#also on ao3

[girlsloveamystery]

My Harry and Hermione fanfic makes me so happy 😀

[georgethequeerpuppet-blog]

Burning Effigy

By curiouser_n_curiouser on Ao3

(georgethequeerpuppet on Tumblr)

An angst filled time-loop Steddie fic. Full fic available on Ao3.

Chapter 1 - Connection

It was over. Fuck, it was over.

Steve let out a breath. His lungs rattled, ribs creaking. Bone-deep exhaustion settled in. Pain wracked up and down his limbs, sharp throbbing assaulting his sides. His head pounded along with his heart.

The trailer was filled with stuffy air and disintegrating bats. Particles floated through the air around them, swirling.

Dustin sobbed into his shoulder.

"- the vents. We missed the f-fucking vents."

Dustin's cries were a painful reminder that even though it was over, and they had won, they had still lost.

"We need to go." Nancy stood in the doorway, sympathy mirroring Steve's.

He didn't know Eddie well. Sure, he knew of him, he knew about him. But Dustin had some restraint. He hadn't spilled all of Eddie's secrets when talking about him to Steve.

Steve hauled Dustin to his feet, leading him to the gate. He helped Robin through, and she quickly tossed down a new sheet rope. Then Dustin went through, then Nancy. Steve sighed, glancing back out at the park beyond the doorway.

God, he wished he could go back.

He wished he could have saved Eddie. For Dustin.

And maybe even a little for himself.

Maybe it was time that he started wanting things for himself. Maybe it was time for Steve to actually follow his own heart for once. For Eddie.

Hauling himself up the rope, Steve narrowly avoided the closing edges of the gate, and let his body flip the other way up.

Steve let go. He let himself fall. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he tried to persuade himself that none of this had happened.

 

He fell for what felt like an eternity. His body turned cold against the open air.

A tight grip wrapped around his ankle, and his bare back slammed against rough, dry, cold ground.

Steve's eyes snapped open. The cloudy sky swirled above him. His skin tore against the ground. Steve twisted, pulling the flashlight from his pocket. He slammed the butt of the light into the dry ground. The bag crinkled and tore, before the solid shaft caught in a large crack. His arm was yanked near out of its socket. Suddenly the vine around his ankle was gone.

Steve rolled, heaving with winded lungs. Cold air bit at his already raw throat.

Fuck, he'd thought it was over.

Screeches filled his ears, coming at him from all sides.

God, he wanted it to be over.

Steve took a breath, as deep as he could with bruised lungs. He looked up and around himself. The bats were closing in, and the boat was further away this time.

Steve rolled into a crouch, wracking his brain for ideas.

How the fuck was he going to do this?

If he went for the boat, he couldn't be certain that the bats wouldn't get to him first. If he ran for the woods...

Well, if his theory was correct, the others wouldn't know where he was.

Steve looked back at the gate, it's red glow cutting through the darkness. He could see Nancy's figure climbing out of it.

Suddenly, a bat swooped him. Instinct took over and he straightened from his crouch. The bat circled him, before launching back toward his face.

Only this time around, Steve knew their patterns of attack. Maybe not as well as he would have liked. But it was better than nothing.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around the thing's grotesque little head. It screeched against his palm, prompting another creature to dive bomb.

He ducked, hunching over and drawing his shoulders up to protect his neck. He could feel it's tail searching along his back.

At first, he thought it would fly away, and then re-engage. But then it's tail wrapped around the bicep of his free arm, and Steve was forced to wrap his other hand around the long tails trying to pull him over.

The bat in his right hand flapped frantically, teeth biting into his palm, but not gaining any traction or latch.

The bat in his left hand screeched and squirmed, trying to get away from him. It’s tail was like a cat’s tongue, scratching up his palm, tearing his skin.

"Steve!"

Robin's voice cut through the air, and Steve's head whipped up to look for her. All three of them were running at him, Nancy and Eddie with oars in hand. Another bat swooped him, before latching onto his side where he stood.

Fuck, he guessed if they were desperate enough, they would completely bypass actually downing him before attacking.

He let out a yelp, falling to his knees in pain.

It was worse without the tails around his throat to distract him.

Nancy reached him first, just as he slumped backwards onto his back. And he was hit with a sense of déjà vu when she whacked the thing with her oar. She said something, but he was too caught up in keeping his grip on the bats that he didn't hear it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others were now fighting off their own bats.

Steve heaved himself back onto his knees as best he could with his elbows.

He needed to deal with the biter first.

With all his might, he slammed the thing into the ground, head first. It screeched in pain, so he did it again.

