#English Reader

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 1 ~ Purgatory Series.

Pairing: American Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N; American Dean Winchester X American Y/N L/N

Blurb: Purgatory suits you, to be honest. Plenty of distractions to choose from, you can kill as many as to your heart's content. And your heart is one insatiable bastard—it'll do anything to keep the memories of your ex away. Until a face much similar to his struts up into your territory, looking for you, promising you a home you lost too long ago. Your heart melted once before, do you think you would be able to risk it all again for the same criminally handsome face?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Supernatural Wars spoilers, major and minor character deaths, mentions of previous major character deaths, voilence, gore, tons of angst, (sort of, but not really) love triangle, language, self-sacrifices (not exactly suicide), betrayals, etc.

Note: This was written four years ago and English is my second language - I've tried to edit without losing the past-me's "authenticity", but let's face it, spellings ain't my strong suit, and even Grammerly gave up, soooo all the mistakes are mine 🙂🙃.

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Purgatory Series: Part 1.

Today marked the end of the seventh year since you'd been transportated here. In another Universe's Purgatory. One would think it was hard being in a monster realm, but you would like to believe you were thriving. Bloodthirsty monsters, willing to do anything to take each other's lives - and you'd quickly become one of them.

You were a survivor, and you survived against all the odds. You'd faced off with vampires, werewolves, sirens, witches, and even the leviathans, once or twice. You learned how to go about in Purgatory, you learned how to get stuff done around here. No one cared about anyone, except themselves. It was a crooked world, and to live in it, you had to bend yourself too. You had to learn to be selfish, you had to devoid yourself of any mercy you could show to these monsters here.

It was like Heaven.

You'd perfected the art of being a merciless and ruthless monster. You'd buried your emotions deep under, somewhere in your heart. You forgot what hope felt like, you forgot how to act like a normal human being. All you knew was that you lived in a world where the only way to survive was to kill others. There were plenty of distractions here to choose from, you could kill as much as to your heart's content. And your heart was an insatiable bastard—it would do anything to keep the memories of . . .

You were too dedicated to not thinking the end of the sentence. All you did throughout your day was kill other monsters, right and left, and each day, you lost a little part of yourself to your awesome animalistic instincts.

Yet, nothing can save you now from what's going to happen.

Currently, you were in the trees, on the werewolf turf. You were bored and that's why you decided to piss off the wolves by hunting a few of their members. You knew once they learnt of what you had done, they'd come after you out of sheer grief. You thought it's their own fault that they roam in packs even after they've died - it's their own fault that they stay attached. Though, that would keep you busy for at least a week, so you weren't complaining. Finding monsters to kill when they were scared and cautious of you was such an inconvenience.

Speaking of inconveniences, you'd heard that the Leviathans were back in Purgatory. They had returned here after somehow escaping to Earth a couple of months back. They were all killed by a group of hunters, you assumed.

Whoever that is, is one hell of a hunter.

You still remembered when you had annoyed a Leviathan. He had been on your ass for almost a year before you were able to throw him off by faking your death. After that, you steered away from them. Sure, it had been a rather fun year, but what's the point of a rivalry when your enemy is unkillable?

You heard a distant howl of pain; it didn't sound like a normal monster's cry. You stayed in your place in case it was a trap to draw you out. Most of the Purgatory knew you were a curious person, and because of that, you had found yourself in quite a pickle more than a handful of times.

You scooched forward until your body was pressed flat against the thick tree branch. You took out an arrow from your quiver, shifting some leaves with it. When you had the layout memorized, you let the leaves go, nocking the arrow upon your bowstring by bringing your bow to you from around the body of the branch to minimise the chances of plummetting down thirty feet.

In a few minutes, the bushes rustled. You pulled the string taut. Out came a bunch of five werewolves, already talking.

'Damn it, we lost him,' growled one of them.

You were intrigued. Who were these puppies sniffing for?

'Told you it'd be better if we killed him on sight!' snarled the second.

'Maybe we should just give up on him,' suggested the third.

'Are you kidding? I want his blood on my hands! He killed me when I was back on Earth!'

'Yeah, me too,' the second one agreed.

The fifth one said, 'Same. He's a pain in the ass. He's killed at least one-third of the monsters in here. Someone will kill him eventually, and I want to be that someone!'

Their whining amused you, now you just had to see this monster. Who was he who killed other monsters? And most importantly, what kind of a monster would he kill his own kind?

You needed a challenge. You decided you'd try and get rid of this monster yourself. Anything that keeps you entertained is worth a shot, yeah? Worst case, it'll only be a few weeks; best case, months or even a year!

You put back your arrow and remained silent as the werewolves left to find this mystery monster. You couldn't take up a rivalry with the werewolves right now, if you wanted to track this new sensation yourself. You needed no one searching for you if you wanted to find him.

And you found him all right.

A week passed by and you finally traced the Purgatory's new villain.

Word spreads fast amongst the monsters. Turns out he's the hunter who banished the Leviathans back here. He was a human, a normal human who scared half the monsters and the other half wanted him dead.

He was a challenge for you, nonetheless. If he was going to end up dead too, you might as well be the one to do the honours. At least you'd give him a relatively painless death. Living was overrated anyways. And with that in mind, you'd sought him.

You watched him now, resting against one of the trees, constantly glancing over his shoulders, paranoid as he caught his breath.

He had just slaughtered the five wolves you had overheard last week. You had followed them here, right to him, and you had watched, with how much ease he murdered them. He traded in a scratch or two himself, but he still managed to win against them, unarmed and completely alone.

You observed how he bravely extracted the werewolf claw from his shoulder. His green eyes were sharp, but lonely, confused, tired. His jaw clenched in pain, his shoulders tensing every time a twig snapped or a leave crumpled in the distance.

He was wearing a dirty leather jacket, which looked like it had seen better days. Under the jacket was flannel and then a shirt, with it a pair of bloody blue jeans and hunting boots. He was six-foot-one. His bow legs firmly planted on the ground as he tried not to grunt in pain.

And each second your eyes were on him, you couldn't help but think how indeed nothing in Purgatory could have saved you from this.

How nothing could have prepared you for Dean fucking Winchester. The love of your life, the man who left you. He's back . . .

With each passing second, you wondered if he was a form of a mirage. Did your thirst for human love drive you so crazy that you're imagining the man you once loved, with all your heart and soul, in front of you?

Never in a million years, had you even considered the possibility, that you'd see him again, in flesh. It brought unresolved emotions to the surface. Your scorched tear ducts began functioning after more than seven years, but you couldn't let them fall because you'd forgotten how to cry. You hadn't cried since . . . Nope, you don't even go there.

You remember begging God for one chance to make this right, swearing that if you got him again, you'd never let him go, you'd always protect him. Losing him was . . . No, can't go there either.

As he looked back to the blood on his shoulder, you noticed the dark shadow in the bushes nearing his face - it was no friendly beast. Without wasting a single second, you aimed and released your deadly weapon just as the thing appeared out of the bushes with it's ajar lusting maw.

It yowled in dying pain, startling the human who jumped to his feet, raising the weapon he stole from the werewolves. But the lycanthrope fell at the man's feet, your arrow sticking out from it's brain, still in his wolf form, which started to disintegrate soon.

'Who's there?' demanded the human, raising his sword in front of his face as if to protect himself, looking up at the tree you were in. But he couldn't see you past the leaves. You swung off the branch and jumped to the ground, landing on your hands and feet, forgetting to hesitate.

You rose, smirking. Your e/c eyes had an almost inhuman sheen after years of wear and tear in the Purgatory, but it was a mask over your pain. Your hair down, and cut short in jagged edges like you'd take a knife to them. The color of your clothes had faded greatly after years of washing them in the forest river. You stood tall, your bemused self assessing the hunter's reaction eagerly.

He was waiting and watching for you to attack.

Instead, you raised your hands in surrender. You should have attacked, but you didn't. You knew this attachment was dangerous but you couldn't help yourself. You couldn't kill this man.

You had to remind yourself that this man's name could be different, that everything about him could be completely different - all except his face. And no matter how much you wanted to run into his arms right now, you couldn't, because this wasn't your Dean.

But that also didn't mean that you'd be able to take his life, see his eyes stare at nothing after he meets his demise. You couldn't do that to yourself.

'Hello, darling,' the nick name rolled off your English tongue before you could weigh the pros and cons. 'You should be more careful.'

'I could say the same thing to you,' he smiled his "I-hope-you-like-my-smile-because-this-is-gonna-be-the-last-thing-you-see" smile.

He had an American accent, unlike your English one. Even your Dean had had an English accent, but you guessed since this one was from another planet, this one was different. You had seen this one give this smile to the lycanthropes he just killed, and before that numerous monsters that happened to cross his path, today itself. You had been spying on him since the morning and it didn't take you long to know that he was relentless. (It had taken you that same morning to process your shock; you actually need more time, but you'd blown your cover.)

You had seen this exact smile on your Dean too; thus, the shock; but you had to keep reminding yourself that they were different. This Winchester was from another universe altogether. If he was even a Winchester at all.

You temper your insane laugh at his audacious challenge. 'You've only killed untrained monsters till now, who used to attack innocent humans, which means they had no challenge whatsoever in their miserable lives. You really think you can harm me?'

His brows furrowed a little, but the cocksure smirk stayed. 'You all are the same—little barbaric pests I'll have no issue crushing under my foot.'

'Ah.' You understood that he thought you were a monster. 'Your feet won't be big enough to kill a monster like me.'

You placed your bow on the ground, taking but one arrow and setting the rest down. That is all the time you had before the man attacked you.

You ducked his swing, playing defensive. You blocked his punches, and dodged his dagger, waiting for him to grow impatient and make a mistake. He kept attacking you, trying to outlast your strength, chasing you around the small clearing for minutes. He even landed a kick to your shin and pulled your hair once. You leveraged your tree-climbing skills to dance away from his reaching hands, enjoying his frustration. You came close disarming him twice but let him regain his weapon. Soon, he realised he was wasting his time and energy. He stepped back, and you both started circling each other.

'Seriously, are you that scared of me that you won't even attack, sweetheart?'

'If I attack,' you grinned a Cheshire grin, 'you will no longer think of me as a "sweetheart", darling.'

'Well, I assure you, I won't be much of a "darling" either when I slide this blade through your heart and watch the life drain out of your eyes.'

'I like when you talk dirty,' you winked before you momentarily surprised him by running head-on towards him.

You feigned right which is where he blocked with his dagger. Instead, you used your momentum, to fall on your knees and used one foot to swipe his bow-legs from under him. His balance thrown, he slammed into the ground with breath-whooshing force.

He tried to hook his hand around you in a chokehold which you caught by the wrist. You twirled to straddle his thighs, locking your legs at your ankles so he couldn't move his legs, punching his nose when he tried to headbutt you. You plunged your arrow into his left hand that was nearing his weapon and he gasp-yelled in pain.

You punched him while he was distracted, in the neck, the ribs and then stomach, winding him efficiently. You took his right hand and twisted it painfully, at an awkward angle so it would go under his back, waiting till he stopped struggling and realized that he had lost.

You gritted grouchily until he gave up.

'Just make it quick, you bitch,' he panted. There wasn't a trickle of fear in him, his jaw set defiantly.

You had sort of expected that because that's what your Dean would have said and done. Maybe he is not so different.

You contemplated him from this close. The freckles on his face were like red splatters of paint on a pretty-featured canvas. The soft scrub on his angled jaw made him look adorable, yet sexy. His dirty-blond hair seemingly pulled by his fingers in all directions. You'd missed it all. But the thing that your memory disappointed you the most in were his moss-green eyes - they were more beautiful than any human mind could capture.

And all the qualities you had missed, like the fierceness he held himself with. The stubbornness that always seemed to get him within an inch of his life. The unwavering determination and the will to never give up was clear in his eyes. A man so strong, yet sweetly and sensitively empathetic.

Goose-pimples assaulted you and your heart withered.

You leaned down until your face was levelled with his. Your eyes locked with his - locking eyes felt like such a forgotten pleasure.

'I never wanted to kill you, darling.'

'Then, what do you want?' he said, staring right back.

You wondered if you had the same effect on him that you once had on your Dean, and vice versa. The only way to prove that theory would be to see if he could catch you in a lie, however small or big.

'I wanted to see who the new human was,' you lied, tracing a finger down his face, 'trying to overthrow the fear people have of me in here. See, I'm not used to competition in this God-forsaken place, hunter.'

Realization dawned on him, 'You're the terrifying L/N. The first and only human in Purgatory.'

You swallowed your sadness because he didn't notice.

'That is until you came along,' you talked past the lump in your throat, proping up the farce to hide your hurts, 'and stole my thunder. I'm getting off you now, try something funny, and you'll be dead before you hit the ground. In this case, while you're still on the ground.'

He didn't answer as you climbed off him. He grunted as he got up, groaning a little as he removed the arrow that you had pinned him into the ground with. You retrieved your bow and quiver, ready to strike him down if he tried to backstab you.

You couldn't believe that an actual human was in the Purgatory; someone other than you! Much less could you believe that he had the exact face of the only man you ever loved. Your one and only soulmate, in the flesh.

