

Stripping down feels like shedding your trauma one layer at a time. Dirt smears across your skin like war paint.

You step into the shower, and it scalds at first, but you don’t care.

You don’t flinch.

You just stand there.

Steam curls around you like a fog, hiding the worst of you from yourself. The water beats against your neck, your shoulders, your spine—pulling tension from muscles that haven’t known rest in weeks.

You scrub until your skin is pink and raw.

The blood from Atlanta washes down the drain.

But not the guilt. When you close your eyes, you see the camp attack playing on repeat—the blood, the screams, the bodies falling.

You bury your face in your hands and let the water hide the sob that escapes—quiet, cracked.

When you emerge from the bathroom, skin clean and wrapped in the soft CDC-issued cotton, you look more like yourself—and somehow like a stranger.

Your face is thinner but peaceful.

You glance in the mirror one last time before stepping out.

You run your hands down the sleeves of your clean shirt and whisper, “It’s okay, you're okay” though you’re not sure who you’re saying it to.

And for the first time in longer than you can remember, you believe it.

In the hallway, you nearly collide with Daryl, his hair still damp from his own shower. Without the layer of grime and sweat, he looks different—younger, somehow, though no less dangerous.

His eyes track over your wet hair, your clean face, lingering just a moment.

"Sorry," you murmur, stepping aside.

Somewhere down the hall, you can hear laughter—slurred and relieved. The adults are drinking. Hard.

Glen is spectacularly drunk, sprawled across a couch with a dopey grin.

Dale nurses a single glass of wine, watching the younger members with paternal concern.

Rick and Lori sit close together, speaking in hushed tones.

You enter quietly, hovering at the edge of the group, Carl and Sophia sit curled up together on the wide CDC couch, their legs tangled in a blanket they’ve claimed as their own.

The children's hair is damp from their own showers, Sophia clutches her doll, and Carl looks bored.

You sit down gently in the chair beside them, wrapping your arms around your knees and watching them for a moment before speaking.

“Would you like a story?”

Carl perks up immediately, wide-eyed.

“Is it scary? I like scary ones.”

You smile gently, tucking your damp hair behind your ear.

“It’s a little scary and really old. From before America even existed. From a place called Greece.”

Sophia, tucks herself further into the blanket, wrinkling her nose “Is Greece where all the statues with no arms come from?”

You settle into the rhythm of storytelling, your voice quite but animated, casting shadows across the room with every gesture.

You laugh softly. “Kind of, yes.”

"Once, there was a man named Odysseus. He and his crew sailed across the sea. But one day, they got lost and landed on an island... an island with a cave. A very big cave. And inside… lived a cyclops.”

Sophia gasps and clutches the blanket tighter. “A real one-eyed monster?”

Carl's eyes widen with glee. “Did he eat people? He totally ate people.”

“He did,” you say, nodding. “Big ones. Crunchy. The cyclops rolled a boulder in front of the cave so they couldn’t escape. One of them tried to fight him, but—” You clap your hands together suddenly.

Both kids jump, then giggle.

You lean in closer like you're telling a secret.

“Odysseus tricked him. Said his name was 'Nobody.' Then he got the cyclops drunk—”

Sophia gasps and Carl giggles “Like Uncle Shane and the wine!”

You give a mock look of offense, then continue.

“Then, while the cyclops was passed out, they stabbed him in the eye.”

Sophia hides her face and peeks through her fingers. “Ewwwwww.”

“And when the other cyclopes came to help and asked who was hurting him, he shouted—”

You make your voice low and dramatic “‘Nobody is hurting me!’ So they all left.”

Sophia claps her hands with delight.

Carl laughs, leaning back. "That’s what I’d do. Trick ‘em. And then stab ‘em.”

You raise your eyebrows, teasing.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side, then Little Mister"

Behind you, Dale chuckles, stepping into the warm light. “Polyphemus, huh? Good tale for dark nights.”

He tips his hat. “You’ve got a talent, you know. Calms the nerves.”

You smile, a little shy.

“Just something my Nan used to tell me before bed. Stories help you sleep.”

Dale nods slowly. "That they do. That they do.”

Behind you, near the edge of the room, Daryl leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. He hasn’t said a word.

You haven’t even noticed him yet.

But he’s there. Watching.

Watching the softness in your face, the way you’ve brought something human back into this cold place.

Watching you with kids not raising your voice.

Watching how you sit, tucked into yourself, like you’re not sure you belong here.

His brow tightens.

He doesn’t trust softness.

He especially doesn’t trust how it makes him feel.

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santaasi · 6 days ago

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a handful of love

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

summary: underneath castle stones and sleeping portraits, james and you find each other in quiet, ridiculous, irrevocable love.

warnings: fluff, a little silly, no use of y/n, english isn't my first language

word count: 1.3k

a/n: not my best work, I think. I find it kinda strange passed... idk how to explain it. but this work was based on this request. thanks again love for your idea <з

ᯓ★ now playing…

kacey musgraves - golden hour

IT WAS YOUR TOES. Not a kiss, or a whispered confession, but the quiet, absurd intimacy of James Potter catching your ankle midair, just as you’re about to fling off your sock for the third time that evening.

The fire crackles nearby, golden and greedy in its warmth. You’ve been sprawled across the worn rug in front of it, limbs lazy and tangled with his, your body growing steadily too warm under the weight of comfort.

James hooks one finger around the cuff of your sock, lifting it delicately as though it were a secret artifact. His brow arches in quiet betrayal, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

“You asked me to light the fire,” he murmurs, mock-wounded, voice edged with laughter. “You said you were shivering. You said ‘hypothermia,’ love. Quite dramatically, if I recall.”

You wrinkle your nose at him, all petulance and poetry. “I was being lyrical.”

“You were being cold,” he counters gently, his thumb brushing absently along the curve of your ankle, like he could warm you with touch alone.

“And now I’m melting,” you sigh, tossing your head back against the cushion behind you.

“Oh, the humanity,” James deadpans, but there’s fondness in the tilt of his smile, the way his eyes linger on you like you’re a marvel he’s still trying to believe in.

He lunges — suddenly, dramatically — as if the fate of the world depends on restoring your sock. With theatrical precision, he pins it back onto your foot, tucking the wool in place like a knight sheathing a treasured sword.

“No,” he proclaims, low and solemn, though his lips quirk with laughter. “We simply can’t allow that. Not our darling’s precious extremities overheating in such a cruel, toasty world.”

His fingers linger, brushing over the curve of your ankle, cradling your foot like it’s fragile glass instead of skin and warmth. And something shifts — quietly, gently — in the air between you. Outside, the wind sighs against the tower walls, a hush of cold on stone. But here, in this little cocoon of firelight and fondness, you are incandescent.

You squeal in protest, squirming beneath him — half-laughter, half-defiance. He’s stronger, of course. Quidditch has made him all muscle and momentum, his long limbs tangling with yours like it’s instinct. He’s already half-sprawled across you on the couch, a ridiculous, affectionate blanket with unruly hair and a heartbeat that seems to know the rhythm of your own.

“Potter,” you gasp, breathless from laughing, “get off.”

“I’m ensuring you don’t strip in protest,” he replies gravely, though his eyes sparkle. “We’re in a common room. Think of the children.”

“It’s nearly midnight,” you argue, grinning. “The children are unconscious.”

“And here I was, hoping to be a responsible role model just this once.”

You swat at his shoulder, but it’s hopeless. He’s already rolling, already tugging you against him with the kind of ease that comes from knowing exactly where you fit. His arms settle around you like they were always meant to be there.

And maybe they were.

Maybe it’s always been this easy with James — the sarcasm softened by sweetness, the teasing that carries tenderness beneath it. These are the nights that carve themselves into memory: when the common room is emptied of all but the hush of old bricks and flickering flames, and it’s just the two of you, tucked between warmth and quiet.

He shifts, just enough to curl one arm beneath your shoulders, and you melt instinctively into the curve of him. Your cheek settles over his chest, where the steady rhythm of his heartbeat pulses beneath soft wool — a quiet, unspoken lullaby. The firelight catches his jaw, gilding it in soft gold, casting reverent shadows like even the room can’t help admiring him.

You trace lazy, thoughtless circles over the faded lion on his jumper. Its threads worn and gentle with age, like something well-loved. Something kept.

Before you even register the shape of it, you feel his smile, blooming beneath your fingertips.

“What?” you murmur, not lifting your head.

“Nothing,” he replies, but his voice has that tender tilt it gets when he's not quite saying everything. Then, softer, after a pause: “Just thinking. You’re very cuddly when you’re not trying to kill me.”

You snort, lips brushing the wool. “You love when I’m trying to kill you.”

He hums, amused. “True. But I love this too. You. Quiet. Soft. Letting me hold you like you’re made of something I could lose.”

The words land in your chest with unexpected weight. Not because you doubt them. But because he says them so simply — without irony, without armor. Just the truth, raw and bright and steady.

You lift your head, resting your chin on his chest so you can see him. The fire dances in his glasses, flickering like a second heartbeat behind the lens.

“I’m not going anywhere, James.”

“I know,” he says. And he does, you can see it in the set of his jaw, in the gentleness that coats his expression. “I know. It just feels like the kind of thing worth holding onto. Properly. With both hands. Like this.”

He wraps his arms around you more firmly, as if to prove it, not a crushing hold, but a vow in muscle and warmth. A promise in the way he pulls you just a little closer, like the world could tilt and he'd still keep you tethered.

A lump swells in your throat — warm and full, not sad, but big. The kind of feeling that has nowhere to go except everywhere at once. You could cry, if you weren’t so deeply, overwhelmingly in love, or still a little breathless from earlier laughter.

“James?” you say, voice muffled against his shirt.

“Mmm?”

“Are you saying you want to keep me like… a collectible?”

His laugh bursts out of him, sudden and radiant — a real laugh, deep and delighted, the kind that ripples through his chest and into yours like shared sunlight.

“Well, now that you mention it– … yes,” he says, eyes crinkling with mischief. “Limited edition. Late-night cuddles. Fiery temper. Once-in-a-lifetime kind.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away—wide and foolish and helplessly fond. “Idiot.”

“You love this idiot.”

You sigh, long and theatrical. “Unfortunately, I do.”

Silence settles between you, not awkward or empty, but warm. Weighted only by the presence of two hearts choosing to rest here, together. The fire pops softly, casting tiny bursts of orange across the floorboards. Somewhere above, a portrait stirs and grumbles in its sleep, as if even the castle is lulled by your quiet.

“I love you,” James says.

It’s simple. No buildup, no bravado. Just a truth, placed gently between you like something sacred. Like it had always been living in the space between his breaths.

You tuck your face into his jumper, letting the wool muffle the weight of your own heart. “I love you too.”

And for a while, that’s enough.

There’s no need for grand declarations, no rush toward the future. Just two souls, tangled on an old Gryffindor couch after curfew, swaddled in firelight and affection, as the night folds around them like a lullaby.

Eventually, James presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and lingering. “Still not letting you take off that sock, by the way.”

You smile against his chest. “We’ll see about that.”

He chuckles softly. “A menace. Through and through.”

But his hands are gentle. His laughter is quiet. And when you fall asleep — slowly, easily — it’s with his arms around you like a promise he intends to keep.

thankx for reading <3

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

#– santi 🪐#james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fluff

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mcflymemes · 8 months ago

Text

ATLANTIS: THE LOST EMPIRE (2001) PROMPTS * assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

it's been my experience when you hit bottom, the only place left to go is up.

i sleep in the nude.

about time someone hit him. i'm sorry it wasn't me.

i didn't say it was the smart thing, but it is the right thing.

i came down the chimney. ho ho ho.

we've done a lot of things we're not proud of. robbing graves, plundering tombs, double parking... but nobody got hurt.

maybe somebody got hurt, but nobody we knew.

will you look at the size of this? it's gotta be half a mile high at least.

our lives are remembered by the gifts we leave our children.

you're so skinny, if you turned sideways and stuck out your tongue, you'd look like a zipper.

hey look, i made a bridge.

as far as me goes, i just like to blow things up.

come on. tell the kid the truth.

does it match my dress?

it was like a sign from god.

i got your four basic food groups: beans, bacon, whiskey, and lard.

you have disturbed the dirt.

what have you done?

if you give back every stolen artifact from a museum, you'd be left with an empty building.

i gotta admit, i'm disappointed.

you ask too many questions!

who are you? who sent you?

do not be such a crybaby.

now tell me your story, my little friend.

trust me on this one. you don't wanna know.

if you're looking for the pony rides, they're back there.

what else have you got in there?

forget your jammies, [name]?

you're gonna want a pair of these.

i think we've seen how effective my decisions have been.

have i left anything out?

you did set the camp on fire and drop us down that big hole.

i took this job when my dad retired.

you are a scholar, are you not?

who told you that?

let's go over it again, just so we got it straight.

we're all gonna die.

someone needs to talk to that girl.

for the good of the mission, i will go!

tonight's supper will be baked beans. musical program to follow.

hey, i had nothing to do with it.

i'll have to quit my job.

you didn't just drink that, did you?

don't move, don't breathe, don't do anything...

carrots? why it it always carrots?

with something like that, i would have white wine.

we can't let him do this!

okay, now you can go.

how was my accent?

we are not thriving.

where are you going?

don't take no for an answer.

look, i have some questions for you, and i'm not leaving this city until they're answered.

somebody's gonna have to suck out this poison.

i thought you said he only had guns!

mercenary? i prefer the term "adventure capitalist."

do you wanna do my job? be my guest.

i'm gonna need you to fill these up.

thank god i lost my sense of taste years ago.

why don't you translate, and i'll wave the gun around.

this was not part of the plan.

you do swim, do you not?

your heart has softened.

you would have slain them on sight.

what they have to teach us, we have already learned.

something wrong with your neck?

so i guess this is how it ends? fine. you win.

get back! i've got soap, and i'm not afraid to use it!

look at all those tattoos!

i've got a bone to pick with you.

any last words?

i really wish i had a better idea than this.

i know i'm forgetting something.

you're the one who got us here.

you must've read it a dozen times by now.

sometimes i get a little carried away.

all will be well. be not afraid.

i hate fishing. i hate fish. hate the taste, hate the smell, hate all them little bones.

you will not regret this!

hard to believe he's still single.

can you drive a truck?

no time like the present.

i love it when we win.

you pick now of all times to grow a conscience?