You knew other Deans in other Universes existed. But for one to show up in the Purgatory where you were the only human? For him to be human as well?

It established for you that a God was there, and he had a fucking sense of irony.

'How did you get to know about me?' you made conversation.

His eyes lingered on your face for a few seconds, as if taking you in, minus the hatred this time - there was true hope in him now. You guessed you understood. Thinking that you were alone in the world of angry and cruel monsters, only to find out there was someone like you - it was hope-worthy.

He stood up, taking the sword back in his unhurt hand. Wincing, he touched the skin around his wounded palm.

'You sell yourself short, sweetheart,' replied the tall hunter, taking out a napkin from his pocket and wrapping it around his palm. 'There are rumors about you all over the goddamn place.'

Of course, there are.

'Really?' you raised a coy brow. 'What do they say?'

'Some of them think you're dead, others are terrified of you. And the vampire nest I cleared out three days ago? The alpha said that if anyone could help me . . . it was you. Been looking for you ever since.'

Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, was the chant in your head, but resistance was pointless.

'Follow me.'

And you've done it.

'Wait, just like that?' he scoffed, 'I don't trust you. You just pierced me with your arrow.'

You laughed, 'Oh, darling, if I wanted you dead, the arrow would have pierced your heart. I'm a very good aim.'

'And that should make me trust you?' he crossed his arms on his chest, stubbornly rooting to his spot.

'Who said anything about trust?' you mused, tilting your head to the right. 'The first rule of Purgatory: Don't trust no one. Now, come on, I need to get your hand and shoulder healed.'

He glared at you, 'I'm not going anywhere with you unless you tell me where you're taking me.'

You saw something move behind the man, your protectiveness towards him surged through. You nocked another one of your arrows and shot it, even before the man could think. But that didn't mean he didn't react. After a beat, he hurled his sword at you. And unlike your arrow which missed his face by inches, you felt the sword break your skin.

The arrow struck the beast behind, and it yelped in pain, which was what made the hunter swivel in shock. 'Oh, shit,' he muttered under his breath when the lycanthrope hit the ground with a thud, your arrow sticking out of his heart.

Dean lunged towards you just as you fell forwards. 'I'm so sorry, I thought—'

'Told you I'm good aim,' you gritted out. He lowered you to the ground, at the roots of a nearby tree. 'I have had more than enough chances to kill you. Now, fucking trust me and take the dagger out.'

'You will bleed—'

'Now,' you ordered.

He hesitated for a split second before he used his unhurt hand to firmly grip the hilt of his dagger. 'On the count of three,' he told you. 'One . . . Two—' and he ripped it out of you along with a scream, 'Son of a bitch! What, did you fail in kindergarten?! What happened to three!?'

As the guy had predicted, blood gushed out. The green-eyed man, bit his lower lip, his eyes apologetic, and fast filling with guilt. 'I'm sorry—'

'Shut up,' you rolled your eyes. 'You don't live in Purgatory for as long as I have without always carrying some kind of healing potion.'

His eyes flashed with surprise and relief, his mouth parted in shock. You rolled your eyes again at his reaction, 'Climb the tree I jumped off of. There is a duffel bag, bring that. And do it fas-fast.'

'I won't let you die,' he assured you.

That sentence struck a chord in you. I won't let you die, my love. Not while I'm still alive.

You exhaled sharply to keep the burn in your eyes from escalating. You didn't need this shit right now.

You changed the subject, wheezing, 'Just hurry! The wolves we killed are an ancient breed. They know what you did, killed five of theirs, and I, t-two. They're an old pack, extinct before you were probably born. They can tu-turn into actual wolves, and they'd maul us if you don't leave soon!'

'Right.'

The hunter climbed fast and sloppy, getting back to you in mere minutes. You rummaged through the bag quickly, taking out a flask you kept your healing potion in. You sipped from it, grimacing at the bitter-sour taste.

You glanced at the hunter by your side, slight concern in his eyes and it felt weird, out of place. No one, in a very, very long time, had shown concern for you. But at the same time, it felt natural. It was something your Dean would do.

'You're not worried, are you?' you asked, a hint of humour in your expression.

He scoffed, 'Only because you're my ticket out of here.'

You felt a little hurt by his words. For a second there, you thought that maybe he cared, but you forgot that only because he had Dean's face, it didn't mean that he'd actually care any more than the monsters. You felt disappointed and you hid it well.

'Good. Caring is overrated.'

'Ain't that the truth?' he said before his eyes fell on your wound. It was mending you shut, 'Wow.'

'I know,' you smiled a little. 'Painless and efficient. I just wish it tasted more like whiskey than sewer.'

'That bad, huh?'

'Yep,' you said, offering him your flask. 'You gotta do what you gotta do to survive. Drink up, hunter, just a sip.'

He accepted it, not hesitating anymore to take your help, taking a pull and gagging at the taste. He handed you the flask back again, his wounds filling out with fresh flesh and blood. He removed his handkerchief, now bloody, to see an unaffected palm.

'That shit was nasty,' he shivered a bit, poking his tongue out as if he wished he could wipe the taste away.

'Let's go before the howls begin,' you commanded.

'Is there a safe place we can outlast this?'

You shrugged, 'Sure is. Once they are off our backs, I'll help you.'

You had made several safe houses all over Purgatory.

Your trek with the green-eyed hunter had been a silent one, and tense for so many reasons. For one, you could feel his gaze on you multiple times, but you resisted returning the favour with every cell in your body. Secondly, monsters either avoided your scent these days, or it had mostly belnded into the decor after seven years of being all over the place, but the guy following you still had a distinct smell to him, one would assume, a glowing beacon for monsters.

You climbed up a tree near the river, way uphill. You ushered the man through the mass of leaves that were smelly enough to throw off monsters from around this area. This was one of your few treehouses that had a thick foilage of flowers and leaves to camouflage it.

He silently sat down, and you took a seat on the opposite end of the small house.

Sighing, you threw your head back, a little tired, though you knew you wouldn't be sleeping in here. It wasn't all that safe. It was still a lot closer to the werewolf turf than you'd like, but the man had been running amok for God-knows-how-long - you thought he might need a break. You wished you could give him longer than an hour but those werewolves had noses like . . . well, scary werewolves that could rip any creature into small pieces they sink their teeth in.

'You know, I don't get it,' said the green-eyed man after a few minutes.

You glanced at him in acknowledgement, nothing how large he looked for your house. In your small treehouse, there wasn't much to begin with. A small window in the corner where the fairies agreed to help you with some light, each night, wherever you needed them in Purgatory. It was a deal you had made with them, in return for saving their queen from the Leviathans. A small closet was carved from the wood of the tree where you kept your weapons, a set of clothes, an emergency healing potion, and water. That's about it.

The rest of the space is utilized to spend some days. You can sit there, lie down, and chat with the ceiling which is made of leaves. You would talk to the fairies, but they're all about business.

'What do you not get, hunter?' you asked, annoyed for some reason. It wasn't that he wasn't welcome. You liked it, and at the same time, you didn't. Did that make sense?

Now that you thought about it, maybe letting him tag along was a bad idea. After all, it had been seven years since you were having an actual conversation with an actual human being. Not to mention that this person had died several years ago.

This conversation didn't involve death threats or begging for life. This was a conversation regarding the curiosity about how to survive here. This was a conversation about something that needed brainstorming on ways to get out of here.

And that felt unreal, almost as if you had forgotten how to do it in the first place. It had been so long since you'd lived for someone else.

'Why did you agree to help me? You don't know me that well. For all you know, I could have been put here because I'm a monster.'

You stared at a patch near his feet, the fading sunlight illuminated the filmsy plastic that was used instead of the glass of your window. You didn't want to look at Dean's lookalike, or you would be reminded of how this was the most handsome man you had ever laid your eyes on. And that would mess with your emotions - big time.

You were still a little surprised with yourself that you let him live. Angel, Demon, Monster, you don't spare anyone: that's the rule; especially in Purgatory - everyone needs to die. If you find another of your breed, you leave them alone to fend for themselves, or grant a painless death out of kindness.

Attachment kills. Then why did you help him?

Why should you care?

His eyes are so beautiful, you thought to yourself. You shook your head, this isn't Dean, Y/N, this is another man with his face, who, for all you know, could be a criminal . . .

'I was put here,' you shared. 'It wasn't my fault, I think. I don't know. And I don't know your story.'

His brows furrowed. 'That's it? That's your reason to help me?'

You sighed, trying a different angle. 'I heard everyone calls you a hunter?'

'What about it?'

You leaned back, stretching. You thought back to the days when you were a hunter yourself. How you saved people, how you sacrificed your life for them. It was for the people of your planet that you made this deal with the other factions, the one that deposited you here. They promised to stop the war with your people, if, and only if, the humans sacrificed their best hunter, who also happened to be a Leader, into another universe's Purgatory. Those were their conditions and considering how you were the only one left alive from your time, you were the lamb chop.

'Sweetheart?'

'Hmm?' You blinked at the man in your room.

'You were saying?' he prompted.

'Oh!' you shook your head. 'Right, I zoned out. Well, since you are a hunter too, you know what it feels like to risk your life for others, don't you?'

'It's my job, I guess. You were a hunter?'

You were so much more than a hunter, but you can't dwell on it - bit brings bitter memories. So, you cleared your throat, 'Yes. Did I not mention that? Cream of our planet, if I say so myself.'

He scoffed, 'Aren't you a little overconfident?'

You gave him a mischievous grin, 'Beat your ass, didn't I?'

'Yeah, whatever. So, what's your game plan? I mean, assuming you even know the way out of here . . . Why haven't you left already?'

'I don't know,' you frowned; you never thought of going back. 'There's no one to go back to, I guess.' You looked meaningfully into his eyes, deciding to change the subject. 'What exactly do you want from me, hunter? Cause, if I heard correct, there have been talks about an angel. It isn't a coincidence that you and he arrive on the same day. Did he put you here?'

'You know about angels? Most hunters don't.'

'Yeah, well, I'm not among the most, darling. Where I come from, everyone knows about monsters, angels and demons. Even the non-hunters.'

That seemed to confuse him, 'Don't we come from the same place?'

You opted to avoid that question. 'I'm not a very patient person when it comes to talking or helping, human. What is it that you want from me? Cause, I won't mind exacting revenge on an angel. I used to love killing those dicks.'

'Whoa!' he nervously chuckled. 'No one's killing the angel!'

'You seem defensive,' you observed. 'He, your friend?'

'Yeah,' he told you. 'And no one lays a hand on him, okay? I need to get out of here, with him.'

'All right,' you smirked, raising your hands to show that you understood. 'It's just . . . angels friends with humans,' you snorted, 'that tale never ended well.'

'Why?' he asked. 'I mean, I know most angels are dicks, but a few of them are actually helpful, sweetheart.'

Your heart spasmed.

'Sure,' you scoffed. 'Although, I don't think the angel who killed my brother, best friend and my boyfriend got that memo.'

Remorse and empathy filled him. 'I'm sorry.'

'You didn't kill them,' you shrugged. 'You don't have to apologize, you don't know me. Or I, you.' You scoffed, 'Hell, you haven't even told me your name yet.'

He blinked in surprise, 'Oh, I'm—'

'Tsk, tsk, tsk,' you cut him off. 'I don't wanna know, darling. Name means bonding. And I'd rather not get attached to you, especially because you're gonna leave this place.'

'And you won't?' he pried.

You deadpanned, 'I have nothing, no one, on your planet.'

'You say that as if you're from another Universe,' he smiled. You just stared at him and he realized that you were serious. 'Wait, you are, aren't you?'

You gave him a small smile, 'Most hunters from other worlds don't know about alternate Universes. But you do, since you don't seem too surprised.'

'Yeah, well, sweetheart, you will find that I'm not among the most,' he repeated your words to you.

'Touché,' you smirked. 'Any more things you want to check off your bucket-list while you're here? Maybe sight-see a dead centaur or something?'

'Nope. Just need to get the angel and get the hell outta dodge.' He paused then, 'You're kidding about the centaur, right?'

You smirked, 'You were stuck in amateur hour, dude. Welcome to the big leagues.'

A smile ghosted his lips. 'How long do you think we'll be stuck here?'

'Long enough for a hefty therapy bill.'

The words settled heavily between the two of you.

'Thank you, Y/N,' sincerity occupied his tone.

Your breath hitched as your name rolled off his tongue.

Oh, this stranger went there.

You forgot how your heart used to race when he called for you. How your emotions felt like they were doing a Hollywood Musical routine each time he was near you. How you felt like you'd melt under his intense gaze which promised you that he'd devour you right there if he could.

There was no lover like Dean Winchester and no love like Dean Winchester's.

His random hand-holding, smiling into each kiss you gave him, saying "I love you" at the most random moment possible. And letting the world know that you were his. You still remembered how he'd come from behind and hug you tightly, nuzzling his face into your neck and murmuring sweet or dirty things into your ear - depending on what mood he was in that day.

'You good?' the man brought you out of your reverie.

Your heart turned cold towards him. You couldn't bear to look at him, knowing he wasn't yours. He never could be. Your Dean was dead.

'Don't,' you hissed, 'Don't call me by my name.'