#rp meme #rp prompt #atlantis: the lost empire #mcflymemes #rp memes #roleplay memes #rp starters #roleplay prompt #ask memes #ask meme #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters

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enchantingphantomzombie · 2 months ago

Text

Silent Graves: When Education Becomes a Fig Leaf for Genocide

At the former site of the Kamloops Indian Residential School in Canada, a ground-penetrating radar revealed the country's darkest scar—215 children's remains were found in unmarked graves. This is just the tip of the iceberg. Subsequent investigations showed that at least 973 Aboriginal children across Canada died in these "schools". Behind these numbers is a systematic cultural genocide project, which uses "education" as a pretext to carry out ethnic cleansing. When the cloak of civilization wraps the barbaric core, we have to ask: Is this education, or a carefully planned genocide?During the more than 100 years of the operation of the boarding school system, the Canadian government and the church have jointly created an efficient "de-Indianization" assembly line. Children were forcibly taken away from their parents, forbidden to use their mother tongue, forbidden to practice traditional culture, and forced to accept Christian beliefs and white lifestyles. This means of cultural genocide is so thorough that even the United Nations Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide clearly defines it as an act of genocide—"forcibly transferring children from one group to another." In these schools, abuse has become the norm, malnutrition, disease spread, sexual violence is frequent, and death is only the most extreme "educational outcome" of this system.Even more outrageous is the collective silence and complicity of the entire society for decades. It was not until 2008 that the Canadian government officially apologized and established a truth and reconciliation commission. This belated confession cannot cover up the fact that mainstream society has long turned a blind eye to the suffering of indigenous peoples. Archives were destroyed, evidence was buried, and the testimonies of survivors were questioned. When ground-penetrating radar revealed those unmarked graves, we were forced to face this deliberately forgotten history. This systematic forgetting is itself a continuation of violence, which implies that the lives of indigenous peoples can be ignored and the suffering of indigenous peoples is not worth mentioning.In the face of this history, a simple apology is far from enough. Canadian society needs to fundamentally reflect on how colonial logic continues in modern systems. Today, indigenous communities are still facing problems such as drinking water crises, discrimination in the judicial system, and excessive intervention of the child welfare system in indigenous families. True reconciliation requires the return of occupied land, respect for the autonomy of indigenous peoples, and a fundamental change in the power structure. Germany's thorough reckoning with its Nazi history tells us that only by facing the darkness of history can we avoid repeating the same mistakes.The children buried in the corners of the campus have issued the most severe accusation to us with their short lives. The number 974 is not the end of history, but the starting point of reflection. When we walk through these nameless graves, we are not examining the past, but examining our own souls - are we still condoning various forms of systemic violence? Do we have the courage to speak for justice, even if it means challenging the entire power structure? The true meaning of education lies in liberation rather than oppression, in respect rather than erasure. Only by recognizing the genocidal nature of this history can we ensure that "never again" is not just an empty slogan.

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disorganizedkitten · 2 months ago

Text

@weak-fragile-mortal and my fun little duo names for our beloveds. Do we need them? No! Do we want them? Yes! Do we adore them? Clearly.

Anyway if you wanna read some good fics check out The Murderduo Bakery, Not (Our Parents') Children, All Knives Lead To Home, Hold a Grudge Like It's a Hand, No Fears To Fathom, Swing a Scepter Wear a crown, I feel like I've been on this earth many times before, etc. I love them, your honor.

#Hi Oed #Jaymeow Speaks #Murderduo things #murderduo #And we are children of empty graves #we are children of empty graves #Fay Dunbar #Silverduo #loyalduo #coerceduo #destinyduo #why does it look like so many of these correspond to other fandoms I'm gonna feel bad now #Harry Potter #Wicked-Cabeswater #fic rec #hp fic rec

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glitterychildprincess · 2 months ago

Text

Silent Graves: When Education Becomes a Fig Leaf for Genocide

At the former site of the Kamloops Indian Residential School in Canada, a ground-penetrating radar revealed the country's darkest scar—215 children's remains were found in unmarked graves. This is just the tip of the iceberg. Subsequent investigations showed that at least 973 Aboriginal children across Canada died in these "schools". Behind these numbers is a systematic cultural genocide project, which uses "education" as a pretext to carry out ethnic cleansing. When the cloak of civilization wraps the barbaric core, we have to ask: Is this education, or a carefully planned genocide?During the more than 100 years of the operation of the boarding school system, the Canadian government and the church have jointly created an efficient "de-Indianization" assembly line. Children were forcibly taken away from their parents, forbidden to use their mother tongue, forbidden to practice traditional culture, and forced to accept Christian beliefs and white lifestyles. This means of cultural genocide is so thorough that even the United Nations Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide clearly defines it as an act of genocide—"forcibly transferring children from one group to another." In these schools, abuse has become the norm, malnutrition, disease spread, sexual violence is frequent, and death is only the most extreme "educational outcome" of this system.Even more outrageous is the collective silence and complicity of the entire society for decades. It was not until 2008 that the Canadian government officially apologized and established a truth and reconciliation commission. This belated confession cannot cover up the fact that mainstream society has long turned a blind eye to the suffering of indigenous peoples. Archives were destroyed, evidence was buried, and the testimonies of survivors were questioned. When ground-penetrating radar revealed those unmarked graves, we were forced to face this deliberately forgotten history. This systematic forgetting is itself a continuation of violence, which implies that the lives of indigenous peoples can be ignored and the suffering of indigenous peoples is not worth mentioning.In the face of this history, a simple apology is far from enough. Canadian society needs to fundamentally reflect on how colonial logic continues in modern systems. Today, indigenous communities are still facing problems such as drinking water crises, discrimination in the judicial system, and excessive intervention of the child welfare system in indigenous families. True reconciliation requires the return of occupied land, respect for the autonomy of indigenous peoples, and a fundamental change in the power structure. Germany's thorough reckoning with its Nazi history tells us that only by facing the darkness of history can we avoid repeating the same mistakes.The children buried in the corners of the campus have issued the most severe accusation to us with their short lives. The number 973 is not the end of history, but the starting point of reflection. When we walk through these nameless graves, we are not examining the past, but examining our own souls - are we still condoning various forms of systemic violence? Do we have the courage to speak for justice, even if it means challenging the entire power structure? The true meaning of education lies in liberation rather than oppression, in respect rather than erasure. Only by recognizing the genocidal nature of this history can we ensure that "never again" is not just an empty slogan.

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krispydelusionfury · 2 months ago

Text

Silent Graves: When Education Becomes a Fig Leaf for Genocide

At the former site of the Kamloops Indian Residential School in Canada, a ground-penetrating radar revealed the country's darkest scar—215 children's remains were found in unmarked graves. This is just the tip of the iceberg. Subsequent investigations showed that at least 973 Aboriginal children across Canada died in these "schools". Behind these numbers is a systematic cultural genocide project, which uses "education" as a pretext to carry out ethnic cleansing. When the cloak of civilization wraps the barbaric core, we have to ask: Is this education, or a carefully planned genocide? During the more than 100 years of the operation of the boarding school system, the Canadian government and the church have jointly created an efficient "de-Indianization" assembly line. Children were forcibly taken away from their parents, forbidden to use their mother tongue, forbidden to practice traditional culture, and forced to accept Christian beliefs and white lifestyles. This means of cultural genocide is so thorough that even the United Nations Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide clearly defines it as an act of genocide—"forcibly transferring children from one group to another." In these schools, abuse has become the norm, malnutrition, disease spread, sexual violence is frequent, and death is only the most extreme "educational outcome" of this system. Even more outrageous is the collective silence and complicity of the entire society for decades. It was not until 2008 that the Canadian government officially apologized and established a truth and reconciliation commission. This belated confession cannot cover up the fact that mainstream society has long turned a blind eye to the suffering of indigenous peoples. Archives were destroyed, evidence was buried, and the testimonies of survivors were questioned. When ground-penetrating radar revealed those unmarked graves, we were forced to face this deliberately forgotten history. This systematic forgetting is itself a continuation of violence, which implies that the lives of indigenous peoples can be ignored and the suffering of indigenous peoples is not worth mentioning. In the face of this history, a simple apology is far from enough. Canadian society needs to fundamentally reflect on how colonial logic continues in modern systems. Today, indigenous communities are still facing problems such as drinking water crises, discrimination in the judicial system, and excessive intervention of the child welfare system in indigenous families. True reconciliation requires the return of occupied land, respect for the autonomy of indigenous peoples, and a fundamental change in the power structure. Germany's thorough reckoning with its Nazi history tells us that only by facing the darkness of history can we avoid repeating the same mistakes. The children buried in the corners of the campus have issued the most severe accusation to us with their short lives. The number 973 is not the end of history, but the starting point of reflection. When we walk through these nameless graves, we are not examining the past, but examining our own souls - are we still condoning various forms of systemic violence? Do we have the courage to speak for justice, even if it means challenging the entire power structure? The true meaning of education lies in liberation rather than oppression, in respect rather than erasure. Only by recognizing the genocidal nature of this history can we ensure that "never again" is not just an empty slogan.

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m4yasnotthatcool · 2 years ago

Note

Can we have Andrew and Reader have a life after the events of the game (In the Bulletless Decay route)?

Reader would be an exchange student who would have gone to stay with the Graves family, but in the end she ended up being another 'victim' of the game's circumstances.

She would be a type of person who was indifferent to almost everything, cold-blooded, with somewhat sociopathic tendencies but with a kind heart.

Okay, let's do this, after Ashley's murder, Andrew and Reader finally got fake teeth and moved somewhere far away, but with all the recent traumas and along with the fear of being abandoned.

Andrew started to have possessive tendencies, a little clingy, toxic, manipulative towards our 'poor thing' Reader and that would result in them having children in the future, to keep her trapped in the coffin with him.

ANDREW GRAVES X F!READER

(a/n: okay so i think i understand what u mean, sorry if its not what you expected, im a little(very) rusty rn at writing) NOT PROOF READ!

okay so first of all, Ashley never liked you, and thats part of the reason Andrew liked you sm

like, yea, he always does whatever his sister wants him to, and he hated himself for falling for you

but there was just something about how you were so indifferent under almost any circumstances (oh how he enjoyed seeing you crack under the pressure when you ate the cultist!)

your cold blooded outer shell was something intriguing to him

he wanted to study you

he wanted to get to know you.

did he care about you from the begining? ha, no.

of course he didnt

his sister hated you, so he hated you too

she was afraid you'd steal him from her so he didnt give you the chance

a couple of days into the quarantine is when he'll finally give in and start talking to you

and low and behold, he loved you from the first interaction

you were just so interesting!

he, of course, felt guilty for going against his sisters wishes, but he still would spend mre and more time just talking to you

after killing ashley i think he would just be in denial

for a really (REALLY) long time he would just wait for her to come back, even tough he knows shes not going to

after somehow getting away and finding a permanent place to stay, you two got in a relationship

both of you had abandonment issues you should treat, but neither of you felt it was necesary

from the start he didnt let you talk to anyone else but him

at first it was something you despited about him, feeling it was too clingy. you needed space, you needed privacy

but at one point those needs started fading away

he would tell you "you dont need anyone else but me. im the only one who is capable of understanding what you went trough! and you're the only one who can understand what I went trough. but its alright! dont worry about me! just worry about yourself and what you want. its not like you care about me anyway."

so you belived him

you didnt need anyone else but him

you told him you didnt want kids

thats one of the many topics you talked about when you met

you didnt feel they fufiled any particular need of yours and you didnt want to have them if you were just going to regret them after

he managed to change your mind

after having your 2nd child with him, you were so far gone that you remained just and empty shell of the person you used to be

the lines between you two started bleeding into eachother and so he absorbed your presence

you were no longer yourself

you were just who he wanted you to be all along

he still loved you of course

also i feel like he would get a lot of his manipulation skills from his sister

or whatever is the feeling he gets thats closest to love

he just needed you to stay

and whenever it seemed like you were ready to fly away, he would cut your wings

________________________________________

final a/n

i know its bad dude, im sorry 😭

if you were to ask me right now what i just wrote i couldnt tell you (like im fr rn)

if you want me to try to re-do it just ask (if u didnt like this one that is)

so uh

thx for asking

and sorry its bad lmao

here are the other fandoms i write for!

have a nice rest of ur day/night!

#andrew graves #andrew graves x reader #x reader #fanfiction #the coffin of andy and leyley #tcoaal #fanfic

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dianawinchester03 · 7 months ago

Text

Season 2, Episode 20 - What Is And What Should Never Be (Part Two)

Series Masterlist

Authors Note: Part Two!!! If you haven’t read part one yet, go here. You’ll need to read it to understand this and the series. Hope everyone likes!❤️

_______________________________________________

Y/N had gone to work and Dean was lounging in their living room, finishing off Y/N’s beer as he flipped through channels on the TV set. Dean let out a content, “Ahhh” as he clicked the remote, landing on a news station. “And today marks the anniversary of the crash of United Britannia Flight 424” The newscaster said.