Before he could ask why or point out how rude you were being, you got up. 'Stay. I need some air.'

'But—'

You ignored him altogether and walked out, thinking: I'm so screwed.

A/N: To answer your question, I don't know where all the angst in my writing comes from - I'm just so bad at happinessy stories 🫠🫣.

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@stoneyggirl2 @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear

[thesefallenembers]

the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.

if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.

[baobei-bu]

Clan head!Gojo

[that1geek06]

"English isn't my-"

Hush now my friend, and let me read the absolute beauty of a fic that you have bestowed this world and humiliated the first English speakers with

[briechyne]

Cigarette smoke and old books. Faded sketches and rain-soaked streets. The poetry of solitude written in sepia tones.

[humanjarvis]

headcanon that farspace colonel!caleb gradually stops dropping the g’s from his words. in his new role, he’s forced to wear an unwavering mask of perfection, of accuracy and infallibility—there’s no place for his playful, informal cadence in the fleet’s operations.

and so, as the months go by, he exchanges his signature what are you thinkin’s and where are you’re goin’s for their grammatically correct yet vapid counterparts. 

when you reunite with him, it’s one of the many things about his transformation that make your heart ache, but you’ll never bring it up. you won’t risk crumpling his already fragile selfhood over such a trivial perception.

but the more time you spend together after you reconcile, the more his natural speech pattern peeks through.  

you’re in the midst of a pillow fight, landing blow after blow on his back, when you hear it: “you think you’re gettin’ the best of me? i don’t think so.”

and you’re so overjoyed by his casual tone—his transient return to the caleb you once knew—that you briefly forget what you’re doing, having no time to react before his apple throw pillow smacks you in the face

[solmire]

Cockslut!reader is always beside Satoru.

He is the one, who is trying to hide from you, from your filthy mouth and a little pussy which doesn’t know how to stop and always eager to feel his cum deep inside.

You don’t know how to keep your hands away from such a piece of art. If he were a lollipop you would suck and lick him like it is the last thing you could do before dying.

It’s really funny, that you still suck him off like you are gonna die in a minute and the last thing you would like to feel is his cum on your tongue with a mushroom heavy tip in your mouth.

“H-honey, please… I am empty, I can’t do-ahh-this an-nymore” Satoru was holding the edge of the table for dear life. He is going to cum for a fourth time in a row, and all you did was deepthroating his thick cock for 30 minutes.

“Baby, stop lying” you pull out his cock with a pop sound, your pupils are too dilated, too thirsty for his cock, signaling Satoru that he is not gonna make it alive. The mix of rosy cheeks and plump lips on your face was too much to handle for a poor man especially when he sees how you grope your tits with a free hand, meanwhile the right one was tightly squeezing his balls, making him cry out loud. “I knooow, that these breeding balls are full of semen and just for me”.

“No-no, i-it hurts” he is literally whimpering and pleading you to stop this torture, but the way he grabs your face with his two palms and starts roughly fuck your face tell you the opposite.

Oohhh, you love when he is turning to an animal with the only ability - fuck your face like a pocket pussy. You are not his love of his life anymore, just a stupid face to fuck and a tummy to fill with his cum.

But, is it really the problem?? You are just a loving wife, who is always ready to fulfill a marital duty.

[inkbybambi]

chemistry teacher soap catches gym teacher simon fucking you in the bathroom during a school dance, tattooed hand over your mouth to muffle the pretty noises you make. he doesn’t think either of you notice, until those dark eyes turn on him, a slight tilt to his head in invitation.

soap decides he has a better way of keeping you quiet, stuffing his cock down your throat, enjoying the way you choke on it and the way simon tugs him forward to lick into his mouth, a hum of approval low in his throat.

[k1ranishf4]

☆ Ink and Instinct ☆

☆ Jason Todd x Female Reader

☆ His muscles were screaming, his bones aching and he wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed—or to end up in a coma, preferably. Tasteless joke, he knew, considering that he had literally died and came back, but oh well. None of that mattered when he saw his fiancée, though. Or rather, when he saw the pretty black ink on her radiant skin, right where her womb was.

☆ Content tags/warnings: 18+ content, engaged couple, explicit language, horny Jason Todd, explicit content, soft smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, NSFW, pet names (baby, sweetheart, pretty girl (1x), my love), praise, reassurance, reader got a womb tattoo without his knowledge, information broker!reader, shameless Jason Todd, newfound breeding kink and its consequences (don’t worry, no pregnancy in this), Jason’s thinking with his dick, momentarily shy reader, ticklish reader, humorous and sweet atmosphere, no beta we die like everyone in DC at some point

The fire escape groaned beneath his boots as he landed on the creaky metal, right in front of your shared bedroom window. It became a routine for him to enter the apartment through the window after patrolling, considering that the front door would raise too much attention to him. No one was supposed to know who the Red Hood was nor where he lived, thank you very much. He checked his surroundings again, like he always did, and then slid the window open to climb inside.

Patrol had been complete bullshit, in his opinion. Chasing down an amateur thief who ended up knocking himself out by running into a brick wall because he had looked back at Jason, disrupting a drug deal by the docks, gunning down Penguin's goons after one of them had spotted him—he was tired. And sore. He didn't even know anymore if the dried drops of blood on his jacket were his or someone else's.

He wanted nothing more than to get rid of his clothes, take a shower and melt next to you in bed. You, his perfect, smart fiancée who entered his life as the best information broker of Gotham's underworld. He sometimes still had moments of realization that, yes, he was, in fact, going to marry you. His heart felt way too heavy with love.

Jason thought you might be asleep by now, cuddled up in the warm sheets and sprawled out over his side of the bed again, despite your insistence that you always stayed on yours. He never asked you to wait up for him and you were out like a light by eleven o'clock sharp most of the time, so it was a surprise to see you still awake, music filling the air from the loudspeaker at a volume that wouldn't disturb your neighbors.

He closed the window gently, not wanting to announce his presence just yet. You were oblivious that he was even there, in the middle of changing. He leaned back against the windowsill and crossed his arms as he watched you, still in his whole Red Hood getup. Sure, okay, it might have been creepy of him to watch you change, but he didn't really see how anyone could blame him.

To him, you were the hottest, most sexiest woman in all of Gotham, hell, in the whole world. Smart, witty, beautiful, and so kind, he could die again and be much happier in his grave this time around. His gaze raked over you behind his helmet's white lenses, taking in every inch of skin you were showing as you stood there in nothing but black lace panties, pulling a shirt over your head and humming along to your favorite song playing in the background.

He smirked with amusement when you turned and yelped, jumping like a scared cat.

"Jason!" You threw the nearest object—an empty deodorant bottle that he didn't know why you still kept—at him and missed, the aluminium bottle clattering on the hardwood floor. "Don't just stand there, asshole, you scared me!"

He smiled at your indignant tone and looked you up and down again. "Calm down, baby. You know it's me," he mused smugly, his voice changed by the voice modulator. He didn't even make a move to take his helmet off or to put his guns inside the safe in the closet, still leaning against the wall.

"Why didn't you say anything?" You asked with a huff, walking past him to pick the empty deodorant bottle up and putting it back on a shelf instead of just throwing it away, then pausing the music. "Watching me like some creep, instead... Idiot."

But he wasn't listening. His gaze was on your stomach, which was hidden by the shirt again. He could swear that he had seen something there. He watched you reach up to the shelf inside the closet, his eyes still on your stomach while you rummaged through your clothes. For what, he didn't know, nor did he care, because now he could see it clearly.

"Lift your shirt," he said without any kind of context, not even looking at you. His arms were still crossed, but he felt tenser.

"Huh?"

He met your gaze, white lenses meeting hypnotizing but confused eyes.

"Your shirt," he repeated, still making no move to get out of his grimy clothes. "Lift it up."

He kept watching you as you looked at him with confusion for another moment before grabbing the hem of your shirt and lifting it up to your stomach.

His breath caught in his throat.

"I was gonna show you eventually," you started rambling, but he wasn't even hearing the words. "I thought it'd be cool, I guess, and I was waiting for it to heal properly, but then you became busier and—"

He called your name softly, so soft it could as well have been deadly. His head slowly lifted, looking into your eyes again. "When did you get it?"

The 'it' in question being a womb tattoo just above the waistband of your panties, a tattoo of his name. Cursive, elegant, the J underlining the rest of the letters and dipping beneath your panties.

He felt his heart race, his head tilting when you didn't answer. "Baby, when did you get that?" He asked again. Exhaustion who? He was more concerned about not jumping your bones right then and there.

Jason slowly got closer to you, gloved hand gently tilting your head up. "Don't be shy now, pretty girl. I just wanna know when you got it without me ever realizing," he reassured.

His thumb gently rubbed circles on your jaw, silently encouraging you not to get all shy on him now. "A few months ago," you mumbled. "Three, I think."

He paused. Months? Months of his name engraved on your skin, on your womb, and he was only seeing it now?

Taking a deep breath, he finally reached up to get rid of his helmet, tossing it on the bed carelessly. His eyes were dark, once emerald now appearing black. "You got my name tattooed right above your pussy and never told me?"

"Don't say it like that!" You slapped his chest, but he only smirked. His pretty fiancée, flustered about a tattoo she had gotten on her own volition.

"It's the truth, no? Fuck, baby." His hands went to your waist, his pants painfully tight. "C'mon. Let's get rid of this, hm?" He lightly tugged at your shirt.

"You haven't even put your guns away—"

"I know." He looked into your eyes. "I'll do that as soon as you're out of this shirt. Promise."

"Jason..." He could hear that you didn't believe him. Which was fair, considering that all of his thoughts were on you. Your body. That tattoo.

He felt dizzy from simply remembering that it was his name. His name. On your perfect body.

How would it look like if you were pregnant?

The thought made Jason pause.

Neither of you had ever brought up the topic of having children, not when you were dating, not now. But fuck, if it wasn't an appealing idea.

He never thought of himself as father material, nor did he have any intention of fantasizing about something that you might not even want, but the thought of your stomach becoming round and full of his child, with his name literally on your skin and claiming you, both of you—shit.

"You'll be the death of me," he told you hoarsely, voice thick with lust. "Get on the bed, baby. I'll put my guns in the safe, I promise, but I need you on that bed."

He'd throw you on it if he had to, but he was forcing himself not to go completely caveman on you. It was the last thing you needed, he could tell from your uncertain expression.

"C'mon." He gently guided you towards the bed, walking slowly with you until the back of your knees hit the edge of it. "Just like that. Sit down, baby."

Only when you were sitting did he go to the closet, helmet in hand, and put it along with his guns inside the safe that he had put there for this purpose. Aside from the things he personally needed as Red Hood, there were also some document files and USB drives that belonged to you—all filled with information about various criminals and crime lords.

You never stopped being his information broker and neither of you intended to change that.

"You're not mad, right?" The uncertainty in your voice made him pause, the fog of lust dissipating just enough for some rationality to return. He locked the safe and looked at you again.

"Mad? Why would I be mad?" Jason asked, confused. He stood up and walked towards you, sitting down on his knees in front of you and peeling his gloves off.

"I don't know, I just—" He watched you huff, his hands gently running up and down your thighs. "I never told you. I thought..."

"What?" He tilted his head, looking up at you with patience and so much love. His eyes flicked to your throat as you swallowed.

"I thought you might think I'm insane," you confessed quietly, avoiding his gaze.

Jason couldn't stop the smile that spread on his face. "Insane? Baby, the only one going insane right now is me because I'm trying very hard not to fuck you right this instant."

He laughed when you paused, looking at him like he was crazy. His heart swelled when he saw you getting out of that unsure headspace. Insecurity never suited you, in his opinion.

"You're so disgusting," you huffed, and his smile widened at the relieved humor written all over your face.

"That's what you do to me," he grinned. "Now take this shirt off. Please. I wanna see the ink again."

He looked at you with a mix of lust and adoration, not wanting to rush you but also feeling like a feral dog that's hurling its toy across the room.

With a sigh, you took the shirt off and set it aside. "Don't be weird about this," you muttered with faux sternness, making him smile.

"No promises," he winked at you, his hands traveling up your thighs to your hips. "Spread your legs. I need to get closer to you."

"And people say romance is dead," you mumbled as you spread your legs, making him chuckle softly while shifting closer, his lips immediately pressing a gentle kiss on your lower belly.

"You don't know what this makes me want to do," he breathed against your soft skin, his eyes fluttering when he felt your fingers run through the raven strands.

"You mean other than fucking me?" You asked teasingly, tilting your head.

"Oh, you..." He met your grin with his own and stood up, making you lie on your back in the middle of the bed before taking off his boots and settling between your legs.

His heart swelled when you giggled as his lips met your neck. He loved it, loved that you were sensitive and easily ticklish. It made sex even better. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, chuckling when you squirmed.

"Hey, now," he murmured against your neck. "No squirming, I haven't even started."

"That tickles!" You protested with a smile as more kisses were littered on your skin, down to your shoulder.

He smiled and pulled back, looking into your eyes. "Let me worship you, baby." His hand went to your lower belly, gently caressing your skin. He took a deep breath, feeling like he might combust.

Jason looked at you when your hand reached for his cheek. "What are you thinking?" You asked, your eyes looking like gems to him.