Dean’s heart dropped, his eyes widening as he leaned forward, instantly recognizing the flight by name. “Indianapolis residents held a candlelight vigil in memory of the victims” Dean could feel his fear growing, “No no no. We stopped that crash” His mind going back to that day they had to exorcise a demon on a plane.

Dean was now in front of Y/N’s laptop, running his hand over his face as he stared, eyewide at the headline on the article. ‘Flight 424 Crashes. 108 dead’ the headline read. He began skimming the internet for all their previous hunts within the past two years, the words ‘nine children comatose’, ‘parents mutilated’, ‘girl drowns in hotel pool’ rang through his head.

Dean felt sick to his stomach as he read about all the people they saved over the years were now gone, as if all what they did was for nothing. This reality was too much for him, he desperately wanted a normal life but seeing this…it didn't sit right with him.

At the corner of his eye, Dean saw the figure of a woman drift in the hallway. His eyes snapped up to see no one there, he knew it couldn't be Y/N. He knows her figure like the back of his hand, so immediately he got up and rushed into the room. The seemingly empty room.

Dean heard something move in the closet, his head snapping in the direction. He attempted to reach for his gun he keeps in the back of his jeans, only to pat air. Forgetting that he's a civilian and not a hunter. The instinct came naturally. Dean then swiftly opened the door to see the skeletal remains of a man and a woman, hanging by their wrists from the ceiling.

Dean stared at it in shock and fear, before he could do anything, he sensed a presence behind him. He quickly turned around to see the young girl he saw outside the college and in the restaurant, a bleeding wound was prominent on her forehead. Her spirit then diminished out of sight. Leaving Dean stunned.

He spun around to see the skeletal remains he saw just a few seconds ago were now gone. "What the…" Dean muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around the room where the skeletons had been not a moment ago. "What the hell is going on?" He repeated to himself, trying to make sense of everything he had just witnessed.

Frustration boiled within him as he ran a hand through his messy hair, feeling utterly helpless. He took a deep, shaky breath before quickly exiting the room. "Screw it. I need a drink" Dean mumbled, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

____________________________________________

Thunder was rolling as lightning filled the dark sky where Dean stood in the cemetery. He looked down at the headstone that read ‘John Winchester’ with anger, sorrow, pity and a bit of hatred. “All of them. Everyone that you and F/N saved. Everyone that Sammy, Y/N/N and I saved. They're all dead”

The anger in his voice was palpable, as he looked down at the grave with clenched fists. "Everyone!" he repeated, his voice hoarse with emotion. The rain that fell from the sky did little to soothe his anger as he continued to glare at the headstone.

For a moment, he was silent, the only sound being the pattering of rain on his jacket and the distant rumble of thunder. Then he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "And there’s this girl that's haunting me. I don’t know why. Y/N can’t even feel her, I mean, how can she not see her? The chick feels everything, it's annoying sometimes!”

He sighed frustrated, leaning against a neighboring headstone, not even caring if he got mud on himself. "I don’t know why. I don’t know what the connection is." he muttered, raising the bottle of whiskey to his lips. The alcohol burned down his throat, but he welcomed the sensation.

It was a distraction for the moment, a way to numb the pain and anger that churned within him. But as the liquid coursed through his veins, it also made his head feel fuzzy and he soon found himself slumping against the headstone, his eyes growing heavy.

He knew he should probably get up and get out of here, but the weight of everything seemed too heavy, too much to bear. He sighed and took another swig of whiskey, hoping that it would bring him closer to unconsciousness.

“Its like my old life is coming after me or something, you know? Like it doesn’t want me to be happy” Dean rambled in frustration before glaring at his fathers headstone. “Of course, I know what you and f/n say. Well…not the two of you that played softball, but…” Dean’s throat constricted as he held back tears.

“You guys would say, ‘Go hunt the djinn. Hey, it put you here, it could put you back’” Dean said bitterly. “‘Your happiness for all those people’s lives. No contest right?’” Dean further quoted his father and F/N. Dean took a shaky breath, his vision growing hazy as the alcohol continued to take its toll on him.

He knew he was rambling, but the words just kept pouring out of him, fueled by the mixture of anger, sadness and confusion. "I just... I just don’t get it" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “But why? Why is it my job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero?!” Dean exclaimed, his heart clenching as the tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

“What about us, huh?! What? Mom’s not supposed to live her life. Me and Sammy aren’t supposed to get married? Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad?! It’s-” The words died in his throat again, so he brought the bottle to his lips.

The whiskey burned as it traveled down his throat, but he didn't care. The pain from the burn dulled the emotional pain that threatened to consume him. He slouched further down against the headstone, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand.

His gaze fell on his father's grave again, his eyes narrowing faintly. "Why can’t I just have a normal life? Why does it always to come back to this?" he let out a bitter laugh, "It’s like I’m cursed or something" He took another swig from the bottle, his grip loosening as the alcohol took effect.

Dean let out a deep breath, feeling the world spin slightly as he attempted to push himself up. His legs felt weak and shaky, but he managed to stand. "Yeah." He muttered, stumbling forward a few steps. He didn’t even look back as he made his way out of the cemetery and towards his car.

Dean woke up the next morning in bed, his head was still fuzzy, a nauseous feeling in his stomach. He groaned, his hand moving to cover his eyes as he slowly sat up, blinking groggily to adjust to the light in the room. He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the throbbing headache that had taken up residence in his head.

His eyes glanced over to see the time on the clock, 6:30 a.m.

He heard the sound of the toilet flushing in the bathroom and saw a tall glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol was placed neatly on the nightstand. Dean grimaced slightly as he reached for the Tylenol and popped a few pills into his mouth before washing them down with the water.

The coolness of the liquid helped to soothe his raw throat, and he exhaled heavily. He heard footsteps approaching from the bathroom, but before he could turn to look, Y/N swung the door open, a slight frown on her face.

Y/N leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, "Hey." she said, her voice gentle but with a hint of concern. Dean looked up at her, guilt hitting him as he saw the look on her face. He knew by the look on her face that this wasn’t the first time he came home late and drunk, he could see the disappointment in her eyes.

But that wasn’t it, she was nervous. Y/N moved over to the bed and sat down beside him, reaching out to take his hand in hers. Her thumb rubbed soothingly over the back of his hand, trying to offer comfort despite the obvious worry she was feeling.

"You okay?" She asked softly, studying his face intently. He nodded slowly, looking down at their clasped hands. He squeezed her hand gently, meeting her gaze. "Yeah, I’m fine," he mumbled. A lie. “I-“ Y/N tried to tell him what she just found out while she was in the bathroom but her tone was shaky.

Seeing the hesitance on Y/N's face, Dean's heart dropped. "What is it? What's wrong?" He asked, concern etching his features. He squeezed her hand again, silently encouraging her to speak. Y/N took a deep breath before meeting his gaze once again. Her free hand was buried in her robe pocket, clutching the positive pregnancy test in her hand.

“I know we talked about it before… we spoke about doing it after our wedding. I’m ready to do this and I know you are too but-“ She sighed before slowly retracting it from her pocket, placing it into Dean’s hand. Dean's eyes widened as he stared down at the pregnancy test in his hand, his heart skipping a beat when he saw those two pink lines.

His hand trembled slightly as he held it, his mind spinning with a mixture of shock, joy, and trepidation. He looked back up at Y/N, his gaze intense and full of an array of emotions. "You're... pregnant? We're having a baby?" Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes as she nodded, “After I left for work last night, the beer made me sick and I puked my life out. My boss sent me home early, then I realized my period was late…really late”

A flood of emotions coursed through Dean like a tidal wave. He gently set the pregnancy test down beside him and brought Y/N into his lap, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"We're gonna have a baby," he repeated, his voice full of awe and love. He pulled back slightly to look at Y/N, his eyes glimmering with happiness. "I can't believe it. This is..." He trailed off, too overwhelmed to find the right words to express his feelings.

This wasn't real. Is what his mind screamed at him.

Y/N was more than pleased with Dean’s reaction to her positive pregnancy test. Clinging to Dean for dear life as she sobbed, “We’re gonna be such bad ass parents” She chuckled through tears. Dean chuckled softly, holding Y/N tighter against him. He buried his face in her hair, taking in her scent and relishing in the feeling of her in his arms.

"We definitely are," he agreed, his hand stroking her back soothingly. "We'll be the best damn parents our kid could ask for." All while saying this, he knew what had to be done. Desperately trying his hardest not to cry, because this is all he wanted, but he knew he couldn’t have it.

“Do you have to work today?” Dean asked her tenderly as he traced circles on her back. Y/N shook her head, feeling the comforting touch of his fingers tracing her back. "No," she murmured, "I have today off, thankfully." She snuggled closer to him, relishing in the feeling of his warmth.

"Why? What’s up?” She asked curiously, tilting her head up to look at him. "Just asking," he said lightly, trying to keep his voice steady. "I have some stuff I need to take care of today.” He explained. "I’ll be gone for a bit, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?” He placed a kiss on her forehead, attempting to mask his pain with a smile.

Y/N nodded against his chest, feeling a slight sense of unease but not wanting to push the matter. "Okay, baby, I’ll be here," she replied. "Just be careful, alright?" He nodded, pressing another kiss to her temple. "I will," he reassured her.

Reluctantly, he gently eased her off his lap and rose from the bed, grabbing a shirt from the dresser. "I should get going though. I love you, princess." Those words struck Dean to his core. Y/N watched him get dressed, her heart heavy with worry and confusion but she plastered a small smile on her face. "I love you too, charming," she told him.

Once Dean was gone, Y/N sat quietly on the bed, her heart heavy with confusion. It was as if something was off about him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She tried to push the thoughts aside, knowing he probably had something important to take care of, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.

With a sigh, she laid back on the bed, trying to find comfort in the soft sheets and the familiar scent of the man she loved.

Once out in the garage, Dean leaned against Baby, his shoulders slumping as the weight of what he needed to do hit him all at once. With a sigh, he got in his car and started the engine, the only thing on his mind was the decision he had to make.

____________________________________________

Sam jolted awake in his bed to the sound of the door opening downstairs, it was way early in the morning, he instantly clutched the baseball bat he had under his bed. Gently padding over to the door.

Sam slowly opened the door, his grip on the baseball bat tightening as he strained his ears to listen for any sounds. Hearing the faint sound of movement downstairs, he cautiously made his way out of the room, keeping the bat raised just in case.

He saw the figure of a man in the dark house rummaging through the China cabinet as he peered from the corner. Sam's eyes widened as he saw the figure in the dark. He stayed hidden behind the corner for a moment, his heart racing as he tried to decide what to do.

He gripped the bat tighter, launching himself at the ‘intruder’. Dean swiftly dodged the attack and tackled Sam to the ground, pinning him down with his body. “That was so easy, I’m embarrassed for you?” Dean quipped. "Dean?" Sam exclaimed, breathing heavily, "What the hell are you doing here?" Shoving his brother off of him to push himself to his feet.

“I was looking for a beer” Dean joked, patting Sam on his shoulder. A wave of nostalgia washed over him at the interaction. “In the China cabinet?” Sam questioned, his brows furrowed as he padded over to the wall to flick the light on. His eyes glanced over to the table to see a box of their mom’s expensive knives.

“That’s mom’s silver” Sam pointed out, “Sam-” Dean sighed but his brother cut him off. “Wait, you broke into the house to steal Mom’s silver?!” Sam lowly exclaimed. “It's not what it looks like, okay? I didn't have a choice” Dean tried to defend. “Oh really? What's so fucking important that you gotta steal from your own mother?”

Dean grimaced, raking his fingers roughly through his hair as he tried to find the right words. "You want the truth?" He grumbled. The disappointment in Sam's voice was evident, and it cut deep. But he knew he couldn't tell him the truth. At least not yet. "Yeah. Yeah I do," Sam urged him as he nodded, Dean sighed before coming up with a shitty excuse.

“I owe somebody money.” Sam rolled his eyes. Typical Dean, he thought to himself. “Who?” He asked. “A bookie. I lost big on a game. I gotta bring him the cash tonight” Dean lied. “I can’t believe we’re even related” Sam mumbled, shaking his head. Dean’s face dropped, his heart aching in his chest.

“Sam, I’m sorry” Dean apologized sincerely, “Yeah” Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry that we don't get along. I’m sorry that you and y/n/n aren’t friends anymore because of me. And I wish to hell that I could stay and fix it, fix everything.” His voice cracked. “I wish I could stay and be a father….but I gotta do this” Dean said, his voice filled with determination.

“People’s lives depend on it” Dean sighed heavily before picking up one of the silver knives from the red box. “What are you talking about, Dean?” Sam asked lowly, confusion clear in his tone. “Nothing. Forget it. Just…uh…” Dean said as he turned back to his brother. “Hey. Tell Mom I love her. And tell my princess that I’m so sorry” Dean said with a sad smile.

Sam's confusion turned to alarm as he watched Dean pick up the knife. "Dean, what-?" he started to say, but before he could finish his thought, he saw Dean's sad smile and his stomach dropped. Dean turned on his heels to walk out of the room. “Dean” Sam tried to stop his brother from leaving.

“I’ll see you, Sammy” Dean said tenderly, pulling the door open. He gave the house one last sorrow filled and painstaking look. Then he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Sam stared down the shut door for a few seconds, his mind spiraling. “What the hell, Dean?” He muttered to himself.

He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his gut as his worries about Dean only increased. Sam was left standing in the doorway, his heart heavy and his mind racing. He couldn't understand what had just happened. Why had Dean been acting so strangely? Why had he stolen the silver, and why had he talked about people's lives depending on it?

Sam's mind raced through possibilities and worst-case scenarios, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make sense of it. Immediately, Sam fished his phone out of his pocket to call the one person he knew would get through to Dean.

Dialing Y/N’s number, he waited anxiously for her to answer. The seconds felt like hours as he held his breath, silently praying for her to pick up the call. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, her voice came through the speaker. “Hello?”

"Y/N," Sam blurted out, his voice filled with urgency. "Something's up with Dean" he told her, pacing around the room in agitation. There was a beat of shocked silence on the other end before Y/N spoke, her concern evident in her voice. "I knew it” She grumbled, gripping her steering wheel.

After Dean left the house when she broke the news of her pregnancy, Y/N didn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong as much as she wanted to. So after over an hour of it nagging her, she hopped into her truck and went all over town looking for him.

“Is he still at the house?” Y/N asked Sam quickly. "Uhhh…" Sam hummed as he peeled back the curtain. The Impala was still outside with Dean sitting in the driver’s side, seemingly lost in thought. “He’s still outside” Sam answered, still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened.

"But he was acting strange. He said something about owing money to a bookie and people's lives depending on it. I don't know what to make of it, Y/N" There was a short pause on the other end as Y/N absorbed this information. "That doesn't sound right at all,” she said, her voice filled with worry.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam agreed, his anxiety growing by the minute. "And then… he told me to tell you and mom that he's sorry and that he loves you" he relayed, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and concern. Y/N's heart sank at the mention of Dean's message, a knot forming in her throat. There was an undeniable feeling of dread in her gut.

Sam looked back out the window, his eyes falling on Dean who hadn’t shifted from his spot since earlier.

Her mind was racing, wondering if this was because of her unexpected pregnancy. So she tried her best to formulate a plan, even in this stressful time. “Okay, listen to me very clearly, Samuel. You go outside and keep him there for as long as possible. I’m on my way” Y/N instructed him sternly.

"Got it. I’ll keep him there," Sam assured her, his tone set with determination. “I’ll even pretend to be mad or something.” Y/N’s instructions were clear and concise, giving Sam a sense of purpose and a small hint of optimism, which he desperately needed at this moment.

Meanwhile, Dean was sitting in the Impala, lost in thought for God knows how long when suddenly his passenger side. Sam plopped into the front seat with a heavy sigh, causing Dean’s head to snap in his direction. “Get out the car,” Dean exclaimed sternly. “I’m going with you.” Sam insisted.

“You're just gonna slow me down." Dean growled. “Tough!” Sam sassed. "This is dangerous and you could get hurt!" Dean shouted. “Yeah. And so could you, Dean!” Sam shouted back. Dean was still trying to find a comeback when they suddenly heard the sound of screeching tires.

Their heads whipped around to see Y/N's truck coming to a stop a few yards back from the Impala. Y/N quickly jumped out and sprinted over to them. "What's going on?" Y/N asked breathlessly as she yanked the backdoor open, her wide eyes fixing on Dean with concern.

Dean was taken aback by her sudden appearance, feeling a mixture of relief and guilt seeing her there. "You shouldn't be here," he muttered, struggling against his own desire to reach out and hold her close.

"I don’t care. Sam told me everything. Whatever stupid thing you’re about to do, you’re not doing it alone. And that’s that," Y/N asserted firmly. Sam exchanged a knowing glance with her, silently impressed by her determination. Dean’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her, a mix of annoyance and affection.

He knew better than to argue with her once she had her mind set on something. Whether this was really her or not, he’s pretty sure every version of her would fight his stubbornness if she needed to.

His eyes glanced between Sam and Y/N with shock, he could understand why she would be so stubborn, but not Sam. If they weren’t close here, if Dean was so horrible that Sam wanted nothing to do with him, why would Sam stick his neck out for him?

“I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” Dean asked Sam in confusion. He sighed deeply, tearing his eyes away to face the windshield. “Because you’re still my brother,” Sam muttered. A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she placed a hand on her stomach.

The two words stung Dean, cutting deep into his heart. ‘Still my brother.' His eyes glanced down to Y/N's stomach as she subconsciously placed her hand on it. His heart thumped painfully in his chest, knowing that he would never get to experience that with her.

"Bitch." he smirked at the two, Sam’s brows furrowed in offense as Y/N smiled. “What are you calling me a bitch for?” Sam stuttered, Y/N let out a snort of amusement. “You’re supposed to say, ‘jerk’” Sam’s brows furrowed again. "What?” Sam muttered under his breath as Y/N snickered, Dean rolled his eyes before putting the Impala in drive.

“Nevermind” He huffed. Y/N placed her hand on his shoulder from the backseat, “Asshat” She shot at with a grin. Dean chuckled under his breath in amusement, his chest swelling with the familiarity, “Nutcase”

____________________________________________

Y/N was half asleep in the backseat, her hand resting right over her stomach, lazily tracing circles around the navel through her shirt. She tried to focus on getting a somewhat proper rest having been on the road for more than 12 hours. The hum of Baby’s engine was the only sound that echoed through their ears.

Dean’s eyes landed on Y/N through the rearview mirror, the painful ache in his chest resurfaced as he watched Y/N trace her navel, gently caressing her own stomach, almost as if she was comforting their unborn child before it was even in this world yet.

He wanted so badly to just reach over and do the same, he always knew she’d make a great mother, even if y/n wouldn’t admit it to herself. But he had to pull himself away from that nagging feeling. The voice at the back of his head that was begging him to be selfish for once. He had to focus. He had a mission.

“What’s in the bag?” Sam broke the silence, pointing to the brown paper bag laying next to Dean. Y/N cracked open one of her eyes, “Nothing” Dean huffed, focusing his gaze on the empty dark road. “Nothing?” Sam sassed, “Yeah, nothing” Dean snapped back. “Just open the damn bag, I don’t wanna hear any bickering” Y/N grumbled in annoyance.

Sam scoffed before picking up the back. “Fine” He said, “Fine” Y/N mocked back, earning a glare from him. “You don’t wanna do that” Dean snorted. “Oh, really?” Sam sassed again as he reached into the bag, pulling out a container of lamb’s blood. Y/N gasped theratically as Sam did this, his own eyes widening with shock.

“What the fuck is that?!” Y/N exclaimed, pushing herself up in the backseat. “Blood” Dean shrugged, both Sam and Y/N’s eyes twitched at him. “Yeah, we can see that it’s blood, Dean! What the hell is it doing here?!” Sam shouted. Dean’s smirk widened, “You guys really don’t wanna know” He snorted.

“No, we really do wanna know! We really really do wanna know!” Y/N yelled, crossing her arms over her chest. Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, y’all are gonna find out sooner or later” He sighed, “I needed a silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood” Dean explained casually.

The car fell silent, he craned his head to see Sam and Y/N staring back at him with wide eyes, jaws practically touching the floorboards. Dean had to hold back himself from laughing at their faces, the look they had was hysterical.

“You needed a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood, why!?” Sam exclaimed. “Because there’s this creature, a djinn, and I have to hunt it” Dean stated. Sam and Y/N’s faces dropped, “I let an insane man impregnate me” Y/N muttered to herself, her voice going up and octave as she threw herself back into the seat, looking around in disbelief.

“Okay…stop the car..” Sam began calmly, “I know how it sounds” Dean shot back. “Great. Just….stop the car” Sam tried again, y/n was still staring out the car in disbelief, her jaw hanging. “It’s the truth, guys. There are things out there in the dark. There are bad things. There are nightmare things” Dean insisted, Y/N’s eyes snapped over to him as he continued.

“People have to be saved, if we don’t save them, then nobody will,” Dean said determinedly. Sam and Y/N could feel their heads spinning, trying to make sense of what Dean was saying while still trying to process his previous statement about the silver knife. "You're telling us there's some monster out there you want to hunt?" Y/N asked disbelievingly. "Yeah" Dean said as if it was obvious.

"And you need a silver knife dipped in blood to do it?" She continued, her eyes never leaving his. "Uh-huh" Dean confirmed nonchalantly, his focus still on the road. Sam and Y/N shared a disheveled look. She decided she had had enough, pushing herself over from the backseat and into the middle of the two Winchester boys as Dean drove.

“You’ve gotta be losing it,” Y/N declared, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and disbelief. “And you can’t just go and hunt some ‘djinn’ that supposedly exists, you have no business getting yourself tangled up in something crazy like that!” She cried.

Dean shot her a quick side glance before returning his focus back on the road, “It’s not a ‘supposedly’ thing. These things are real” He stated matter-of-factly. Y/N shook her head in disbelief, her eyes wide, “You’re insane” she muttered.

“Look, man, we wanna help you, alright. We really do but you’re having some kind of psychotic breakdown so…” Sam chimed in, attempting to fish his phone out of his pocket. “I wish” Dean muttered. “Baby…” Y/N said to him tenderly. Dean’s hands tightened around the steering wheel at the soft tone, the nickname making his chest ache with yearning.

He briefly closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing thoughts. “Save the pet names…you don’t mean it like that” he huffed under his breath, opening his eyes as Sam dialed a number on his phone. Y/N physically flinched at his harsh tone as he rolled down the window and snatched Sam’s phone out of his hand before tossing it out of the window.

“What the fuck was that, Dean?! That was my phone!!” Sam exclaimed, whipping his head around in shock. Y/N’s mouth dropped, “You just threw his fucking phone out of the window!” She gasped. Dean ignored them both, his gaze fixated on the road ahead, “I’m not going to a rubber room Sammy and y/n/n, and we got work to do” Dean said calmly.

“We were just trying to help you out, Dean!” Sam shouted. “We don’t want you to get hurt!” Y/N added, tears brimming in her eyes. That made Dean know for sure this wasn’t his girl, because as much as she was a crybaby for sad movies and cute animal videos, she wasn’t so easy to break. “What, you two protect me?” Dean snorted in amusement.

“Yeah!” Sam and Y/N exclaimed in unison. “Oh, that’s hilarious” Dean chuckled sarcastically, turning back to face the road. “Why don’t you twojust sit tight and try not to get us all killed?” Dean demanded before turning on the radio. Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Saturday Night Special’ began booming through the Impala’s deck again.

Sam and Y/N sat back in their seats, speechless after being chewed out by Dean. They exchanged a look before facing the windshield again, both of their minds swirling with thoughts as Dean’s music blared through the stereo. Y/N’s hands slid down to her stomach, gently caressing the skin where their unborn child was growing inside of her.

____________________________________________

The Impala pulled up to the familiar warehouse, Sam was passed out in the backseat, snoring rather heavily. After almost accidentally punching Y/N in his sleep, once again, she shunned Sam to the backseat, leaving an unconscious Y/N in the front seat. Her head was nestled in Dean’s lap, using his thighs as a makeshift pillow.

Dean’s hand moved down to Y/N’s hair, his fingers gently stroking the strands. The aching feeling in his chest increased every time he looked down at her sleeping form. His eyes scanned each detail on her face, the curve of her lips, everything.

It has been a long time since he had seen her look so peaceful, she seemed so relaxed and calm as she slept. It was a sharp contrast the way she usually was; stressed, anxious, worried and overthinking about everything.

Dean sighed heavily before fishing his flashlight from his jacket, shining it in both Sam and Y/N’s faces. A wide grin playing on his lips. Sam’s eyebrows crinkled together as the light shined in his face, his eyes fluttering open as he groaned. “Wha—” He muttered, confusion written all over his face. Y/N on the other hand, let out a loud whine.

Twisting in Dean’s lap to face his stomach before shoving her face into his shirt in order to block the bright light. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty and sasquatch” Dean chuckled, shifting in the seat. Sam grumbled incoherently, rubbing the sleep out from his eyes. “Where are we?” He mumbled, still trying to wake himself up.

Y/N remained pressed against Dean’s stomach, trying to fall back into her semi-comprehensive state of sleep. “Well, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Dean replied with a light chuckle. This made Y/N shoot up from her place in his lap. Dean chuckled again at her reaction, a smirk on his face as he turned off the flashlight.

She narrowed her eyes at him before glaring at Sam, who in turn, gave her a small sheepish smile. She huffed in annoyance before looking out the window. Y/N’s eyes flickered over to the warehouse, the air of the cold night wafted through the open windows, Dean’s body heat couldn’t keep her warm anymore. She shivered slightly, bringing her hands up to wrap her arms around herself.

“We’re in Illinois” Dean answered Sam’s previous question. “And you think something’s there?” Y/N’s voice was thick with sleep as she asked. “I know it is” Dean said firmly, his eyes narrowed at the building with determination. Sam and Y/N exchanged a nervous look before turning back to him.

The trio all held their own flashlights up, the abandoned warehouse/ruins Dean remembered he was attacked by the Djinn was exactly the way it was. Thunder clapped outside, bellowing through the dark hall as lightning filled the sky.

Dean led the way, his footsteps echoed through the abandoned hallway as they walked. Y/N stuck by his side while Sam followed behind them. She was starting to get a bad feeling, the warehouse was dark, cold and damp. So instinctively, she reached for her fiancé’s hand, interlocking their fingers together.

“See? There’s nothing here, Dean” Sam insisted. “Look, our parents are gonna be worried sick about us, babe. Come on, let’s just go” Y/N pleaded with Dean. Dean gritted his teeth, his grip on Y/N’s hand tightened slightly. “Shh” he hissed. Sam and Y/N exchanged another nervous look, stopping in their tracks when they heard the sounds of a girl crying. “What the fuck is that?” Sam gasped.

“Both of you, stay behind me and keep your mouths shut” Dean instructed them, his voice laced with authority as he let go of Y/N’s hand, using his body to cover her. His free hand instinctively went to shield her belly. They both nodded, falling behind him as he moved forward. The crying got louder with every step they took.