"You," he rasped. "This tattoo." He took a deep breath. You were his fiancée, sure, but he was still so afraid that he might scare you away. "I'm thinking about what it would look like if you were pregnant."

A crazy thing to say, he knew, as he watched your eyes widen. You weren't even married yet and he was already thinking about knocking you up. Just to see your skin stretch with his baby, with his name on your body.

"Jason—"

"I know," he interrupted, not even giving you the chance to finish speaking. "I won't do anything you don't want me to, I swear to you. But... Fuck, baby, I can't stop thinking about it. What it'd look like if your stomach was round with my name literally on it and our baby inside you."

He hadn't even been aware that he was hard. But he could feel it now, the unbearable tightness of his pants. He swallowed. "We don't have to talk about babies or anything right now. I just..." His hand gently rubbed your womb again. "Let me worship you, baby. Please. Let me show you how much I love this tattoo. How much I love you."

He watched you swallow before nodding. "Words," he murmured. "Give me words, my love."

"Yes," you breathed. "I.. I want you to show me."

That was all he needed.

He leaned down and kissed you deeply, but without urgency. This wasn't like the countless heated make-out sessions the two of you had had or the rough sex whenever both or one of you was too pent up to release the emotions verbally.

No, this kiss conveyed all of his love for you, the adoration he felt for you. One of his hands cupped the back of your head when you let out a small noise against his lips, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

He hummed against your lips when your arms locked around his neck, pulling away with a soft intake of breath before his lips went to your neck.

He smiled as he pressed kisses on your neck, hearing your soft laughs. "You're still ticklish," he murmured against your skin, amusement in his voice.

"I'm blaming you," he heard you say, and laughed.

"Of course you are."

His lips traveled from your neck to your shoulder, down to your collarbones. Both of you started breathing more shallowly as he littered your perfect breasts and stomach with soft kisses, until his lips were on your womb. On that damn tattoo.

He heard your breath hitch when his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your panties, but they stayed there. He looked at you, pupils blown wide. "Can I?"

He watched your throat work as you swallowed. "Yes," you whispered. "Please."

"You don't have to beg me. Never beg me, baby." He inhaled sharply as he pressed a kiss on your clothed mound before pulling the black lace off of your body and tossing it on the floor. "Fuck, you're gorgeous."

He felt hot. Too hot. His skin was burning as he leaned down and pressed another kiss on your mound, on the small extension of the inked J. His heart was racing, especially when he heard you gasp softly.

"Jay—"

"Shhh, I've got you," he whispered. "Just lie down and let me take care of you, baby." He had to take his jacket off, the leather landing on the floor too. His body was on fire, molten lava coursing through his veins.

He let his eyes wander over your body again before shifting a little further away. "You're perfect," he whispered as he leaned down, his breath ghosting over your glistening cunt. He pressed a kiss on your flesh before licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, his eyes fluttering as he heard your breath hitch.

He looked up at you. "Tell me to stop if it becomes too much or if something feels wrong," he told you before his mouth closed around your clit, his tongue swirling around it.

The sound of your breathing becoming heavier only turned him on even more as his hands went to your thighs, moving your legs over his shoulders. Death by suffocation wouldn't be a bad way to go if this was how it happened.

"Jason—mmm..." Your breathy moan went straight to his cock, still straining painfully against his pants. He had half a mind not to dry-hump the damn bed while eating you out.

His right hand left your thigh and went up to your wet entrance, slowly easing his middle finger into you as he kept lapping at your clit. The pleased sigh that left your lips made him moan in response, muffled by your flesh.

He added a second finger when you started rolling your hips against his mouth, meeting his fingers with your own movements. He let out a muffled groan and put his free hand on your hip, to keep himself grounded and not to pin you in place.

Jason didn't mind the movement, in fact, he took it as a sign that he was doing a good enough job. He kept his mouth on your clit as his fingers pumped faster in and out of you, your moans and sighs filling the air.

It was over for him when your hands landed in his hair as you arched your back. He could feel your legs trembling while you clenched around his fingers, greedy cunt sucking them in. He kept his ministrations up as he listened to you moaning his name, his eyes on the very tattoo of it on your belly.

"Jay—Fuck, Jason, that feels good—Mmmm—!"

He couldn't see your face from down here, but he didn't need to. His eyes were locked on the tattoo, watching it ripple with your skin as he curled his fingers against the spot that he knew made you see stars, listening to you moan with satisfaction as he repeated it.

"Jason—Jason, Jay—," he heard you mewl and whimper. "I'm gonna—Fuck, I'm gonna—"

It didn't take too long for him to groan in pleasure as he felt you pulling his hair, coating his fingers with your release while your thighs clamped down on his head. His nose was pressed against your skin, the flowery scent of your body lotion mixed with the musky scent of your cum filling his senses.

He worked you through your orgasm, his own body practically vibrating from the lust coursing through his veins. Only when you stopped squeezing his head with your thighs, did he sit up and slowly pull his fingers out of you.

"Shit," he breathed as he watched you pant and come down from your high. His clean hand rubbed your hip and thigh gently, wanting to soothe you as you caught your breath. "Easy, baby. No rush, take your time."

"Jason," you breathed, your eyes meeting his.

"Shhh... Take your time. We can focus on my issue later."

He kept his hand on you until your breathing was relatively normal again and your legs weren't shaking so much anymore. He helped you sit up, letting you use his arm to pull yourself up.

"You okay?" He asked softly, adoration and concern in his eyes as he watched you nod.

"That felt good," you breathed. "Was...really good."

He smiled as you leaned against him, his arm snaking around you and holding you close. He was still uncomfortably hard in his pants, but that wasn't going to stop him from making sure you were okay first. He rubbed your sweaty skin soothingly, letting you take all the time you needed to fully recover.

"Next time," he murmured, "tell me before you get a tattoo. Might save me from having to process it before I can fuck you."

He chuckled when you slapped his chest, muttering something about him being "a filthy animal", and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

He had come home wanting to sleep, but the red light of the digital clock showing him that it was 3:47 A.M. told him that neither of you two would be getting much sleep tonight.

Tomorrow would have to be a lazy day, he supposed, smirking as he watched your hands reach for his belt.

☆ A/N: Let me know if there’s something I can do better, constructive criticism is always welcome. Hope you enjoyed!!

☆ 3.4k words

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 1 ~ The Supernatural Wars.

Pairing: English Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N

Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Language, gore, voilence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name).

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Chapter 1: The Birthday Girl.

The dirt stuck under your nails as you clawed at the floor like a rabid dog. The wildness in your eyes had your actions to match. When you started scratching wood, you grabbed your shovel and bashed the rest of the pine box in.

You paused when you saw the locket slung around the skeleton. The acrid smell of the rotten flesh barely registered with you. Tentatively, you unhooked the locket - a heart shaped one, carved from within for the purpose of sticking photos. It had two necklaces, the heart cleaved in two as well - perfect gift for a couple. You had to unstick the existing photos and you gently placed them back in the skull's folded hands.

Your back cricked when you rose to your full height, sore from all the grunt work; you were dwarfed by the six foot hole you had dug yourself.

Pulling up, you showered the grave with salt and gasoline - murmuring a last rite, and freeing the soul from the locket you took. You dropped a fiery match that engulfed the dead woman.

'Told you I'd be back,' you muttered, a small sad smile on your face. 'Goodbye, Grams. Sorry it took me so long, but . . . I'm leaving today. Put in a good word with God for me, eh?'

The wind chilled you in answer. You took that to mean her support - wherever she may be.

You wished you could've buried her again, but the smoke you lit was a signal to other predators. With her last symbol in your hand, you rushed to your borrowed car - a minivan, actually; for anonimity, you told yourself because you hated it so much.

The drive back to the compound would be short and dangerous; anything too still was always a target. Given your human scent, you weren't even surprised that a pack of Ferals had wandered to your car.

It was occasional to see monsters on land unless you were looking for them, or them you - it was usually only infilltrated by monsters when it was the courtesy of the angels; or when you could see that stray monster that had been driven to insanity out of hunger. Besides that, the lands belonged solely to the human faction.

You added the silencer to your gun as you flattened against a tree. They were already tensely sniffing the air and turning slowly in the direction of the grave.

You counted six. Your best weapon that would be silent and stealthy was in the car, you hadn't carried the bow and arrows because they were a hindrance to grave-digging. Whereas guns were swift but loud; if fire was a large problem, the guns were the worst way to call trouble.

You waited till the first monster's breath hovered above you, stale and rancid, mouth open with pieces of flesh dangling. You gulped your gag, placing your gun in line with it's jaw as it drew even nearer, snarling happily as it recognised your humanity. Lips pulled back to rip a chunk out of you when you shot it.

The silencer was only so effective that it didn't call more monsters from around. The ones on the side of the road with you were now snapping their jaws alertly, and all headed in your direction.

You caught the one falling on you - it's ears long and flapping like a bat's, eyes so large that they reminded you of golf balls, now lifeless. There was a lack of hair all across its body, stretchy skin that wrinkled a lot as well. Overall, it disgusted you. You used the monster as a sheild for any incoming claws and you shot the rest of them from behind your barrier.

Once clear, you dropped the disgusting body that seemed to have worsened in smell. You wrenched open you car door about to climb in when you noticed in your periphery, through the side-view mirror that you had miscounted.

The long inhuman claws of another Feral swept the air where your head had been a second ago - they could barely see, relying mostly on their nose and ears to guide them; these ones must've been attracted here by the fire in the hole.

Since you had leaned into the car by ducking, you had grabbed an arrow on the passenger seat and plunged it backwards so that it went through the monster's neck. You pushed it away from the car and into its friend.

You rushed to kill them, under pressure of their low growls that could bring even more monsters out. Restarting the car that groaned only invited more to the party. 

You calmly reversed your car and ran it over the monsters quickly. They let out a series of yelps and snarls as they collapsed. When you had straightened your car, you knew there would be more on your tail, so you sped down the trail back to your compound.

The security at the gate was quick to admit you; all the cars had tags on their windshields stating their Continent and Leaderships, etc. You pulled up in the quiet parking lot that was teeming with cars from all over North America. The gaurds also shot down any and all monsters that had managed to follow you, with their crossbows, spears and the other long-distance weapons.

You jogged up the stony staircase of one of the many palaces your family owned, and were let through the double doors without any hassle. The castle was bustling, the servants shouting orders to one another, preparing for the reception that evening. The guests were on the backyard for the outdoor wedding, which was to happen in ten minutes - something you were going to make a run for.

Thinking you went undetected, you tried to sneak into the changing rooms, until the first maid spotted you, rushing to your side with a wide-eyed panicky look.

'Lady Y/N! Where have you been? Oh, we've been worried sick! And look at that dress! So dirty, and you stink—!'

'Ms Frich,' you held a hand up, voice sharpened. She stopped trying to rotate you to assess the damage. She seemed to be going red in the face as she was forced to silence her words. You brought her with you to the changing room so that she didn't attract more unwanted attention.

'If my mother asks, I was here the whole time,' you warned her after you shut yourself in the empty room. 'All right, Ms Frich?'

'But—'

'That's an order,' you said, sternly. Your hands went over your neck to untie your dress. 'Now, help me change, will you?'

Fifteen minutes later, with Crystella Frich's help, you had donned a beautiful and delicate gown that came down to your ankles.

There were things wrong with it: it was pink, made of lace that made you want to scratch your skin raw all over, and it was lined with too many flowers that didn't associate with your personality at all.

You had to take a deep breath because the night was only starting. Rubbing light makeup on your face that got Crystella's side-eyes, and dousing yourself in perfume that got the maid's nose to scrunch, you deemed yourself ready for a miserable night.

With the bouquet of vibrant azaleas in your hand, you apologized profusely to your best friend when you arrived. She waved it off with a knowing glint in her eyes.

'You're here, that's what matters.'

As if you were going to miss this. It was a good thing she loved your brother unconditionally because your mother was not an easy woman to please.

Seriously, I do not envy you, your heart went out to her.

The music signalled your entrances played it's starting notes.

B/F looked breathtaking - you could only say as much before getting in line, as rehearsed. Her white dress swooping, and her train dragging down a few feet behind her. The puffy skirt of her wedding gown was fitting for her royalty. Her white bouquet of roses a representation of her peace-loving streak, ironically, since she was a well-reknowned hunter, currently pursuing the case of Metatron, an abhorently well-educated and nasty angel. She was the only person in the room with the appropriate amount of jewelery.

Rest of the guests, including you, all hoarded weapons under your swishy robes. From the tips of some tiaras to the bottom the pointy heals, girls were most heavily adorned with arms. While the men were more obvious about flaunting their voilence.

B/F and Seth were told not to worry about their safeties for one night, that they would be flanked by gaurds all day long - but you could bet your most priced gown on the fact that your brother would have a concealed gun under his suit jacket somewhere.

You walked down the aisle as the maid of honour, a cocky regal smirk on your lips. You couldn't help the pride that swelled in your chest to be seeing your brother at the end of it.

The procession was formal and quick. The vows were a bit longer and far more heartfelt.