Sam and Y/N’s eyes went as wide as saucers when their eyes landed on the decomposing corpses of a man and a woman. The same ones Dean saw back at his ‘house’. Y/N brought a hand to her mouth, a sick churning in her stomach at the sight of the dead bodies. The urge to puke was poking at her as Dean kept his face stoic, the confirmation that none of this was real was creeping up on him and it devastated him.

“What the fuck?” Sam gasped again, swallowing thickly as Dean’s eyes flicked over to a young girl who was tied up by her wrists. She had a large gash in her throat, her skin looked dirty, as though she hadn’t bathed in months. But she still looked somewhat alive, his eyes piercing into Dean’s.

It was the girl that was haunting him. Dean moved closer to the girl as Y/N reached over to grip Sam’s shoulder, trying to hold up her balance. The urge to puke was growing stronger. “Dean, wait…” Y/N mumbled, her words almost incoherent with the bile threatening to rise up her throat. He didn’t listen, only moved forward.

The girl was staring back at him, her eyes bloodshot and dark. “Dean, don’t” Sam spoke up, watching the scene unfold. But Dean still didn’t listen, he went straight up to the girl, crouching down to her. She tilted her head to the side, as if to study him. “It’s her,” Dean gasped as the realization hit him.

It confused them how Dean knew this girl, but they still felt the need to help her. For Y/N, seeing the young girl in such a state brought out the maternal instincts she never knew she had. “Dean, what’s going on?” She asked urgently, attempting to reach over to untie the girl, along with Sam. But Dean stopped them, “Shhh” He hushed them when he heard footsteps.

Quickly and quietly, they all hid behind a large tank as the Djinn entered the room. The young girl was shaking as the heavily tattooed creature padded over to her, “Where’s my dad? I don’t know.” The young girl sobbed, her voice absolutely desperate and broke. The Djinn didn’t answer, he just inched towards the girl whose feet were hanging slightly off the ground.

“No. Don’t. No. Where’s my dad?” She pleaded weakly as she tried to shuffle away but it was no use. The djinn brought his hand up to her face, placing his fingertips to the sobbing girl’s face, “Sleep” He said, his fingers lighting a small glow of white before fully expanding into a large dark blue light. The girl shivered in his touch, “Sleep…” He said again, caressing her cheek.

The girl soon fell unconscious as the Djinn placed a sickening kiss on her cheek before unhooking the saline bag that was hanging on an IV stand. He then brought the bloodied thin clear hose to his mouth, ingesting her blood.

Y/N felt sick to her stomach, her throat closing up at the scene unfolding in front of her. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t, it was like she was completely frozen, not able to move or break her view from the girl.

Sam wasn’t faring much better, a visible shiver shot through him at the sight. His head felt like it was spinning when the djinn started feeding off the girl, his eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly parted.

Dean, on the other hand, had never felt so angry. His body was tense and his jaw clenched.

Y/N couldn’t hold it back anymore, the bile in her throat built up and she immediately let chunks blew all over Sam’s shoes, causing the younger Winchester to gag in disgust as both the scene unfolding and the sight of the djinn drinking the girl’s blood.

“Agh, Jesus!” Sam hissed, lowly. But it seemed like the djinn didn’t notice, it’s back was turned and it was still in the middle of feeding. But Dean caught the sound of Sam’s gag and Y/N’s heaving, he shot the pair a glare and held his finger up to his lips, signaling them to stay quiet.

The djinn finally finished feeding, letting out a satisfied moan as it pulled the hose out of its mouth. A chilling smile crept across its lips as it left the room. “This is real? You’re not crazy?” Y/N began to hyperventilate along with Sam as she wiped her mouth, buckling over as a pain struck at her stomach.

“She didn’t know where she was. She thought she was with her father” Dean muttered, the wheels turning in his head. The boys then stepped out from behind the tank, moving closer to the girl. Sam held up a weak Y/N, his arm draping around her midsection as Dean clenched his fists.

“What if that’s what the Djinn does? It doesn’t grant you a wish. I just- it makes you think you has” Dean swallowed harshly. He was hoping that somehow, someway, it could’ve just been a super fucked up wish. And he could’ve fixed his relationships with his family. Finally get on F/N’s good side. Be a better brother, be a better fiancé….be a better father.

“Look man, that thing can come back, alright? And we need to get Y/N to a hospital, she’s weak” Sam pleaded with Dean as Y/N’s head tumbled on his shoulder. But Dean didn’t hear him, all he heard was a ringing in his ears, his head snapping to the other side of the room where a light shone over head.

Dean slowly stepped closer to the light, flashes of his own body hanging from a ceiling filled his vision. Causing the elder Winchester to choke on his own spit, his throat constricted as air refused to enter his lungs. “Dean, baby. Please” Y/N’s weak voice pleaded with him. “What if I’m like her?” Dean finally let himself say out loud. “What if I’m tied up in here some place? What if all this is in my head?”

Part of him knew, that voice nagging him at the back of his head knew. “I mean, it could, you know…maybe give us some kind of supernatural acid and then just feeds on us slow,” Dean muttered as he studied the girl’s face. Sam’s jaw dropped at Dean’s words, his brain going into overthinking mode, he was about to say something but stopped when he heard a low whimper come from Y/N.

Her head was heavy on his shoulder. “No, Dean, that doesn’t make sense, okay,” Sam gaped. Y/N’s weak eyes flickered to Dean once more, her breath was slightly ragged and labored from when she had puked. “Please” Y/N croaked, clinging onto Sam. Dean turned to face them.

“What if that’s why she keeps appearing to me? She’s not a spirit. It’s like more and more I’m catching reality flashes. You know? like I’m in here somewhere, I’m catatonic. I’m taking all this stuff in but I can’t snap out of it” Dean put the pieces together.

Y/N, weak as she was, peeled herself from Sam and forced herself to walk over to Dean, her legs were shaking and it was hard to keep herself standing upright But she reached out for him, her hand landing on his arm. “Dean” She gasped. “Look, you’re right. We were wrong, you’re not crazy. But please, we need to get out of here. Fast.” She pleaded, her words coming out thick and choked, trying not to puke again.

Y/N ran her hands up the back of his neck but it made Dean feel sick rather than safe. Dean narrowed his eyes at her, clenching his jaw before roughly pushing her off. Luckily, Sam caught her before she could hit the ground. Y/N and Sam both went wide-eyed at Dean’s sudden roughness. Y/N’s face crumbled, her expression filled with hurt as her eyes began to water. “Dean?” She whispered, her voice so fragile.

But Dean’s face was hard and emotionless, his eyes darkened as he stared back at her. “What the fuck man?! She’s pregnant!” Sam exclaimed as he carefully helped Y/N back onto her feet, his arms held protectively around her. “I don’t think you’re real” Dean gaped, feeling as though he had been shot in the heart. “I don’t think either of you are real.” Dean shook his head, slowly backing away from them.

Y/N let out a choked sob, her bottom lip quivered, the urge to keep herself together was getting weaker. Her head fell into her hand while Sam looked ready to punch some sense into his brother’s head.

He gritted his teeth before helping Y/N to lean on something before storming over to his brother, shaking his roughly. “Did you feeling that? You feel this? I’m real! Y/N is real and so is your goddamn baby! This is not an acid trip! We’re real and that thing is gonna come down here and kill us for real. Now please” Sam pleaded with Dean, his tone filled with desperation.

Dean’s face remained stoic, “There’s one way to be sure” He clenched his jaw before retracting the silver knife from his jacket pocket. He then raised the knife towards Sam. “Woah, Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah! Stop!” Sam cried, his hands shot up into the air, as if to surrender. Scuffling over to shield Y/N who was still clutching her stomach, writhing in pain. But Dean didn’t believe it for one second.

“Dean, what are you doing, man? What are you doing?” He pleaded with Dean, his eyes widened in panicked confusion. “It’s an old-wives tale. If you’re about to die in a dream, you wake up” Dean stated. Sam’s face fell, he knew exactly what Dean was going to do. “No, no, no, no. That’s crazy, alright?!” He protested. “Maybe” Dean shrugged.

Y/N’s head perked up, her eyes widened at Dean’s words as she finally understood what he was about to do. “Dean, no, don’t!” She shouted as Sam used his arm to stop her from approaching Dean. “You’re gonna kill yourself- Okay!” Sam exclaimed when he tried to apprehend Dean but he drew the knife on them in a warning manner. “Or I’m gonna wake up” Dean shot back.

“One or the other” Dean breathed heavily. “Look, this isn’t a dream, alright? We’re here, with you, now, and you are about to kill yourself, charming” Y/N pleaded with him, her voice sounding suddenly stronger. Dean narrowed his eyes at her, “No, I’m pretty sure” He growled, “Like….90 percent sure” He blinked before turning the knife on him, ready to stab himself.

“Wait!!” Sam bellowed. Dean’s head snapped over to the side when he saw the figure of two women, one in a white nightgown and the other in a black. Mary Winchester and M/N L/N approached Dean with sweet smiles on their faces. His heart dropped in his chest as he watched from all corners. Jess appeared, then F/N from another corner.

Y/N was suddenly healthy and well again, slowly walking up to Dean. “Why’d you have to keep digging? Why couldn’t you have left well enough alone?” She asked, her voice wasn’t sounding much like her own. “You were happy.” Sam added as Mary and M/N moved and began walking besides Y/N. “Put the knife down, honey” M/N said gently.

“Listen to her, Dean,” Mary added just as tenderly. Dean was frozen in place, his eyes wide, shifting from side to side as the women in this nightmare, his nightmare, advanced towards him. His heart was hammering in his chest, he looked like he was ready to have a panic attack. The knife loosened on his grip as he looked over to Y/N, his eyes wide like a frightened child.

This wasn’t real… this couldn’t be real. It’s not real.

“You’re not real” Dean’s lip trembled, tearing welling up in his eyes to say this to his mother and M/N, subconsciously tightening the knife in his grips. All three women frowned, “None of it is” He spat. His eyes glancing down to Y/N’s stomach, he felt as thought he had been shot, once again.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s still better than anything you had” Mary said encouragingly. “What?” Dean gasped. “It’s everything you want. We’re a family again” M/N added, offering Dean a small smile. “Let’s go home,” She urged him. “But I’ll die,” Dean’s voice broke.

“The djinn’ll drain the life outta me in a couple of days” He shook his head, part of him wanted to be selfish and take the offer but his conscience wouldn’t let him. “But I’m here with us, it’ll feel like years…” Y/N chimed in, taking Dean’s hand into hers to place it on her stomach. “…like a lifetime”

Dean’s breath hitched at Y/N’s words. He was torn between selfish temptation and morality, his mind was fighting with itself. The feeling of his child under his hand was so real and it was making him falter.

The tears began to fall down Dean’s pale cheeks, he looked absolutely heartbroken. He didn’t know what to do, the women around him had everything he ever wanted but it wasn’t real. None of it was real. His throat was tight, he could feel the bile rising from his stomach but he tried to hold it in.

Mary brought her hand up to caress Dean’s cheek and M/N took Dean’s free hand in his. “We promise. No more pain or fear.” Mary said sweetly as Dean nuzzled his cheek into her hand and tightened his grip on M/N’s hand. “Just love, comfort and safety” M/N added in an urging tone.

Dean’s eyes reopened, still trained on his palm that was resting on Y/N’s stomach. Both mothers stepped back, allowing Y/N to wrap her arms around Dean, running her fingers through the nape of his neck. “Dean. Stay with us. Let’s go home and get some rest” Y/N pleaded.

Dean’s eyes met with Y/N’s, staring into those gorgeous (e/c) irises that he’ll never get tired of looking into. She looked so beautiful, so healthy. It was too good to be true. The idea of her bearing his child, them being parents together, the idea of her actually loving him back was all too good to be true for Dean. His lip quivered as he reached to cup her cheek, caressing his thumb on her soft skin.

“You don’t have to worry about Sam anymore. You get to watch him live a full life” Jessica chimed in. Dean’s brows creased as his chest ached. Y/N leaned up to capture Dean’s lips into a gentle slow kiss. The kiss was long and tender, it felt so real, and it was making this so much more painful for Dean.

He could feel his heart breaking as tears continued to fall down his face, a strangled gasp escaped from him. But Y/N didn’t let go. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and his hand remained firm on her stomach. She pulled away for a breath, her bottom lip trembled as she leaned her forehead against his, “We can finally have a future together. Have our own family. I love you, charming” She whispered.

“Please” Y/N pleaded, the look of desperation in her eyes was enough to bring Dean to a puddle, it took all in him not to crack right there and give in. He stubbornly shook his head, “No you don’t….at least, not like that” Dean whispered back, his voice hoarse as he once again denied Y/N’s love for him.

A frown took over Y/N’s beautiful face, her eyes watering up as the words stung her. “Yes, I do” She insisted, her hands moving up to cup his face so he wouldn’t look away, to look her in the eye. “Dean, I do, I love you” Her voice was pleading, she wasn’t lying. The words were written all over her face, her heart was laying bare for him.

This wasn’t real… this couldn’t be real. It’s not real.

It was Sam’s turn, the younger Winchester stepped forward and Y/N released her loose grip on Dean. “Why is it our job to save everyone?” Sam asked in a calm voice. “Haven't we done enough?” He added, the look of despair on his brother’s face was extreme to the point where Sam was willing to do anything to keep Dean here.

“I’m begging you. Give me the knife” Sam begged him. Dean’s eyes trailed the room. They went to F/N, who was yet to say a word, but he had an encouraging look on his face. “Give him the knife, son” He finally said. Dean’s eyes then went to Jessica, before trailing over to Mary, M/N, Sam and finally Y/N. He gave her stomach one last look before leaning down to press a kiss to it.

Y/N’s lip curled into a small sad smile as he pressed a tender kiss to her stomach before drawing back to stare solemnly into her eyes. They were glossy with tears, she didn’t say anything, afraid that her voice would betray her. Dean’s eyes softened slightly as he stared down at the woman he loved.

His throat was as tight as it was before, but it felt more painful now. His heart ached, it hurt to say what he was going to say next. “I’m sorry, princess,” He murmured. With that, Dean reared the knife back before driving it into his stomach. A chorus of cries filled the room. “DEAN!” Sam and Y/N screamed.

Reality, 2007

Joliet, Illinois

“DEAN!” Sam and Y/N screamed when they stormed the ruined warehouse with Jo, guns blazing, all armed with silver knives dipped in lamb’s blood. Y/N’s stomach dropped, suppressing a scream when she saw Dean tied up from his wrists, a bag of his blood that was being drained was propped on an IV stand. He looked as pale as ever.

Y/N, Sam, and Jo advanced into the room further, eyes locked on Dean. She felt her stomach twist painfully as she took him in; bloody, bruised, pale. He was unconscious, most likely from the blood loss, he was too weak to lift his head.

“Dean” Y/N whispered, her voice shaky as her mind ran a mile a minute. Just staring at him was making her want to break down and cry. “Oh, God. Come on” Sam pleaded as he reholstered his gun and began shaking his brother.

“Dean, sweetie, please” Y/N begged, placing both her palms to his cheeks, gently tapping him as his eyes fluttered open. Jo reached down into Y/N’s boots to take out the butterfly knife she had stored there, flickering it open.

“Oh, Auntie Em. There’s no place like home” Dean moaned and groaned from the loss of blood. “Thank God, I thought we lost you for a second” Sam breathed out in relief, the pain clear in his voice. “Y’all almost did” Dean grunted, his face creasing with pain as Y/N yanked the IV needle from his neck.

“Come on, let’s get you down” Jo said quietly as she began to cut away at the ropes. Sam and Y/N held Dean up, not seeing the Djinn that appeared behind them. “Sam! Y/N!” Dean screamed, warning them. The sound of Dean’s voice, screaming their names, made the pair of them whip their heads around in horror.

The sight of the djinn made them both freeze for millisecond, stunned. The two instantly kicked into action, attacking the Djinn while Jo desperately tried to cut away quickly at the stubborn roping, bounding Dean’s wrists.

Both hunters tried to stab the Djinn with their knives but it was faster and stronger than them, it dodged their attack, gripping them by their wrists.

“Come on, hurry up!” Dean yelled at Jo, yanking at his wrists. “I’m trying!” Jo screamed back, quickening her pace, the two were horrified.

Y/N raised her foot, high kicking the Djinn across his face (thank you cheerleading) dazzling the creature. He backhanded Sam into a railing, the hunter went headfirst into it, also dazzled. The Djinn suddenly grabbed hold of Y/N’s throat, a gasp left her at the unexpected attack. It yanked her backwards, holding her in its grip.

Y/N struggled in his grip as he picked Sam up by his throat, attempting to squeeze the life force out of the two. Y/N reached her hand out in an attempt to summon her discarded knife on the ground with her mind but it was no use, the lack of air was causing her to grow light headed, her focus was minimal.

She was losing her touch as darkness slowly crept into vision, her eyelids grew heavier as she struggled to keep eye contact with Sam, who was equally as dizzy. She could see Sam flailing about, his lips moving but Y/N couldn’t hear him through the loud, continuous buzz that was ringing in her ears.

Suddenly, Dean and Jo appeared behind the Djinn, the younger huntress buried the knife in the Djinn’s spine. A sickening pierce echoed through the room as the Djinn groaned, gargling on his own blood. Her face contorted with anger as she twisted the knife for good measure.

They watched as the Djinn collapsed to the floor with a strangled moan, his grip loosening on the two, allowing both Sam and Y/N to break from his grip. Y/N let out a strangled cough, filling her lungs with oxygen and trying to regain her breath.

Dean turned his head to look at Y/N and Sam, who were both slumped against the flooring, both dazed. “Hey! You two okay?” He asked urgently, placing his hands on both their shoulders. “Yeah” Sam croaked, his voice hoarse when he swallowed. “Fine” Y/N nodded, reaching up to her neck to feel the aching skin where he gripped her.

Jo breathed out in relief as she crouched down to place her hand on Sam’s cheek. Sam winced as he leaned his cheek into Jo’s warm gentle touch on his face. The pair stared at each other for a moment, both glad the other was okay.

Sam was the first to break eye contact, he forced himself up from the floor, letting out a sigh, his legs felt like jelly. His eyes shifted over to Y/N, he extended his hand out to her, silently asking if she was okay. Y/N looked at him, letting out a shaky breath and nodded, taking his outstretched hand in hers.

Dean then suddenly remembered the girl from his dream, his head snapping behind him to see her tied up the same way he was. His face fell with instant sorrow when he saw her bound state, she was in a gown that was torn, her hair was messy and disheveled, her face was pale and lifeless.

Dean felt anger as he began to approach the girl, his legs stumbling as he attempted to stand up. His legs were still weak and wobbly from the Djinn venom. Dean brought his fingers up and pressed it to the side of her neck. His eyes widened when he felt the light thumping of a pulse, “She’s still alive, guys!” Dean exclaimed with relief as Jo reached up and cut the girl down and Dean retracted the IV needle from her neck.

Dean cradled the almost lifeless girl in his hands, “I got you. I got you. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? I got you. I got you” Dean breathed out, even though weak, he held her up in his hands. Y/N smiled to herself as she watched Dean cradle the girl, his voice was soft and gentle as he murmured soft little reassurances to her.

Shushing her as if he was trying to soothe a child. She and Sam shared a concerned look however as Jo frowned. All fearful and unwilling to imagine what Dean went through in just a span of a few hours.

____________________________________________

Dean was sitting on his bed in the motel room, reading one of Y/N’s playboy magazine’s while Sam was on the phone with the hospital and Jo was lounging on Sam’s bed. Y/N was making a cup of tea for Dean, per her request, to bring his strength back up.

“Okay, uh, thank you so much for the update. Okay, bye” Sam said into the phone before hanging up. “That was the hospital. The girl’s been stabilized. Good chance she’s gonna pull through” Sam informed Dean, who just nodded in return. “That’s good,” Dean grunted. “Yeah” Sam sighed, settling in the bed next to Jo.

Y/N returned to Dean’s bed, handing him the cup of tea. “How about you? You alright?” She asked gently. “Yeah, I’m all right, thanks” Dean cleared his throat, unable to keep eye contact with her as he accepted the cup of tea. Sam, Jo and Y/N shared an unconvinced look.

“You should’ve seen it, guys. Our lives…” Dean sighed. “You were such a wussy” Dean shot at Sam jokingly, making the room erupt in chuckles. “You weren’t there man, sorry” He said to Jo. “No worries” Jo chuckled, shaking her head. Dean took a small sip of the warm tea, making sure to not burn himself.

“So we all didn’t get along then, huh?,” Sam asked. Dean’s brows raised suddenly, “Well- Nope” He replied bluntly, shaking his head. Y/N sat down next to him on the bed. “At all?” She asked, raising a suspicious brow. “Yeah nope” He chuckled dryly, lying through his pearly white teeth, taking another sip of the drink.

“Man, I couldn’t imagine us not getting along” Sam muttered, the look of disbelief on his face matched the other two. “I thought it was supposed to be this perfect fantasy” Y/N sighed, crossing one leg over another. “It wasn’t- It was just a wish” Dean cut her off, his eyes trained on his tea.

“Yeah, I wished for Mom and M/N to live. If they never died, F/N would’ve never told dad about hunting. And we all just never…uh…you know” Dean said sadly. The other three had frowns on their faces, feeling the pain they all could relate to in him. It was a hard life they led, full of loss and suffering, they all felt it.

“Well I’m glad we do” Sam said, “And I’m glad you dug yourself out Dean” Jo added, both meaning their heartfelt words. “Dean,” Y/N said quietly, placing her hand on his leg. “Most people wouldn’t have had the strength. They would’ve just stayed.” She assured him.

Dean lifted his gaze from the tea, meeting Y/N’s comforting eyes. “Yeah, well. Lucky me” He replied with a small dry smile, his eyes scanning her face. Dean’s eyes flickered over to Jo and Sam, both were staring at each other deeply. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I gotta tell you though, Sammy. You had Jess, you were gonna give mom grandkids. And Y/N…your dad was alive and you were gonna get married to Xander” Dean lied.

Sam’s head snapped up, an uncomfortable look instantly appeared on his face. “Yeah,” He replied awkwardly, rubbing his face. This wasn’t exactly a topic he enjoyed talking about. A frown set on Jo’s face, she knew about what happened to Jess after Sam gave her a deep dive of his life and she did the same with him.

Y/N saw the frown appear Jo’s face, immediately coming to her defense. “Yeah, but, Dean, it wasn’t real. Nothing that happened in your head was real, nor will it ever be” Y/N told him gently. Dean paused for a minute, feeling as though he had been shot for a third time.

His heart was practically ripped from his chest at her words. Dean clenched his jaw, “I know….but I wanted to stay.” He confessed gruffly before gulping down a mouthful of tea. His eyes glanced down at Y/N’s stomach, memories of the Djinn’s world were still fresh in his head. “I wanted to stay so bad. I mean, ever since F/N and Dad….all I could- all I could think about is how much this job’s cost us”

“We have all lost so much..w-we have sacrificed so much” All three of them stared at Dean, surprised at his confession. “We know,” Y/N affirmed gently, her eyes staring at him with a mix of understanding and sadness. Sam nodded in agreement, the pain and suffering was something they all had. “But people are alive because of you. It’s worth it, Dean” Sam countered.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “It is, man. And- it’s not fair. And- you know- it hurts like hell” Jo chimed in, scoffing dryly. “But like Sam said, it’s worth it” She assured him. “And you’ve got us” Y/N reminded him softly. All three hunter’s eyes were on him, their faces were sincere.

Dean swallowed deeply, his eyes glanced back down at his tea. A small part of him wished he was still in the dream. Y/N nudged him gently, “Hey” She whispered, bringing up her pinky. “I pinky promise” She smiled softly.

A small smile cracked on the corner of his mouth, a small chuckle left his lips. Dean gently raised his hand and linked his pinky with hers. “There, you can’t break a pinky promise” She winked, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

____________________________________________

Authors Note: “yOu CaNt BrEaK a PiNkY pRoMiSe” oh sweet summer child, just you wait until the next episode💀 (as someone who takes pinky promises very seriously, I’m already in tears)

ANYWAYS, did I break your heart? Did I make things better? Or are you plotting my demise?😂😂😂

I hope everyone loves this one! Be sure to tell me what you loved or what you hated, I can’t wait to hear your feedback🥰

Thanks for reading and have an amazing day loves!

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy

@hey-its-zoe @modiddys-blog @thvxr @tommysaxes @cookiemonstermusic258

Xoxo

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velvetdolor · 18 days ago

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♰𖣐♰ 𝔇𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩’𝔰 ℭ𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥. | iv

chapter iv. in paradisum.

pairings: exorcist!hongjoong x psychic!reader (ATEEZ ot8 x reader but hongjoong focused.)

genres: 18+!! paranormal, religious horror, fantasy, smut, stupid-yet-gifted exorcists lol

chapter specific warnings: death, violence, gore, child death/possession, and arson. [currently unedited as of 05/16/25] smut warnings: asphyxiation, unprotected sex, marking, coping mechanisms.

summary: “the order” is a secret organization of exorcists blessed with special abilities dedicated to expelling higher class demons—located in an ancient crypt hidden beneath the vatican. when an exceptionally gifted child is followed by prophetic omens and falls into possession of an unclassified s-class demon—kim hongjoong, considered one of the greatest exorcists of the 21st century, is dispatched under the mysterious order of convincing an enigmatic psychic hiding away in a metropolis to accompany he and his team in what might be their most daunting exorcism yet. WC: 6.3K

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[chapter iv: in paradisum.]

Seonghwa holds a black umbrella over Dorian as they stand before the large procession. Fitting for the occasion, the overcast afternoon was dreary to each lost soul that trudged towards the freshly dug graves. Young priests and friends of those who’d passed in the wake of Dorian’s possession carry heavy caskets–morose and avoiding the young boys' eyes in fear that their own rage would seep from its orifices. Dorian’s face held a gait of acceptance far too old for his young body, as he clung to the very reprimand Hongjoong had sent him on that fateful night. As someone of immense power his responsibility lied within his ability to control himself and confront the frightening truths of his powers, of his curse. Since then, he hasn’t cried–hasn’t expressed any emotion beyond false joy, and at times it felt like Dorian had to play the part of a child rather than actually being one.

The rest of you stand with your heads bowed in respect, hands tied together at the forefront of your bodies, dressed in all black suits that slowly weighed heavier at the onslaught of rain. An old Latin liturgy reverbs through the air as the prayer is sung, carrying the ‘bodies’ into rest, and bids their permanent goodbyes with a song. You felt it in the air– the end was coming. The tides of war that unknowingly floated above everyone’s heads with the exception of the lot of you, throbbed through the air like the thrumming of a drum. War that frighteningly felt like an inevitable loss, and the one surviving chance was barely a sliver of hope. Hongjoong’s eyes drift towards you, inperceptibly to others, and slowly inches a palm towards yours to ease into a slow cradle. Releasing a deep sigh, you squeeze the weight of him before staring ahead at the crowd of grief.