The party moved soon to the reception hall where the palace servants had done a splendid job. The room determined the mood from the get-go; dulcet and romantic tones of decorations hanging from the high ceilings, even the barred windows were slit open for some sunshine. The flaming torches were fierce, glowing along with the warmth of the day. An assortment of food and drinks lined one of the walls, even a photo booth occupied one of the corners. Majority of the floor was being dominated by the dance floor, a smaller section of the room dedicated for round tables to sit on.

The royal waltz was being played by the band; they had begun with the national theme song before they eased into more appropriate songs for the day.

The hefty gowns and long coats of the Governors and the Generals - all hunters - were moving perfectly for a waltz. No matter what the song, you suspected that the waltz was really the only dance you all could allow yourselves when the whole continent's officers were in attendance.

You grabbed a few dances with a few good men, trying to avoid the unsavory kind as well as those bitching royal housewives who would no doubt find some way to broach the conversation of your departure or of your marraige.

The rest of your time was assigned for socialising. As one of the up-and-coming leaders, especially one who was sailing off to Europe the same night - it was of great importance to stay on top of things, to impress your name upon a few minds. It would also serve as a last chance to forge some contacts from this continent before belonging to the next.

You were discussing shop with one of the reaserchers at the lab that your father controlled when you heard your name being called.

'Ms L/N,' caught up an elderly. Mr Burke wasn't a Leader anymore but he kept track of the events of the world long after his retirement. He was shaking your hand with both of his, mindless of the conversation he interrupted.

Sal, one of your friends, had been talking about the ship you would be taking that night. He was prattling off the probable monsters and all the provisions you were carrying for it - you were double-checking, really; you'd been preparing for this for a week.

'I couldn't let the night end before telling you that what you did with the banshees in North Carolina - astounding. Inspired, really.'

You smiled tightly at him. 'Thank you, Mr Burke. It was a team effort,' you nodded at Sal. 'Please meet Mr Syl. One of the better researchers of our continent. His labs contributed to the, as you said, inspired solutions that we have today.'

Sal beamed, smiling smugly before shaking Mr Burke's hand. He was one of the more attention-seeking people. It served you well to keep him pleased. Sal had worked at the labs for about five years now and he was brilliant at his job. It was a pity that he wasn't more reknowned - but then again, his ego was inflamed enough. By far, he was your least liked friend, but a valued team member nevertheless.

'Really?' the older, richer man said. 'Well, I would love to hear all about that . . .'

'Please do,' you effortlessly handed off the responsibility to the talk to your colleague. 'And we wish you would keep an open mind - maybe even feel encouraged for the next time you make a donation.'

He was one of the sponsers. Mr Burke was few of those people who left his job but the job never left him. He was one of the old Leaders, having led South America; and one of very few ones who lived up to an old age. He married late; so even if he was of your grandfather's age, his daughter was a year younger than you were.

The man was a bragger by all rights, and as fake as the wig that he denied wearing. But he was good money, the additional support in times when the royal treasury fell short for it's citizens.

He also made changes in policies across countries where he felt necessary - it drove your brother crazy, especially since, as the acting Leader of America, your brother should've been asked for permission first. But eh, not your problem anymore, you supposed.

'Always after my wallet!' he claimed, but he didn't seem to mind, chukling and stroking his non-existent goatee.

'Oh, you've spoiled us, Mr Burke,' you gently stoked his ego. 'I apologise if I expected.'

His chest seem to swell as large as his potbelly, his shirt buttons threatening to burst. 'Nonsense! You know I'm here for you! Be sure to wait for a hefty check this year, Ms L/N - for the labs!'

You toasted to that, slipping away, sipping on your champagne as you went. You were gunning for a refill before you sacrificed more of your dignity to another one of these pretentious fucks - after all, there were many ex-leaders and "well-wishers" to pick from: the cat woman who could pass for a chimney, the Old Prince Sleazeball who would be sure to propose to you again for the position of his hunredth wife, or the Lord nosy gossip gay who sometimes knew about new things in your life before you did. You preferred the chimney, if you were being honest; even if you died from second-hand smoke in her presence, at least you didn't want the earth to swallow you up like you felt with the Sleazeball or the Gossip.

You had just exchanged your empty glass for one that was brimming with sparkling champagne when the drink was taken from your hands. Snatched, more-like.

Your frowning face was met with a similar scowl.

The woman who took your tolerance for this party was tapping her heel lightly on the shining marble floor.

'How many of those have you had?' she had her free hand on her hip.

Your frown deepened. 'Not enough to think you're funny,' you tried to grab your alcohol. She pulled it out of your reach, tsking you. 

'Do you know what this will do to your image?' her British accent that was alike yours, made it sound more scandalous than it was. She was also a friend who worked in Public Relations for you.

None of your team members were raised British, unlike you. They were much ahead in their respective fields of studies when you chose them for your team when you were mere thirteen years old. It did mean that they were all near a decade older than you were - mostly. They had to alter their habits and practices to suit the needs of the team ever since. Layla, or as everyone called her, Lay, had been one of the easier transformers. Her need for publicity had made it easier for her to be a perfectionist.

Unfortunately, that made it harder for you sometimes.

'I'm afraid you're about to tell me,' you groaned. 

She huffed. 'The last thing we need is you, a Leader by tonight to get drunk and create a scene on the night of her depature. Or worse yet! On the night of her brother's wedding!'

'Blimey, I'm not getting drunk! I'm just . . . self-medicating.'

She narrowed her eyes, placing your drink on a passing tray, and you watched longingly as it walked away from you. She grabbed you by the arm to take you to a more private corner, her expression softening as you slumped in defeat.

'I know today's hard for you,' she said. 'But we can't give any of these people any reasons that might weaken their trust in you.'

Despite the hard spots Lay put you in, you had come to see her as a real well-wisher in these pools of smarmy bastards. When it came down to it, your team were the only people you could trust, nice or not. Them, and the newly married couple.

'I'm sorry. I guess.'

She squeezed your arm. 'I understand. But pull it together, honey.'

You steeled your gaze, and nodded. 'All right. You wouldn't have any updates to take my mind off, would you?'

She hesitated but nodded. 'Top secret and unconfirmed. Jessica Winchester—'

'Sam Winchester's wife?'

'Yeah, the Asian Leaders. She's coming to visit her brother-in-law.'

Your brows scrunched, 'Dean Winchester? My partner.'

'Your partner, yes.'

'Why?'

'Confidential, of course,' she made a face. 'When I asked, they said that it wasn't of my business.'

'That's fishy,' you noted. 'They don't trust us, or they are not trustworthy.'

'Very hush-hush they are.' She complained, 'I mean, how much do we even know about your future partner, eh? The way they keep secrets, makes one wonder if they truly have something to hide.'

You gave her a rueful smile. 'Not everyone likes media, Lay.'

'Mrs Stun. Lady Y/N, could I have a moment please?'

Your conversaton was stalled by a man who was at least a foot and a half taller than you, with a far more heavier built, but with most features matching yours. You smiled at the new man with two drinks in his hands.

'Lord L/N, of course.' It felt weird not call your brother by name, but Lord/Lady was followed by surname after marriage. 'Mrs Stun, please excuse us.'

She nodded with a large beaming smile characteristic for people of her career. 'Is that for Lady Y/N?' she pointed at the whiskey glasses in your elder brother's hand, who nodded.

Gracefully, she plucked one of the glasses from his hands, and clinked it to the other. 'Thank you very much, Lord L/N. Once again, congratulations on your wedding!' She flounced out, immediately jumping onto the nearest sponser to talk their ears off with compliments of your name.

Your brother chuckled in disbelief, and you sighed.

'Does she ever stop working?' his burly American accent was a stark contrast to your pristine English one.

'I think even when she dies, she would want to have make-up on so she looks good lying in her casket.'

'At least she's good. People are talking about your transfer as much as the wedding,' he sipped his drink, no hint of resentment towards you, just a glittering happiness dancing in his eyes.

'Let that be an exaggeration,' you scowled, eyeing his drink enviously. 'I'm nervous about it, as is.' You usually wouldn't be seen turning down fame, but there was a buildup of bile on your throat from being a nervous wreck all evening.

He glanced at you, some of that happiness diming. 'You're good at what you do, you know?'

'I've never been outside the palace except for hunts, and suddenly, I'm leaving the continent?' your hands fidget into position in front of you, so to an outsider you would look regal and deep in conversation. Inside, however, your heart pounded at every mention of Europe.

You had been preparing for it all your life, but it seemed doomed somehow. The smaller steps had been easier, the preparations that your staff and team had been doing for over a week had seemed bite-sized. Yet, just the word "Europe" seemed too large to swallow.

'I thought you were excited,' he said.

'I was. I am,' you sighed. 'It's just so much bigger when it's so close. I will be half-responsible for a continent, it's people and their problems—'

'And you would be better at it than I ever was,' he said, smiling fondly at you.

You scoffed, 'Right, because that's why I got Europe, the continent of the exiled.'

You were probably exaggerating. You got the continent because you were a Secondborn, and it had been your mother's native land once upon a time. But it was no secret that the European leaders were often the harbringers of dark ages. At least, that had been the case for the last few centuries where the once good name of Europe had been dredged through muck. Most importantly, what terrified you the most was that you weren't even supposed to be a Leader so soon.

'Hey, before Dean went bat-shit crazy, he seemed to be doing well for himself and Europe,' he joked.

Recently, the previous Leader of Europe, Gordon Walker, who you were replacing had been executed by his own partner - your soon-to-be partner - the world-renowned Dean Winchester who had defeated the Darkness, or colloquially, Amara. Dean was famous for it because the world had been highly imbalanced by Amara, throwing millions of families into another rendition of the same old Apocalpyse. He was the black sheep of the hunting world because of his secretive nature, yet somehow the most respected because of his biggest achievement.

You had only gotten your position because of Gordon's death. It's the job of the Firstborn, and their spouses to rule the continents. Often the Secondborns were the back-ups, and you had been on the reserve, raised as a European, for this very day.

At midnight, on your twenty-fifth birthday, they would be shiping you out. There were more candidates for this opportunity, of course, but you had been closest to the age of twenty-five - no coronation ceremony took place before that age.

'So my only hope is that I don't lose my marbles?' you snarked.

'You're very capable of keeping-it-together,' he smiled. There was an easy confidence in him that made people believe in everything that he said. The courts agreed with most of the things that came out of his mouth, the ladies swooned over his charm, and the world admired him for the prosperity he seemed to bring about; he was the first Leader to end an archangel: Raphael.

'Aren't you glass half-full?' you groused.

'Try it some time. Makes poeple like you. You might just kill Lay out of sheer happiness,' he chuckled while you cracked a small smile.

'You're happy,' you noticed.

He quirked a brow.

'More than usual,' you clarified. You wouldn't say that you and your brother were in constant touch with one another; but you were there for the important stuff, you believed.

Once more, the twinkle in his eyes intensified. 'I am in love.'

You shot him a look that told him you weren't buying what he was selling. He rolled his eyes.

'Won't hurt you to try it sometime, you know?'

It was your turn to roll your eyes. You were about to retort negatively when a remembrance struck you. 'Shoot!'

'What?'

'Come with me!'

You dragged your brother to find his bride, who you also kidnapped from the dance floor. You brought them both to the chillier December atmosphere of the balcony.

'Everything okay?' B/F asked.

You produced the twinned locket from the tresses of your gown. With an almost bouncing excitement, you presented it to them.

Inquisitevly, the couple took a half each and inspected the joint broken hearts. Recogition only seemed to strike your brother's face, his eyes shot up to you in shock, 'Grandma Via?'

You nodded enthusiastically. You explained for B/F's benefit, 'Grams was a spinster, alright? Weaving endless incredible and over-the-top tales. Full of joyous lies, that woman.'

'But,' your brother delicately inspected the untainted gold, a nostalgia staning his tone. 'There was one story that she never lied about.'

'I remember!' B/F grabbed her husband's elbow. 'You said that it was your favourite thing about her.'

You said, 'She always said that this shall go to Seth and his future bride—'

'I never thought I'd see it again,' he teared up, and pride swelled in you. There were identical smiles tugging on both of your faces.

You had had to pull some strings for it, calling in some extra favours.

Since your transfer had been announced, the wedding had been preponed to today. Your parents had been disappointed because it meant adjusting their tough schedules, but Seth and B/F had insisted - they opted for less festivities just so you would be able to attend.

You weren't supposed to go above and beyond for anyone, attachments were often the reasons why good Leaders were lost but . . . this is your brother.

If you hadn't been leaving, you would have given him normal stuff like a new castle or maybe a new town or maybe honeymoon resort. But since you were leaving, you also needed your present to double as a parting gift.

'You've always wanted it,' you smirked. Your grandmother had been buried, dead a few months after your grandfather's untimely demise during a mission. You and Seth had been too young for the adults to divulge where. Yet, you had pulled many records to unearth her and found the last remaining symbol of her love.

'Didn't she say that the locket helped them both when the Leadership got tough?' B/F asked. 'It was gifted to them by a Cupid itself, a symbol of their unforgettable love, or something. Some soulmate deal.'