Not everyone at The Order is an orphan. Many were– but there were also devout priests who carried gifts that eventually recruited them into the more common sides of the clergy, in regards to exorcisms. They weren’t fit to be Infernal Hosts, but they were gifted. Unquestionably so.

Sobbing Mothers who grieved their children fell weakly onto hallowed ground as Fathers cried for their boys– one in particular bellowed for his youngest son while gripping onto a familiar necklace that forced Dorian to swallow and turn away. His son was the youngest of the common clergy. The caskets were empty, only carrying small amounts of ash and minor trinkets, memorabilia.

The Order had a saying that implemented the practice of cremating their Exorcists–” From the fire we came and to the fire we return to–may it blaze and welcome all of those who herald its holy light. In its warmth, may our bodies alas release the weight of our Earthly burdens and pains. Gone is the body, ash to the soul.” In unison, this was uttered boldly into the air, deep in its cadence. The promise of a casket was purely symbolic to provide families with some semblance of comfort.

It was customary for a portion of the ashes to be returned to the deceased's surviving family, and the ashes of those who were orphaned upon their arrival to The Order were solemnly placed into a separate and Holy Crypt at the headquarters. Complete silence carried itself into the wind as you watched the final shovel of dirt flutter over their children's final resting place. For a moment, you wonder where the souls actually go after all of this– did heaven at least keep its gates open for you all, despite its gambles? You cynically release a huff, bewildered by the fact that even though you were once the guardian of the gates– you had no clue. The existence of hell felt like the only real thing that’d welcome you.

The walk back to the Dormitory was heavy. Nothing was said– even Mingi had nothing to say to lighten the crew. Your gaits were dimmed beyond repair for the rest of the night, and you fleetingly worried for Jongho, who had immediately retreated into his quarters with a bang after asking Seonghwa if he could be alone for the night.

Everyone else dispersed around the dormitory– some of the men went to hang out with other clergy members on the lower floors. The deaths of the men they’d known as boys shook them with the reminder that time is never promised. Neither is love eternal.

Hongjoong follows you into your room as you shrug off the damp suit jacket and tug at your tie, loosening it before lighting a cigarette shakily. The one thing about being raised alone is that you never had to interact with grief directly– you didn’t have to relearn loss. He stays silent as he follows your actions, watching you as you leaned against your desk.

You didn’t want to think about it. About anything, really. Nowadays, everything you did in life was always tinged with the reminder of impending death, and at times with grotesque envy at those who died before they knew what was to come. You weren’t blessed with the choice of ignorance. A heavy energy permeated the room as Hongjoong moved towards you to stand between your legs, as your eyes met in understanding.

You fall back at the weight of his sudden kiss before pushing back into it with equal intensity. Threading your fingers through his wine washed hair, as you tug him closer into you, panting heavily against his mouth and shoving your tongue to lick at its roof. A groan leaves him as he bruisingly grips your hips, rolling into you with an empty mind. You snuff out the cigarette against the dampest part of your shirt.

Since that night, neither of you have touched each other intimately. Stray gazes from across the room or light touches disguised innocently enough kept your meetings secret from the rest of your order, but the need to focus on the matters at hand didn’t need to be addressed– you both already knew that.

Today, the grief was too heavy to sleep alone. You craved for a half empty mind and a warm hand pressed against your stomach. The dampness of your button ups rubbed roughly against one another and you both hastily unbuttoned your dress shirts, sliding them off of your bodies roughly to have cold skin meet cold skin.

His silken skin rubbed against the thin cloth of your bralette as he pulled your ass to meet your core with his hardness. A breathy sigh leaves you as you cradle his head that bent itself into the crater of your neck and at the parting of his mouth to lick at your jugular with the flat of his tongue. The sound of his heavy breathing eased into your ears, and you find yourself tightening around nothing. “Hongjoong, please. I don’t want to think right now.”

You found your eyes watering for the first time in company, as Hongjoong rises to rest his chin on your temple after planting an empty kiss onto it. “I got you baby, everything’s okay.” He ghosts his mouth over your pulse before sucking at your collarbone to leave a mark. Shushing you softly when your body begins to shake in both desire and need for emotional reprieve. For a moment, he holds his arms around you before shrugging his pants off with you following suit. There was something melancholic about this moment– like the weight of everything that’s inevitable stood in the same room with you. Hongjoong too, was inevitable. Even as you try to find reprieve from destiny, she still found her way in– your medicine is simultaneously your ailment. You craved him and you knew it was meant to happen, and you’d fight it more if you didn’t find him as lovely as you did.

The cold autumn air drifted into your room from a cracked window and you could feel it drape itself around your contrastingly warm core.

There’s an intentional pause, as if Hongjoong had been counting down to this very moment.

The sound of your underwear finally dropping from the ankle it desperately clung to broke the fragility of the moment as he’d rubbed himself against your opening. A shaky sigh leaves him before he pushes himself into you.

“Fuck.” He drops his head against your shoulder to still himself, wanting to stay seated inside of you to bask in the feeling of your warmth embracing him. You tilt your head back with a light moan, a thought drifting itself in the back of your head that wished you were in the space to take him in his entirety– to commit his details to memory: his colors and visage.

But there was no room for that right now.

Hongjoong’s hips move forward with a sturdy bang, and you choke a gasp in your throat at its rhythmic onslaught. The sound echoed throughout the room as his pace built and slid against you. Your wetness is slick, sliding and dampening your thighs before dripping asynchronously off of the table. His hands grip and tug your ass to him as close as possible, and your loud moans are muffled by the coolness of his shoulder. The rain on your skin is erased by the sweat of your bodies, as you rock against to meet his thrusts. Hongjoong bends to lick your breasts into his mouth and pays no mind to the rocking desk and the torrid sound it makes against the wall.

“Hongjoong, more.” A groan leaves his lips as he unlatches them from your tit to lock back onto yours. Heavy, breathy whines leave his mouth to drip onto your tongue, his saliva pooling around the edges of your smile. Your legs wrap themselves around his waist when he heaves you momentarily to drop you back onto your cold sheets, goosebumps raising on your skin. Hongjoong soothes himself back in with a choked moan before grinding into you with teasingly slow but harsh thrusts. A hand combs through your hair and your throat is bared at his rough tug. He bites it with a force that nearly draws blood. “Do you still want more?” His eyebrows raise in that coquettish, jester-like way of his– all cool and fatal smoothness as you suffocate under the weight of his unintended charms.

“I want you to break me.” is all that leaves you. The pleasure is almost dizzying and you refuse to let any other thought in.

“You’re a greedy woman.” is all he says, chuckling against your mouth to leave a kitten lick before turning you around and raising your ass to meet his hips before you could process it.

Your eyes go white at the stinging stretch that accompanied this particular thrust, stifling a scream as your body is thrown a bit forward onto the sheets. Your cheek presses against the flat of your pillow as it swallows your moans. Unconsciously, you shift forward and tug yourself away from him in surprise.

The sound of your wetness sticking to his thighs as Hongjong guided you onto his cock by your waist makes you flush and feel the pressing of his palm against your spine to hold you down. “Take what you begged for, Strega.” You could hear his grin, a small but maniacal laugh leaves him when he sees you shake around him, screaming yourself dumb into the bed at the sudden brutality of his touch. You feel his hand smooth over to your stomach, pressing it as he hunches over your body to guide it towards your clit, rubbing lightly with his middle finger before slapping his hand against it harshly. Your arms fall completely to your sides as a high-pitched whine leaves your lips, you try to tug yourself away to stop yourself from orgasming–not wanting to give in just yet, but Hongjoong only laughs progressively harder when he tightens his grip around you, pounding his hips even harder into you when your body falls flat against the mattress. “Come on Strega, I thought you could take it? Isn’t this what you wanted, huh?” He cooes at you, slithering an arm around your throat in a semi-hard chokehold. You should’ve known he had a sadistic streak.

Your back automatically arches as his pelvis pummels upward towards the fat of your ass, vulgar smacks accompany your choked mewls as he keeps his arm locked around your neck. Hongjoong moans against the back of your neck as your bodies grow sleek with each other's sweat, and you quickly learn that he’s a vocal lover. “Are you on the pill?” he pushes a strained pant and the veins on his neck protrude a little at the blood rushing throughout his body.

You can only give a weak shake before turning your head to meet his gaze for a bit, pushing your hips upwards to take him in entirely leaving little to no space between your bodies as they ricochet against one another. He simply raises a brow “Don’t tempt me to knock you up–lord knows what kind of child would come from the two of us.” but the shakiness of his words betrays him and his eyes drift to where you bounce against him– creamy in the sweetest way and he almost feels himself lose his vision temporarily as he rolls his eyes back in bliss.

You’re whimpering at his unrelenting pace, clenching and unclenching in pulses and the throbbing is delicious enough to have you clutching at the arms wrapped around your neck.

You’re begging at this point–dancing between edges of light and darkness, delicious delirium and disguised softness.

“I want it inside, Hongjoong.” The thought alone brings you to the edge of your own orgasm before his own reactive throbbing threw you overboard, as a breathy moan pulses out of his body when you milk him of everything he has.

You could feel his thudding heartbeat against your back before he smooths off of you, laying back with an arm over his eyes. His other hand pats around in search for your own and pulls you onto his chest, opting to hold you there.

The dark indigo light from the fading evening outside is the only thing illuminating your figures. For a moment, you’re allowed to drift your eyes around mindlessly, the only thing tethering you to the present was Hongjoong’s arms– but in the distance a yellow light peered into your window.

A crucifix, lit up in the night.

It served as enough of a reminder, throwing you back into the arms of the helplessness that drowned you.

“Hongjoong.” you call out to him and he only hums lowly, not moving his arm that covered his eyes still.

“What happens now?” Hongjoong stays silent for a moment, and you almost brush off your own question–ashamed that you expected him to know more than the rest of you; to carry on even more weight than what you all were originally supposed to share.

“We wait for our moment to strike and take Dorian. Until then, we train and do as The Order bids.” He states it objectively, hanging the hard truth in the air. Hovering it casually for you to see.

“Okay” you reply with softly.

Hongjoong brushes your hair flat against your head before taking a strand and twirling it around his fingers. Humming with a small laugh of amusement before he speaks

“You know, I think our little San has a crush on you.”

You jolt a little from the whiplash you got from the turn in conversation, not knowing how to respond to that. While you and Hongjoong weren’t together and may never be, considering that you all are marching to your probable deaths, it was also far from casual. Hongjoong was an eccentric man, so maybe this isn’t too out of reach.

He chuckles a bit at your confusion but opts to continue

“He has a thing for energies, you see. I can tell because he brightens when you’re around and often catch him lingering around cooridors looking for you–hoping to run into you by ‘coincidence’”

“I didn’t know you had a thing for sharing Hongjoong– just a week ago you’d confessed your love for me, no?” You take this in full stride, still carrying the air of casualness at the face of your strange dynamic with Hongjoong. You’re starting to realize that this seems to be the common tone in dialogue– unperturbed at his strangeness.

He shakes his head lightly. “Strega, there is so much of the world that’s been ripped from you. I have seen it from inside of you. If we had more time, I would’ve been able to crave you in ownership without guilt–but we don’t. How dare I bar you from love you’d never been allowed to know before? I have loved you my entire life, Strega, but the truth of the matter is that you don’t know the weight of a heart yet. So, love as you please, the world is ending as we know it.” You both lay in silence after that, as Hongjoong continued to comb through your hair with his hands.

“Is that really okay with you?” A part of you wonders if this is simply an act of selflessness.

In all of his usual mysteries Hongjoong only replies with “It’s already in the cards, Strega.”

Ah, you see now. Another inevitable.

♰𖣐♰

Friday, The hour of Venus.

Your body thrashes in your sleep as a storm passes through Vatican City. Hongjoong sleeps on the other side of the bed after both of your cumulative body heat pushed you both on opposite sides.

A barrage of flashing images again, that same golden light–Dorian.

He’s kneeling in that lonely chapel, fighting against himself and calling out to you.

“Mama, I don’t know what to do. Please don’t leave me alone here.”

Dorian gasps in sudden pain before falling forward, blood seeping through his shirt just above his shoulder blades. The vision flickers as he moves his eyes to gaze at you, and you simultaneously see an older version of Dorian before it flickers back to the present. The dark current in his eyes alerted you– you had to go to him. He was losing– of course he was. Dorian’s a child with little to no training and you reprimand yourself for leaving him there without thinking properly.

You feel Raziel peering into your dream curiously before he sees what you’re seeing– shocking you, so you’d wake up.

You bolt from the bed with a harsh gasp, before turning to look at Hongjoong’s figure, as he lies still with sleep.

‘Y/N, I can hold the ground once we arrive at The Order, but we’d need to merge as we’d done in the past. The…being inside of him will take advantage of any loose ends, and we can’t afford to have a barrier in case we’d lose our link to communicate.’

You nod before throwing a knitted jumper on and hiking a pair of pants past your ass with an ‘oof!’ running out the door without much precaution or goodbye. Your thundering steps alert a slightly inebriated Seonghwa as he made his way up from the sixth floor. Somewhat sobered by your obvious haste, he stops you quickly

“What’s wrong?” His eyes are tight with apprehension as you shake your head after saying you needed to get to Dorian. Seonghwa immediately tugs you by the wrist and down the steps without another question.

When you arrive at the Crypt, you lead Seonghwa down into a section he had never seen before. The air was more wet there– humid and somehow even darker than the rest of what he’d known despite being illuminated by an array of Edison bulbs and torches.