Seth wrapped a hand around your best friend, pulling her closer as he tested the magnet on the two halves of the heart. It fit into place with a beautiful click. There was a certain ethereal glow to it, and before your eyes you saw the shine pass on to the newlyweds. You don't think they realised it, but they were practically, suddenly, heart-eyeing each other even more than they were before.

'I even made space for your photos,' you added. 'Grams used to say that these hearts are magical and they bless that union whose photos are in it.'

'Never knew you to be a romanic, Y/N,' B/F laughed, breaking from the spell; she pulled you into a hug that you begrudgingly returned. Over her shoulder, your brother gratefully nodded at you - like you, he hated close contact. You had rarely seen him engage in any public displays of affection, sans for B/F, even if he was much more emotional than you were.

'I'm not,' you said, pulling away. 'Your husband is, that's why you are getting the pendant.'

'We didn't get you anything,' Seth said. For your birthday, he meant. He and B/F had been so busy preparing for a wedding that was shifted ahead of time for you; that had been gift enough.

You waved him off, teasing, 'Get me something when I get married.'

It wasn't like gifts were a large part of your world, anyway. There weren't shops ladden with these materialistic items that were up for trade - you had heard that that was a concept in some other Universes, you'd obviously never seen it yourself though.

'You literally plan never to,' B/F swatted your arm, seeing through your lopphole.

You changed the topic smoothly, 'What, a woman can't be self-sufficient?'

If you were prone to sea-sickness, now would be the most terrible time to find out. Already, your gut churned with nervous energy; without the sounds and the music of the wedding to keep out the self-doubting thoughts, you were holding onto your composure by a thread.

Soldiers under the careful command of your team were passing by you, bowing as they crossed you before they could clamber aboard the pirate ship your parents had hired. Twice, you had to diffuse the situation on the ship - huge fights barely stopped from breaking out between the humans and the vampires. You had come back down after to fix your gaze on the horizon where you were expecting someone.

Weapons, cars and food - all essentials were loaded. Plus, the promised bloodbags that was the payment to the pirates in exchange for the "safe" travel.

Sea was the monster territory; unfortunately for humans, they had to use the assist of these monsters to travel overseas. That's why the Firstborns were the Leaders of the country they were born in, while the other children were far more expendible. Not that the Firstborns never travelled, but their exposure to sea was minimal - during Half-Yearly meetings for instance.

Minutes ticked by, everything was accomodated and accounted for. The pirates had given their deadline for sailing: when the clock struck twelve.

'Lady Y/N,' your medic called. Selina trudged down the shaky plank that adjoined the port to the large ship. 'It's five to midnight. The pirates demand we leave. Won't wait a second longer than they have to.'

You offered her your hand when you noticed she was glancing at the sea way below with scepticism. Your hands folded before you once more when she was safely by your side.

'I'm waiting for my parents,' you informed steadily. You wouldn't show weakness so near a pirate ship, open enough for any vampire to spot, but your heart was tremoring in your chest. 'They must be on their way to say goodbye.'

Your teammate froze next to you. 'Oh, you're waiting for that.'

A sinking feeling attacked you. You kept your face from falling. 'Is there something you need to tell me, Ms Doll?'

She flinched. 'Um, Lord Sen was talking,' (the gay gossiper), 'I don't even know if it's accurate.'

'What?'

'Your parents were briefly seen at the wedding; after greeting Lord and Lady L/N, they excused themselves for a party due North.'

'Oh.' Even if you managed to keep your disappointment out of your face, you couldn't keep it from your voice.

'I thought you knew,' she helplessly said.

Your smile was tight as you tried not to grouch about how the gossiper knew before you did, one of the many times where the news had flown around because of him, and had reached you by word of mouth through many middle persons.

'Well, thank you for telling me,' you softly answered. 'Let's board. No point wishing for goodbyes, eh?'

Before she could utter any comfort, the warning bell of the ship went off. Three minutes to departure.

You supported your friend up the unsteady plank, balancing yourself much better. You let the grumpy crewmen retract the piece of rickety wood up. You brushed yourself once, and checked yourself for signs of damage to your large puffy gown.

'Almost thought you wouldn't make it,' a southern drawl said.

Sharply twisting on the points of your long heels, you were faced with the Captain of the ship. You knew because he was wearing a captain's hat, and had a smirk to match the cockiness that came with such a job.

You nodded at Selina to go ahead.

'Hello, cheri. Name's Benjamin Lafitte Roy, the Captain of the Bloody Princess.' The man before you seemed nothing out of the oridinary, but you knew from experience that he would be of superior strength, speed, senses and agility than an average human.

You shook his hand professionally. 'Pleasure. Leader Y/N L/N of Europe, as of midnight,' you nodded to the watch he was wearing. The ship had started it's course, you noticed, right on time. Your people were disappearing down the stairs and into the lower levels this travel ship had arranged for you.

The crew members were working around with ropes that made no sense to you, and shouting orders you had never heard before. Even then, you subtly checked their weapons to gauge the amount of threat they would actually pose if things came down to the worse possible scenario; already, you noticed some vampires sneering in the direction of your soldiers, who were gritting back in defiance.

Mr Lafitte tilted his head, 'Never heard of you before. Aren't you humans supposed to toot your own horns?'

Bemusment crinkled the edges of your eyes in a challenging smile. 'I've never heard of you either. And if humans need to publicise ourselves, monsters don't. Your reputation should have far exceeded our meeting, Mr Laffite.'

'Captain,' he snapped. 'Discretion comes with the trade; we ain't stupid enough to blow our own covers like your faction does.'

Your hands interlocked. 'Exactly. You have your strengths, Captain. So don't judge before you see mine.'

'Y'ain't trying to make enemies, are ya?' he stepped closer so that he could intimidate you with his height. But your heels left little difference, giving you the added advantage of a sharp point if you felt the need to do some serious damage.

'We have a straightforward barter between food and travel,' you said instead. 'But if we add the sub-clause of peace, I believe our journey might be much more pleasant,' you stated. 'Would you agree to leave my people alone if I leave yours?'

He sized you up; your elbows to your sides, standing upright as if you had a rod for a spine and stiff as a doll in packaged box that used to be sold way back when the world wasn't as shitty. Benny had seen dolls like those, and he had seen hunters like you. He judged your cocky undertone well.

'You think we can't take you?' he asked, angered by your audacity.

You smiled. 'Some of us, maybe - the sea is your territory. However, the war is my domain, Captain Lafitte. I suggest if you wish to survive, you shouldn't make enemies out of some of the best trained survivalists.'

When he didn't respond for he was fuming, you took that as a win.

'Do we have a deal?' you "innocently" took your hand out for a shake again.

The encounter with the ship's Captain left you reeling. Your heart had been hammering the entire time, but it was what you had been taught to do. It's what you had trained for your entire life. 

A scurvy vampire showed you downstairs, on the lower deck. Even if the teeth you saw on this vampire were rotten, you knew that there would be another set just itching to descend on you. 

You politely thanked him when he stopped before the last door in the corridor. There were five in total: a captain's room, a kitchen, a servant's quarter, and a bathroom, the last room was where they kept their "weapons", or so is what they told the other ships when they wanted to guise the fact that they were illegally transporting humans from one continent to another. 

For most of the travel, this would be the room where you would spend your time, with your team and the newly recruited soldiers. The stairs were weak, creaky, and dimly lit, your climb down was based on your reflexive memory. When you stepped down to the levelled ground, indeed, the room was filled with weapons; heaps and piles, disordered and crustily bloodstained. 

Your nose scrunched in disgust. The perfectionist in you decided they would need cleaning first thing in the morning. 

For now, you crossed the room, counting the tiles against the back walls - three to the right, and then the one diagonal. Your heel tapped lightly against the tile that wobbled under your foot.  A moment later, the loose tile was pushed up and out, to the side. You peered down to see Boa, your bodygaurd shimmying down the ladder rungs and disappearing into the room.

You held back a sigh and manuvered yourself into a position that wouldn't make you fall face-first inside, a horrible first impression for the first time that you would be seeing the whole of your troops. It was an effort not to huff as you carefully lowered yourself, still in the dress from the wedding. Still in need of a shower since that morning when you went grave-digging, and ever since you'd been sweating a lot. 

When you turned, you almost had a heart attack. 

'SURPRISE!' was the large yell, interspersed with a few shouts of 'Happy Birthday!'

You hadn't screamed out of sheer stubbornness, but your eyes were wide enough to pop out of your sockets. Your hands had pointed your weapon at the crowd who had ducked with a collective small yelp.

'My, my! I did not expect that,' you replaced your Glock in your thigh holster from the almost invisible slit to your gown. You administered a deep breath so that your galloping heart. 'Though let that be a warning to not scare me again.'

'Oh, lighten up, mate!' Baz, Boa's twin brother laughed. 'Not every day you turn twenty-five!'

There were murmurs of agreement around the room. You finally noticed the small dessert feast that they had laid out in one corner of the room on a table that looked it had a lot going on. It was brimming with different English cakes, muffins, and pastries. A small counter for alcohol had also been set up next to it. The rest of the food boxes were packed still, lining against one wall because everyone had come from the wedding and must be too tired to unpack it immediately. You were surprised anyone had space for food in their tummies at all. 

You found yourself smiling despite yourself, a light blush dusting your cheeks at their thoughtful gesture. 'All right. But just for tonight. I can party, I suppose.' You were confident you wouldn't enjoy it, but they didn't have to know that.

There was a slight uproar of cheers, as the crowd fanned out, and started chattering excitedly about Europe, sharing tea cakes and blueberry muffins. The recruited soldiers were all considerably new, picked out only a few weeks prior; you hoped this party might be an opportunity for them to bond. 

Your eyes were bleary from the lack of sleep. You hadn't slept for more than six hours in the last two days, even if most of your work had been done. You'd spent the early mornings when you woke up anxiously, pacing around your room and overthinking about your time oncoming in Europe. 

After the wedding, your feet were killing you, and you had been ready to fall right into the first sleeping bag offered to you, but with this party, you might have to stay awake longer. Not to mention, make rounds. It would be rude on your part to not greet every person in the room personally - in fact, it would bug you if you didn't. It wouldn't be very royal of you if you didn't thank one and all. 

Deciding to gobble a beverage so that you don't seem like a damn sleepwalker, you started your grateful journey with the bartender. You waited behind two teenagers who were bouncing on their feet as the bartender served them with young people juice. 

When it was your turn, you noticed the man behind the counter swallow nervously. 'Lady Y/N. Your M-Majesty? Um, what would yo—?'

'Please, be at ease,' you said, treating him to a friendly smile. 'Would you have anything that has a lot of sugar and caffeine, Mr . . . ?'

'Jay Meg,' he said. 'Uh, how about a coffee?'

You pursed your lips. 'I suppose.'

'Or maybe you would like something laced with vodka or rum?' he read your mood. 'Maybe an energy drink.'

You perked up at the thought of something colder. Your dress was sticking to your legs, the tight fit of the upper bodice wasn't any less suffocating. Add that to the stale air that this lower level had, you would be sure to find your skin sticky later. The least you could do was have something to cool off. 

'. . . If that isn't an imposition,' you said. Despite your needs, you weren't about to disappoint anyone in this room on your first day by saying no. 'An energy drink, please,' you requested, knowing that alcohol was still temporarily banned for you.

'Coming right up!' the man expertly launched into a mixing process, embracing his element, and relaxing before you.

He was a short man with dark skin tones possessing a bright smile and a fit body. He pointed out his wife and daughter to you, both old enough that they also constituted your army, both of them laughing around a woman who had collected a crowd of few and was describing ridiculous, yet beautiful tales of valor to them, steepling it with a sense of humour that often caused them to dissolve into giggles. 

You paid rapt attention to him, ending the conversation with him by expressing your gratitude. He was bashful in accepting your compliment. 

You continued this process with a few more people. Listening to new stories, storing their names in your mind, linking their families, observing their strengths and weaknesses. It was so usual for you that you almost forgot about the weariness of your body. You did, however, remove yourself from your heels. You had worn it for over twenty hours already, any more would probably have killed you. You tried not to grimace when your feet carried you all over the wet-and-dry shipboards, some covered in mossy patches that you avoided. 

It was nearing four o'clock in the morning when the party finally died down. You were on your fifth energy drink but even that seemed to have evaporated from your system.

Most of the people had slumbered away into bags that were now cramped all over the floor, leaving only a few feet of space to walk in between. The remaining few you had already talked to; these people were either on duty guards or were now playing a quiet game or two before they would slink off as well.

You wanted to follow suit and not wake up for years, but you needed to change. And you really needed that shower. 

So when the last person, except the guards, had gone off to sleep, you pulled yourself up the ladder, and into the single bathroom that was available for everyone aboard. It was lucky, you guessed, that all ships came in-built with bathrooms because the vampires didn't even use them. On this ship, it was only operational for the humans they smuggled. 

The menial job of cleaning yourself was laborious and seemed to take hours. In reality, it was only minutes when you stepped out, cleaning after yourself for the next person so that no one would feel disgusted later. 

You greeted the guards on your way down, smiling much better than you felt. You were quietly lowering yourself into the lowest level of the ship; your eyes greedily eyeing the sleeping bag on the other end of the room meant for you, surrounded by the sleeping bags of your team.