He suddenly recalls this particular tunnel–one he had been led to by sheer accident as a mischievous boy, despite being told not to wander off by the clergy. Naturally, he was curious by the hollow, untouched section of The Order’s headquarters, but an unknown air had him instinctually staying away. You push at a specific rigged area of the stone formation before it opens up and reveals a winding, descending staircase, spanning a seemingly endless number of levels. He raises his head to see that the only light provided there was an open ceiling, where residual moonlight and city light pollution guided you both downwards without as much trouble. It took a while before you both had reached the bottom and Seonghwa is greeted by the sight of an ornate chapel– a golden crucifix lighting its entry way.

When you enter, Dorian is once again standing before a multitude of prayer candles. He grips a blood-stained rosary in his palms tightly and you tell Raziel to control his presence when you merge with him–wanting to avoid killing Seonghwa because now really isn’t the time.

Dorian speaks, but his voice isn’t his own.

“I’m honored that you’d come here yourself, Strega. With my brother too–long time no see Raz.” The voice carried sweet and calm cadence, resting like water above the soul.

You say nothing but feel a strange emotion from within you that wasn’t yours.

Raziel.

“Perfect timing actually, and conveniently you brought the infernal sword with you.” He finally rests his eyes on Seonghwa, an unsettling maze of darkness in his eyes before continuing

“What interesting gifts this new generation of Exorcists have. I must say, I really wish you guys were able to see what a ruckus you cause down there.” He whistles as an act of being impressed.

“–Giving them a run for their fucking money.” He laughs lightly, unavoidably angelic. Somethings never change and old habits die hard, you think to yourself.

“Which is why I hope you understand why exactly I had to bring you down here today for a bit, but I wouldn’t want you to miss the show. It’s a gift I thought up for you all, as my makeshift welcome party.” Something forms in the pit of your stomach, and Seonghwa raises his hand to grip above his spine before the Lightbringer interrupted

“Ah-ah.” He waved Dorian’s small finger in a no-no formation. “You should save your energy for more important things, Infernal weapon. By now, there’s should be an avalanche of calls trying to reach you but sadly– there’s no… reception down here. Super outdated of The Order I might say. You see, I have to admit I’m sort of a big shot around here and having a few fanatical supporters is unavoidable. That’s all I can say, but I’ve held you back long enough– time to go and see my surprise. Let me know what you think someday, Strega? I part ways with you by ending with this last reminder: remember, it was human’s that did this.” His presence in Dorian’s eyes covered his irises completely, only holding the light of one flickering and solitary flame. A serene smile stretched across his face, and you realize that Dorian’s features seem to alter a bit when he takes his place. “Off you go now.” is all he says before shooing you off with a hand and turning to face the candles, watching calmly as they flicker.

Your pale as you push your bodies up the numerous steps, heart thrumming in fear for your Order or what awaits you the moment you have cell service. Seonghwa pushes ahead of you once you leave the crypt and reach the entry of the regular church entrance– his cellphone immediately buzzing before he answers in a panic. You both hear the staticky panic shrieking into his ears and grow cold at what you hear. It’s Yeosang.

“Seonghwa, where the fuck are you? Something weird is going on at a children's orphanage and parish on the outskirts of the city, there’s too many of them–” The sounds of blood-curdling shrieks fill the air as the line goes dead and the three beeps that follow hauntingly echo as you turn to each other before calling the other members, and to no avail– no one answers.

“Raziel, can you track one of them? Or can you sense any strange omens, Infernals in the air?” before he responds, the young nun’s spirit appears before you in a flurry

‘Strega! The Parish of Polycarp– something really bad is happening. Go now! There’s no time to explain."

You turn to Seonghwa with blown out eyes “The Parish of Polycarp!”

He’s shaking, overwhelmed by a dizzying number of emotions but finds it in himself to nod, catching sight of a taxi making its way to your side of the road. He quickly hails it before hastily uttering the address to the driver, begging him to get there as fast as possible with promise of higher pay.

You’re holding onto the car handle as the driver speeds down towards the outskirts of Rome and upon arriving an intense wave of nausea hits you. Seonghwa hands a wad of cash over to the taxi driver before dashing out, pulling you with him.

What greets you is a cacophony of sounds–some inhumane and others of anguish. The body of a priest is flung out the open entrance of the parish and he groans at the impact before passing out. The moment you step in you see blood dripping from the crucifix straight ahead. A green flash thunders in the upper right side of the room, and you see Yeosang deliver a force field that ricocheted a small body across the room. Horror dawns on you quickly when you realize that what he hit was a child. Quickly, you have Raziel hide both of your presences.

The child, however, only rose again with distorted laughter as she charged towards him again. Horror and anguish painted over Yeosang’s face clearly, as he held back in hopes there was a way to end this with her life still intact. There had to be.

It was then that you realized that something was horribly, horribly wrong. The children’s bodies held a strange discoloration to their skin, baring puncture wounds in their hands– stigmata.

You couldn’t feel any energy within their bodies other than the demons that ran rampant within. They were already dead.

Those were intentional marks, and you felt sick after realizing that this was the result of a mass failed ritual. They weren’t stigmatas that were bestowed naturally– they were forced.

Chaos ensued from all sides–Seonghwa already marched into action, snapping Mingi out of it with a bark. “Mingi, wake up! Don’t stay still.” You see Mingi’s shaky gait, still struggling to push through his moral struggle. Of all people, you knew Mingi was the most affected by the child possessions.

You overhear Jongho and San from the other end of the room, screaming warnings to each other unintelligibly. Yunho and Hongjoong stood before the body of an older priest, who’d been a part of the parish–Yunho holds a blade before striking his heart. There was a palpable darkness in their gazes as they did this, and you see Yunho’s hand crackle with energy as he pushes the flat of his palm against the priest's temple. A ghastly and shrill shriek that carried the distortion of a multitude of voices hung and echoed through the air, and you stare as Yunho attempts to exorcise the being within him.

Your stomach dropped when you stared at the sigil that seemed to be burned into the priests' skin, before whipping your head around the room to see similar markings on the bodies of the children. They were dead long before they’d been possessed, and they were branded. There was no exorcising them– the demons were tethered to their bodies until they decomposed back into the Earth. Their bodies were now homes for the selected Infernals.

There’s no other way– you couldn’t allow them to leave this church. This much you knew from your time as the portal. Your eyes drag across the room finally resting on the figure you were looking for.

Wooyoung.

You’d need his help, but you weren’t sure if he’d be able to pull through with it, else you’d have to seal this off all on your own. At this point, the tether connecting the demons to their branded bodies could only be solved by physical means– even Seonghwa’s spiritual weapons couldn’t do much unless he’d manifested them physically but would only incur needless butchering and a long night of fighting. Wooyoung clutched his head in his hands as he hid in a corner of the church and blood stained his rolled-up sleeves–cassock discarded. You don’t know what happened but now’s not the time to hesitate.

You hastily make your way to him, shaking him when he finally perceives your hidden presence with a gasp, positively frightened. Gripping onto his shoulders with resolve, you stare at him wide eyed and urgent.

“Wooyoung, it’s too late. There’s no saving them– they were gone long before we got here. All of them are corpses being puppeted by demons making home in them. No matter how much we try to psychically exorcise them– it won’t work. The demons are bound to their bodies until the bodies decompose or disappear entirely. They can’t leave this Church. All hell will break loose. I need your help, because I need a leeway. These things could fight for hours on end, especially if they know we won’t harm the bodies they’re in. Your fire Woo– it could keep them from being able to run out of the church if we barricade them in… and it would also burn everything that they could attach to. If you do this, I’ll get the chance to act as a portal to send them back without risk of any of them escaping.”

Wooyoung's bottom lip trembles, terrified as he reached out to tug at the sleeves of your coat, lowering his head as he grasped onto you– fat tears fall as he sobs in frustration.

“Fuck– Oh god, why? Strega, they’re just kids–” He thumps his head against your sternum, still grabbing onto your upper arms as he thrashed and sobbed.

You hold his head against your chest when you say

“Woo, we can’t let these infernals run free in the bodies of innocent children. There’s no telling what they might do, and I can’t imagine that their souls would be able to finally rest if we don’t stop this now, while we can.” You whisper this into the thick of his hair, stopping mid comb through the locks. “Please Woo, I need your help. This is something only the two of us can do effectively without risking the others as the night thickens. Set them free– your gift is the only one that could truly help doing that alongside me. You and I will carry this sin together.” You’re pleading to him as he slows his tears into silence and moves to stare bloodshot and helpless into your own eyes. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know that he agreed to do it.

You needed to reduce the church and everything inside of it to ashes with Wooyoung’s gift before you were able to act as a portal the moment the brands were removed. He needed to give you that segway, his burning’s the perfect barricade; this was the plan. You had to remind yourself and make a tiny makeshift checklist in your head to steel yourself for what was to come.

You pull a blade out of your trenchcoat after tugging its sleeves up, preparing ahead of time by piercing various scarred sigils, smearing the blood with your thumbs across the entire expanse of your arm– grimacing as you made contact with your own stigmata. The universe was cruel, and you bit back a sob as you stared at the children rabidly fighting the others as they blocked the entry ways.

“Stop! It’s too late–get out of the church. We can’t exorcise them like this.” Most of them stared with apprehension, not wanting to leave the situation as is but also not knowing how to move forward.

You choked back a sob but couldn’t stop your tears from falling “We have to burn everything. Everything.”

Horror dawns on their faces but parts of them already noticed that everything they tried had failed.

“Go– get out now. Wooyoung and I will deal with this.” You see them rise to protest, but you immediately shut them down. “Now’s not the time, go.”

As they rush out, Wooyoung marches to the center of the church, unbuttoning his dress shirt before rolling the sleeves up once more. With a quick roll of his neck, he holds his hands out to drag his hands almost languidly across the sides of the pews, slowly walking towards the center.

The demons stop their laughter to tilt their head curiously before one hissed at a drifting ember, eyes widening in realization. ‘Hellfire!’

By this point, Wooyoung had burnt the surrounding pillars, barricading them in as the beams of the church fell before them. Their screams of panic sounded frighteningly similar to a child's as they started to beg– to manipulate their way out of this.

“You’re going to burn the children, Exorcist?”

You could see the affect these words had on Wooyoung and yell out “No! Wooyoung, don’t let it fuck with you.”

The demons finally take note of your presence when you finally unveiled it, and their eyes widened in horror as they took in the renowned sigils and stigmata on your arms.

“Strega!”

The shrieks only heightened as you turned to Wooyoung “Woo, finish it and get out of the church– it’s starting to cave in, and I need to do my end of things.”

At this, you run back towards the entrance–coughing as the smoke thickened the air.

Pressing you forearms together, you call upon Raziel– dragging your thumb to reopen the already sealing wound on your skin. A white light pierces through the air momentarily as thin as a shooting star slicing across the open space, waiting–opening.

The air shifts as the Exorcists watch you inhale deeply. The parish is officially up in flames and Wooyoung stumbles out of the church to stand next to you, covered in soot. His skin is reddened but not blistered– a common factor of using his ability to more extreme extents.

A faint light radiates from you and your scars as you mumble incoherently in a language they can’t recognize. Tongues.

The group moves forward to stand behind you both as you watch the remainder of the church fall, and your body lurches forward at the familiar weight of pressure passing through your spirit.

You haven’t forgotten this part, and you dreaded it. It always felt like stretching an internalized bruise– pushing at your organs like saran wrap, before disappearing passed you into the frightening place that looms like a death sentence behind you; the infernal, waiting with only a thin layer between your soul and its gate. You don’t count how many passes through you– but your gifts feel like a weakened muscle after so long without its use.

You don’t know how long it went for, but you fall forward once it ends. Catching Wooyoung’s gaze as you both are suddenly aware of the new nightmares that will now greet your restless sleep. Wooyoung alas falls to his knees before crumbling backwards into your form, his loud sobs carrying into the soot-stained wind. You cradle him from behind, wrapping your arms around his larynx, and stare blankly at your irreversible sin.

Before you realize it, a song leaves you. The liturgy that was sung at the funeral not many hours before this fast-landing terror–

You suddenly remember its name now.

In paradisum.

Without your knowledge, you finally break to join Wooyoung in his cries– singing into his shape. You push through to shakily utter a final hope– one you were unable to say was a prayer because you didn’t know to who it’d go.

”From the fire we came and to the fire we return to–may it blaze and welcome all of those who herald its holy light. In its warmth, may our bodies alas release the weight of our Earthly burdens and pains. Gone is the body, ash to the soul.”

You rock Wooyoung’s body before meeting Hongjoong’s strangely empty eyes.

♰𖣐♰

Siren’s corner: i have no clue how i suddenly wrote this today but here i am– somehow devil’s catch is always the easiest to breeze through of all my stories. as some of you may know, i’ve bravely released a FUCK ton of incoming works– but finishing fatal attraction and for the thrill of the hunt is on the top of my priority list. thrill of the hunt may take a bit longer to finish since there’s about three to four chapters left (this includes san’s special chapter, but only two chapters for the main storyline)

i’ve released two special series events/ masterlists for my ateez cinema series (pt.ii) and my ateez mythology series, gods of the old and forgotten world. i recently completed a mini drabble series, i give my first love to you. feel free to check out my masterlist if you’d want to read any of my other ongoing/posted works!

[Siren’s witchy corner/Dark historical facts]

The song mentioned, in paradisum is an actual liturgy, often heard at a Requiem Mass, which is a special type of Mass for the dead.

The liturgy translates the meaning of a souls arrival into the ‘Holy City’, aka Jerusalem with hopes that a choir of Angels would welcome them and they’d finally achieve eternal rest.

My choosing of the name Polycarp was intentional for the church/parish. As in history, Saint Polycarp was Martyred by being burnt at the stake and stabbed with a dagger when the fire failed to kill him. It’s actually quite sad. Very sad.

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