You could already make out Sal's silhouette whispering furiously in his phone. He was prone to calls like these, mostly in the middle of the night - like he had a secret to hide and protect. It didn't bug you as much as it probably should because he had been from your Father's lab - he was safe, just like all the other humans on the ship.

A hand came out of the shadows and gripped your shoulder, making you leap in fright, and turn, once again with your gun towards the culprit. 

A chuckle, followed by the person stepping into the lights that came from one of the small lamps that had been hung equidistantly from another, revealing your PR woman. 

'Would people quit doing that?' you hissed. 'Mrs Stun, I could've shot you!'

'But you didn't. That's what makes you so great,' Lay buttered you up.

'Don't make me change my mind about shooting you,' you growled. Lay was one of the few people who you could freely threaten. She had a hard shell, if anything, she loved your sarcastic snides - she said that they made you more human, whatever that meant.

As predicted, she snorted. 'Right. Forgot that you don't like praises. All right, then, shall we get to business?'

'But I was about to sleep,' your voice bordered on a whine. 

She sympathetically said, 'I'll make this quick.'

She dragged you back up, and into the blissfully empty kitchen. Because you were so exhausted, it took you a moment to realize why - the vampires don't eat. Your authoritative brain reminded you that you would have to schedule shifts for kitchen duty for that same reason, just having food in boxes wasn't going to help anyone. 

'All right,' she crossed her arms, after making sure that no monster lurked in any dark shadows. Her eyes sharpened. 'I heard what you said to Benny earlier in the night.'

You raked a hand in your hair. Your other hand came to rub your face, only you were still holding the gun so the cold hard surface supported your head instead. 

No one was supposed to hear it. But Lay had eyes and ears everywhere.

You sighed against the barrel, 'What do you want me to say? I'm not sorry to have set our boundaries straight.'

She put her hands on her hips, her nervous tell. 'Just felt like you got overconfident. I'm not sure if that was the best move, diplomatically speaking.'

Your hands fell to your side and you assessed the fear in her body language. She shuffled under your piercing e/cs. Your compassion for her rose, 'I know you're not a hunter, but I know how to treat a monster. You have to let them know that you're not weak, and you have to let them know you've got nothing to lose.'

She rolled her eyes defiantly. 'Maybe you don't.'

Your jaw clenched but you let that slide when your eyes noticed her fingers fidgeting with her wedding ring. It wasn't like you understood what that felt like, but you knew what being responsible for people on hunts was like.

'You can't let them know your weakness,' you said, ignoring her previous jab. 'Besides, our ultimate purpose is the good of humanity. Or at least, mine is. I can't expect you to stop loving your family, but I know I'll be prioritizing the good of our faction, over just the handful of us.'

She knew your personal sets of values and agendas loud and clear. Hell, she set them in the first place; you'd uttered them countless times in front of the media and parties. You'd sold that motto to others so often and meant it.

So even if these people were at your disposal, you were at the world's disposal, and you wouldn't refrain from admitting that you would care about the world's greater good far more than the people in your vicinity. 

Lay took a deep breath. 'You're right, okay? I just, I worry sometimes.'

'I'm glad you shared it with me,' you said. 'Will be that be all?'

She gathered her thoughts. 'I would just like to request a small Ball for the Winchesters.'

Your brows furrowed. 'I didn't know we needed to interact with them.'

Except for marriages, the Leaders never worked together, sometimes not even then. There was an unseen boundary in the land, marking separate territories. Even you would only be working in Europe temporarily until Dean Winchester would get himself a bride who would be fitter for the position. Secondborns, may it be male or female, never got a preference in case of marriage of the Firstborn that was already ruling the continent. You were essentially just a fail-safe. 

In case both Leaders were Firstborn, then, the male would get a preference. As in, if the male of the two Leaders were to marry, then, that married couple would lead. The Firstborn female Leader would have to retire. 

And if both the Leaders were male and firstborn, then the whole point of married women ruling ran moot. 

You didn't see why, for that reason, you would have to interact with the Winchesters at all. 

'Your mother thinks that it would do you good to make contacts—'

'You met her?' you cut Lay off. 

'Last night,' she guiltily admitted. 'When she heard about Jessica Winchester visiting—'

You scoffed, 'She wants me to throw the Ball for prospective marriage alliances!' The welcoming of Jessica Winchester as a fellow Leader would just be a ruse, you saw that political play, a ruse to invite several nobles and young ex-Leaders, plus, even a few current Leaders. 

You didn't disagree about a lot of things with your mother, but marriage was one of them. You had announced long back that you would never submit your life to a man. Not in this men-run world where your respect would forever be overshadowed by the man you married. But your mother refused to bow down to your one plea.

There were barely any good men, as is. Your brother was very few of them. As happy as you were for your best friend and your brother to have found each other in this Godforsaken universe, far be it for you to follow in their footsteps. 

'She just wants to make sure that you are looked for after your retirement.'

It bruised your heart to think that. Even if Lay had rephrased it to make it sound like a good idea, it only served to remind you that your mother never planned to have you back in America. Your parents wouldn't accept what another continent discards - even if your retirement is dignified, they would never allow you to return to your old home and disgrace them in the hunter's community. 

'Right,' you gritted. 'Fine, Mrs Stun. Be that as it may, don't hope that I shall pick a man. It would be just for mother's satisfaction.'

With your nose in the air, you stormed out. 

You only saw the Captain again that evening, in his office. You had crashed hard that morning and slept well into the late afternoon, after which you arranged for a meeting with Benjamin. He met you in an hour of your notice.

Resuming a seat opposite the vampire, you rested one knee over the other and comfortably leaned back in your chair, a faux presence of confidence on your countenance. You were holding a mug from the kitchens that Selina had prepared for you, it rested atop your knee, waiting to be given.

'Thank you for seeing me, Captain Lafitte,' you said. 'I didn't think you would have after yesterday.'

'Can't say no on someone's birthday,' he sarcastically said. 'My men are very unhappy by the ruckus you lot fathered.'

'In our world, nothing tickles us unless it's chaos,' you grinned as if you'd been the life of the party. 'I'm sure you agree.'

He kept a plaintive look on his face, unhappy with you in general.

'I wanted a few travel details,' you said, cutting to the chase when he lacked a similar enthusiasm.

'What about?' he asked, lacing his hands formally on the dirty desk.

'We didn't speak directly to you when booking your services—'

Your parents had arranged the medium of travelling for you. Lay barely could scrape any information because no one had bothered to answer all the appropriate details.

When you probed your father, he simply advised to be prepared for everything like a good Leader should be. It was actually the last conversation you had had with him. Three months ago.

'Trading,' he growled, cutting you off. 'We don't serve you.'

You had the decency to backtrack, 'I got carried away in a manner of speaking.' You continued, 'I wish to have a few questions answered, is all.'

He stared blankly at you, hints of irritation making him tap his foot under the table - you could hear the wooden tiles creaking under the weight of his rough boots.

'How many days will it take?' you said.

'Eleven or sixteen. Relies on the moods of the sea.'

'Will there be any check posts?' you said. 'Any tolls? Or any tributes along the way.'

'No. But there'll be ships. All monsters, and they better not see you.'

'You won't be offering us protection?'

He raised a brow. 'Can't you do it for yourself?'

You smiled coldly, 'Of course. Just asking, Captain. Any particular ships we should be worried about in the near future?'

'If you're not ready for them all, I don't see why we're shiping you to be a Leader, Ms L/N.'

Your jaw clenched. 'How many vampires are on your ship?' you fired another question.

'How is this relevant?' he didn't seem to want to co-operate anymore.

'Don't pretend you didn't count my people,' your lips curled to mimic a snarl, you icily stared him down. 'Do you want us on your good side or not?'

He held your e/c eyes for a long time before he relented with a long exhale. 'Thirty-six. And we protect our own in time of crisis.'

'Seems fair,' you said. 'What can you tell me about Jessica Winchester?'

He had to hold back his surprise when you flipped the talk somewhere else entirely. 'What?'

'Enemies keep closer tabs than friends do,' you waved your hand. 'Winchesters are known for creating ripples; if anyone, your lot might know of them.'

His lips thinned into the thinnest line you'd seen on him yet. You almost expected him to stroke his scruff in thought, but you noticed his hands tightening instead.

'Why would I tell you?' he said, slow, calculating.

You felt the reason would have been obvious. 'Dean Winchester kills his own. I hardly need point out how we may need each other's help if he gets out of hand. And now, conspiring with his family behind the backs of the fellow Leaders?'

Benny was in disbelief of you. He shook his head, finally. 'Gettin' a little ahead of yourself, aren't you, cheri?' he said, his expression grim. 'I'm not going to be caught dead doing your dirty work.'

There was a tendril of fear you saw in his eyes. He was scared, you realised of the almighty Winchesters. Disappointed, you puckered your lips, switching tactics.

You placed the cup before you, sliding it across the rough surface of the unkept wooden desk. 'Peace offering?'

He glanced at the dark liquid that he had thought had contained your alcohol previously, yet he hadn't seen you take a sip from it. Suspicions rose high in his head - suddenly, you were giving him a truce? After he refused you information?

'Dead man's blood?'

You brought a dart gun out of your holster that had been strapped to your belt. Your movements were easier now that you had been rid of the puffy gown. You were wearing a normal pair of jeans and a loose top. You still had your heels, but that was only because your parents had never allowed you to buy anything else - your height wasn't your best feature, as they'd pointed out several times. You surrendered the gun to the table, although the barrel pointed towards the vampire.

'I would shoot you in the heart if I had to.' You nodded at the mug in between the two of you. 'That's just good old bloody whiskey. Emphasis on the blood.'

It would explain why you didn't take a pull from it, but you were asking something next to impossible from him - you were asking him for trust. He took the glass closer to him, placing it at the edge of his side of the table, that way, he wasn't rude, and if it fell, it won't be his problem. Between his weak scruff, you could see his frown. 'What are you playing at?'

'I'm loyal,' you shrugged, vague. 'You can trust me.'

'Everything is fair love and war, isn't it?' his insinuation was clear; he was still sulking about your attitude since last night.

'I realize we didn't get off on the best foot,' you conceded, a little. 'But I get what I want, Captain. And I don't want betrayal, from my side or anyone else's.'

'Is that supposed to be a fucking comfort?' he groused, tired of your haywire words.

'I'm very straightforward for a diplomat, I'm sure you've realized,' you baited.

'Look, we made a deal. I drop you to the other side, and we're through. I ain't in the mood for your fucking games. Keep out of my business and I'll be sure to do so from yours,' he leaned in closer to the table to drive the intensity of his words home.

'That's not what I want,' you said.

'I don't care what you want!' his hand slapped on the wood and the mug shattered in a crash, the bedeviled drink spreading on the ground, and some soaking into the wooden planks that made the floor. Your nose gave a minuscule crinkle, a need for cleanliness arising in your brain, but you resisted breaking from your argument.

You sighed through your nose. 'I'm sure you'll care for an island, however.'

It made him pause. 'Excuse me?'

You curled your hands against one another as you so often did, part of being a royal, and you smiled a little. 'So far, we've traded food for travel, and peace for peace. You say that this journey might be over two weeks; to maintain the morale and productivity of my faction, I want to strike the bargain for an island in return of . . . say, a crash course?'

Befuddled and intrigued, 'Crash course?'

'I figured you've never stepped on land; my people have never taken advantage of water. There's an island called Lastovo in Croatia with your name on it, for when your sails want to rest - if you teach my kind how to make boats and other aquatic surviving facilities out of scraps.'

Benny seemed genuinely disarmed at the proposal. He had never met a human who would be crazy enough to offer a piece of land to a band of monsters. He hadn't even heard of such craziness before, and he had been immortal for a while.

'What's the catch?' he sceptically measured you up, looking for a sign to call you out. Your face was impossible to read, a smooth mask of cockiness, and eyes so fearless, as if they'd never seen or felt a proper loss before.

You shrugged, once again giving a warped reply. 'When I asserted my power, I was just letting you know that we're a match for you, Captain - if that's what's stopping you from making this deal.'

'I don't trust you,' Benny said. How were you not getting it? How were you so callously offering land to monsters? How were you sitting so enjoyably in front of the vampire you threatened just last night?

He was both bewildered and affronted at your callous attitude. He could hear your heightened heartbeat, which was the only indicator that there was as much mistrust from your end as it was from his - but you must be one of those fucking adrenaline junkies to be still conducting your manner so politely.

He searched your simple eyes where he could detect no hint of emotion - even in his own heartless vampires, he would notice more than you - they had anger, they had pain, they had happiness. Or ego, at least.

But the death in your expression was a bit chilling, and this was coming from a hundred-year-old vampire.

Indeed, he had seen a lot of Leaders. Somehow, you were scaring him more. Somehow, he hated you the most.

'Another good reason, eh?' you chirped up. 'For bonding, I mean. This crash course can help all of us.'

His teeth ground in annoyance. 'You're mad.'

You blinked. Finally, Benny could see the underlying human in you who was surprised, angered, and entertained by his comment. He could see the ego of a seasoned huntress. And then he saw your humanity disappear again, a mask shifting into place with a practiced twitch of your face.

'Is that a yes?' you stood up, persistent beyond belief.

'If other ships spot you, you'll be dead within minutes. And our ship'll be crippled—'

'Are you scared?' you said, smirking in a way that made him want to kill you.

His eyes darted to the extending blood that was racing towards your feet because of the heady sway that came to the ship from the sea. It was bad blood growing between the two of you, bringing the metaphor to life - and it gave Benny an idea.

'Let your men be ready at five,' he said.

You beamed at him in agreement. You re-palmed your gun, at which Benny tensed, but then you tucked it back into its holding place. 'Always a pleasure doing business,' you said, parting from the room.

Benny grabbed a bowl from the nearby shelf and extracted a half-drunk blood bag from his desk drawer that almost fell on his leg when he hurriedly opened it. Spilling most of the blood into the bowl, he placed a call to his creator. It was usually only a demon's way of communicating, but since the humans had started gaining more power than they were due very recently, small allegiances had also started to branch out amongst the other factions, unbeknownst to your kind.

First, Seth L/N had slaughtered Raphael. Bobby Singer and Rufus Turner had killed most of the Monster Alphas. The now B/F L/N had conquered Metatron, a mad angel activist. Joana Harvelle had left a chain of murders of the succession of the Kings of Hell, most recently her victim had been Abaddon, who she'd murdered with the help of a Dean fucking Winchester. This last man who also ended up slaying the Darkness.

If Benny's instincts were right, which they usually were, it could not be a coincidence that a sociopath like you was headed to Europe at this time - perhaps, to fill in as the last piece . . .

When he sensed that the other line had accepted, he announced the dreaded news.

'I have the last Leader of the prophecy in my sights, Chief. It's the Birthday Girl.'

A/N: Birthdays can be so stressful sometimes. Phew 😮‍💨!

Also, Happy New Year, you guys - to those who celebrate 🙃❤️! Thought I'd begin my year with this chapter blast, hehe. Lemme know what you thought of it!

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28

[kurooangel]

mlist. smut. (short f!reader)

★ featuring tsukishima kei, kuroo tetsuro, kageyama tobio, sakusa kiyoomi. satoru gojo, suguru geto.

─────────────────────────────

your boyfriend and his stupidly big height. he loves to make fun of you because of how short you are next to him. once, you were so tired of his smirk and teasing comments, that you decided to have the great idea of throwing a snarky answer to him. "I know something that is quite short as well"

you made a big mistake, and even if you're taking it back, he needs to show you how completely wrong you are. his cock is deep inside you and he keeps thrusting into your hypersensitive pussy again and again with the same harshness as when he started fucking you. your legs are sore and you feel your mind so dizzy as your vision blurs because of the tears in your eyes. "I-I can't, is too much!" you moan while your nails dig further into his broad back. his huge body hovering over yours, hazel eyes locked on your face as you squirm right beneath him. "this is what you deserve. calling your man a short dick? are you fucking serious, babe?" he says, thrusting even harder and deeper, his tip kissing your cervix, filling you just right and his lips catching yours in a wild, sloppy kiss. you cum again and again, having lost count and all you can do is look at him with your lovely bambi eyes.

friendly reminder: don't hurt his ego again.

────────────────────────────

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Reading list/Fanfic Masterlist Yandere!Batfamily X Reader

NONE OF THESE FANFICS BELONG TO ME, this is more of a personal reading list of fanfics I follow and such, all the links lead you to the creators' direct blogs.

Almost all the fanfics in the 'platonic' section are with Neglected!Reader, I'm addicted to that trope.

More than one link will lead you to the authors' master list instead of a masterlist for the series. This is because they don't have a dedicated list for the series, and it was easier for me to keep them this way. (There are also links to the first chapter, in this case, the author probably left the other chapters there, in addition to imagines, headcanons, and drabbles on their own.) I thought about adding a short description below the links to explain what the fanfic is about… maybe I'll do it later or just leave it as it is.

Not - series

Again and. Again - series

Bruce hears Reader call someone else "dad." - drabble

Reader who only recognizes Alfred - drabble

[UN] Fair - series

Adorned in pearls (although Bruce here is not platonic…) - one shot

Batfamily with a Shallow Reader - imagine

Reader in Squid Games - imagine

Crack Baby - series

Smalltown Meta!Reader - series

Forget me not - series

No more Chances - series

Inmorta! Reader - series

Undoing Fate - series (it's not yandere but it has my favorite cliche so…)

Tip toes - series

Meet The Waynes - series

Bring back the dead - series

Obsessive reader in the shadows - imagine

There are two fanfictions here, the first fic doesn't have a name and I don't know what to name it. - series

Who said money can´t buy hapinness (considering the # I assume that the batfam is platonic….but I'm not sure) - series

Between life and death, death is tempting - series

Ain´t no sushine - series

Beyond the Bat - series

Crow choir - series

Waterbone - drabble

Marine!Reader - one shot? drabble?

Saboteur - series/imagine

Unwanted embrace - series

I'm almost sure this was one of the pioneering stories in this trope. - one shot

Little Demon - one shot

Goodbye World - one shot

Batsis wakes up in a fanfic - imagine? drabble?

Batfam playing with Reader - I think it's a drabble…I don't know

Pity Party - series

Yandere Al Ghuls! - series

How would they spend time with you after the kidnapping? -drabble

You´re a fucking weird hacker - one shot

Lucid Dreams - series

Ghost of the Past - series

Soulamate Soul Animal - series

Good Look(includes more DC yanderes characters) - series

Web Bound (It is NOT yandere, but it does have obsessive characters) - Series

Bug like Angel - series

The other family - one shot

Batman! Damian Wayne x Robin! Reader - one shot?

Children!Reader who loves Tim more than Dick - headcanon

Yandere!Batfam Headcanons - headcanon xd

Advantages and disadvantages of Neglected! Reader - Headcanon(?)

When your family only cherish you after your death - series

Yandere Batfam x Neglected!Elle Woods!Reader - series

My pathetic family - series(?)

The ballad of a bygone blight - series

Batmon and his baby -drabble/ Scenery (bruce is romantic)

Reader happy to be ignored - drabble/Scenery

What We Want - series

The sinfull Allure (the story is not yandere, but it has the batboys, and I love this reverse harem) - series

Seven Days a Week - Hit me Hard and sort - two series

First married to Bruce - one shot

As Yanderes´ Universe - one shot series?

Polyamory with Aged Up! Damian Wayne and John Kent - imagine

Sisters!Reader x Batboys - Headcanon? (according to the hashtags)

Greetings - drabble?

How Dick and Damian would handle learnig reader is dating somebody? - Drabble?

Addictive - Series

Do You Think We´ll Be In Love Forever? (includes more DC characters) - various drabbles

Perfect Life - one shot

Batboys and reader who knows - headcanon set?

Checkmate - one shot

Tim Drake x nursing student!Reader - one shot

Remedial Lesson (18+) - One shot

Dommy Mommy!Reader - headcanon

Reader hosted by Tim Drake - one shot

Yandere self-aware Dick Grayson - headcanon set

Moon Prism Power! - imagine

What types of yanderes would the Batboys be? - headcanon

Yandere!Batboys x Reader HC - Headcanon

Dick Grayson is your coworker - Drabble (?)

Muse: The Painting - one shot

[briechyne]

Espresso-stained pages, whispered thoughts between hardcover spines, and mornings that begin with poetry and croissants. A soft life of books, cafés, and intentional stillness.

[syluses]

thinkin about caleb and how his initial (and only) reason to start working out was so he could protect his meimei <3

when he’d started hitting the gym, it was to assure both himself and you that, if danger were to ever come, he’d have the advantage against it. it’s a surprising bonus, though- by no means an unpleasant one- when he really starts to shape up and you notice.

you order him around heavy furniture and he works like a willing dog, no complaints given whatsoever. you get the feeling he enjoys it, actually.

when you make comments that his big strong arms will have no trouble finding that new coffee table a home in the living room, he positively beams. it’s a little weird because you genuinely don’t know why it makes him so happy... instant mood booster. you’re not complaining though; he’s infinitely helpful. caleb’s always been the cheerful type, especially with you, but it’s a different kind of elation he reaches when you ask him to carry you on his back during your walk home because your legs are tired.

he hoists you up on his shoulders- his broad ones that are just as sturdy as they look- so you can see over crowded plazas and totes you around no different than a prized handbag. he preens and puffs out his chest when you tell him to lift his arm so you can feel his muscle- not a hint of shame on your face (because he’s your gege, this is perfectly normal) as you do- and feels his heart skip when your little fingers give his biceps a curious squeeze.

he hardly breaks a sweat as he lugs around new pieces of your bedroom decor, and all the toiling is more than worth it when your eyes widen and thoughtfully skim over his physique. oh yeah, he’s gotten bigger, meimei- can you tell? oh, he says it like it’s no big deal. but it is a VERY big deal to him, do not be fooled. he desperately wishes you’ll gawk and ogle him to your heart’s content, even if he knows your admiration is far from lascivious.

and don’t you worry— he’ll only get stronger, only get better, might even drag you to the gym with him so you can see live demonstrations of his favorite chest workouts (with a thin tank, of course, but just because he sweats a lot, no other reason) and the proper form for certain exercises so you don’t injure yourself. anything to impress his sweet lil pipsqueak 🫶

[qerieq]

F1 10s drivers college AU

[maladaptiveobsession]

“Magic pocket pussy”

Synopsis: DOL NPCS acquiring a magical pocket pussy synced to you.

Contains: afab!gn!reader, discipline, multi penetration, noncon, overstimulation, somnopihlia, toys

Words: 588

A/N: I only differentiated yandere!sirris from his normal conterpart as he is the only character I can imagine having drastically different behavior for this particular prompt. You can’t convince me Gwylan isn’t cooking up magic (probably illicit substances as well) in their shop. Something about them feels underlined with nefarious intent. I’d like to flesh out this concept with some of the characters at some point; there’s so much nuance and potential.

Abuses the hell out of it

With access to your cunt at all times, your pussy will be consistently puffy and raw from abuse. He’s stuffing you with cock whenever the urge strikes, torturing you with toys when his dick can’t keep up with his libido. He purposely teases you at inconvenient times. Watching you struggle to maintain composure in public is his favorite pastime. Most nights you wake up to the feeling of an invisible cock dragging along your gummy walls. If for whatever reason he can’t torment you at night, the pocket pussy is being stuffed with a vibrator so you wake up drenched in the morning. He’ll insert random objects throughout the day of various sizes and shapes, all to watch you squirm. Sometimes he’ll cram the largest dildo he can find inside to see you waddle around town in discomfort. He’s likely to fill the silicone hole with a dildo or vibrator of some sort—possibly both or even multiple of each—and then fuck you for real with the toys still inside. Really though, seeing your reactions is his favorite part of all. While your real pussy will always reign supreme, there’s a charm to watching you break apart without even actually touching you. The fleshlight is just so convenient.

➥ Anxious Gaurd, Briar, Kylar, C!Sydney, Leighton, Morgan, Quinn, Scarred Inmate, Whitney, Wren, yan!Sirris

Generally only when you’re not available

He doesn’t usually care for toys (why bother when he has you), but this one is an exception. It’s hardly a replacement for the real thing, but he can at least admit the convenience is alluring. It’s not all too often it gets used, but there are times when he misses you and can’t resist. It’s just so easy to punish you for being away for too long or simply to remind you of them. He could always just shove a vibrator inside and forget about it if he feels like it. Watching you fall apart without touching you proves enjoyable, as well. There’s a possibility he could even order a custom dildo, a replica of his length, to stuff the silicone cunt with, so you seek them out sooner. No chance you can forget about him when you can’t even sit. This opens the possibility of double stuffing you using only their dick. The longer you avoid them, the less patience and willpower they’ll have, therefore being less likely to wait.

➥ Alex, Avery, Bailey, Black Wolf, Eden, Great Hawk, Gwylan, Harper, Landry, Methodical Gaurd, Niki, Relaxed Gaurd, Remy, Veteran Gaurd, Zephyr

Only once in a moment weakness

He’s rather unlikely to use any toy, let alone a magical onahole. Just owning the thing feels like a breach of trust, but they can’t risk having it fall into anyone else’s hands. It sits in a drawer, hidden away until he eventually forgets about it. It’s not until he’s humping a pillow in the pitch dark of his room that he remembers it exists. He’ll scold himself, suddenly too ashamed to feel horny. Days will go by, constantly plagued by curiosity. When he finally concedes, apologies will spill from his lips as he rocks his hips into the silicone. It feels so good, and he wonders if you’re feeling the same. More than that, he wonders if the real thing—the real you—feels this good. His orgasm is the most intense he’s ever felt, electricity taking over him and his essence flooding the silicone imitation of you. The post-nut clarity is potent, mortifying. He’ll avoid you for some time after that, unable to even look you in the eye for even longer. Shame creeps along his spine like a parasite, vowing never to lose control like that again. Below the guilt, desire grows and bites at his willpower. Who knows how long it’ll be before he gives in again?

➥ Charilie, Darryl, Doren, P!Sydney, Jordan, Mason, Mickey, River, Robin, Sam, Sirris, Winter,

Bonus

The likely creator of said pocket pussy

➥ Gwylan