And again. And again. And again.

And again, and again, and again.

Until it finally went still, it's blood mingling with Steve's own.

He pulled a knee up, moving his other hand to grip the tail of his second victim, just above his left. His hands moved up it's tail, one by one. It screamed and fluttered desperately, trying to get away. As if it sensed what was about to happen.

Once Steve reached the base of it's tail, he grabbed hold of the creature's right wing and pulled. But with the blood slick on his hand, the thing just screamed at him and flapped harder.

So he did the next thing he could think of.

Realistically, he knew he could have probably picked a different method of destruction, but his mind drifted to his previous conversation with Eddie, in the woods, and he just went for it.

He closed his injured palm around the bat's body, pinning one of the wings, and bit down on it's head, as hard as he could.

It only fought for moment, before going limp in his hands. Then, he pulled.

Lips bared, teeth glistening with black blood.

Steve tore the thing's head off.

That's how he found himself throwing the dead thing to the ground, and spitting it's own head, blood and skull fragments at its corpse.

Nancy rushed to his side, gently gripping his shoulder to take a closer look at his side and back. Her hands went to his, cupping his bloodied palm.

Fuck, he was tired.

And the next thing he knew, they were ducked under Skull Rock, waiting out the swarm.

Knowing the next series of events was a relief. Knowing he would get dizzy when he stood back up. Knowing Nancy would sacrifice her shirt to bandage him up. Knowing Robin and Eddie would both have a minor freak-out, before he'd get a vest thrown at his face. It was all a relief.

So he sped up the process, eager to get out of the upside-down, and to see Dustin, Max and the other kids. He let himself slump backwards, out of his crouch, until his ass hit the cold dirt, and his feet slid the rest of the way out from under him. Nancy spun, concern written on her face. "Steve."

"I'm okay," he tried, holding his hand awkwardly to try and avoid pulling at the open wounds.

"No, you're losing blood. Here-"

"No, don't." He wheezed, placing his non-injured hand on top of her own, stopping her from ripping her top. "Robin has a perfectly good shirt, right there, that I can replace a lot easier."

Robin glared for a moment, rolling her eyes, before shucking off the shirt.

And he was right. He could very easily replace the thing. He had gotten it for her, himself, after all. And the sweater she had on underneath was more than enough to keep her warm.

Nancy busied herself with tearing strips out of the hem of the oversized shirt, while Robin rambled about rabies and his sense of humor.

But Steve was too focussed on Eddie.

Who still seemed to be having a silent, solo freak out.

Nancy wrapped one of the strips tightly around his hand, and Steve kept his eyes on Eddie. When she asked him to move to his knees, he obeyed silently, forcing his torso as straight as he could so she could wrap him up. "That okay?"

He nodded absently at her, looking down at himself. The fabric of the button-up wasn't as stretchy as the wool of Nancy's shirt had been. But it was more absorbent, and it felt more secure.

Mind you, with everything moving so much faster than last time, Steve was well aware that it was bleeding a lot more, not having had much of a chance to clot.

"Careful, Eddie!" Nancy's voice rung out through the clearing. "Don't step on the vines. It's all a hive-mind."

Steve glanced around, taking in the sky above them. No bats, which meant that he hadn't even been aware that they had gone.

This time, he listened silently while Nancy and Robin explained how the Upside Down worked. He didn't have the energy to give his own input. His mind was still reeling.

"I have guns. In my bedroom."

He couldn't argue with her, because he'd sound insane without proof.

So they began the trek to Nancy's house. The girls walked ahead. He was curious as to what they chatted about. But he'd never asked. Steve hung back. He didn't rush to catch up with Eddie this time. He knew what the man was going to say to him. It felt wrong. Knowing Eddie was going to die. It made it hard to look at him.

Steve watched the ground while he walked. Not so much to look out for vines, but more so he wouldn't have to look at Eddie. The dead man walking.

But, eventually, Eddie slowed down to walk beside him.

"How you holding up, Steve?"

Steve drew in a sharp breath. His hand throbbed. "Been better."

His response was quiet, almost a whisper. But Eddie seemed to hear it anyway. "I can imagine. That was a real Ozzy move you made back there, man."

A small smile tugged at his lips. Same old Eddie.

"Oh, to be compared to the likes of Ozzy Osborne? I'm honored, Munson."

Eddie let out a shocked snort. "Well aren't you just full of surprises... and here I thought Steve Harrington was too cool for metal. Turns out I was wrong about you. I mean, Henderson said you were a badass- insisted on the matter, in fact. Sure, I didn't believe him. But, now? You're proving me wrong, Stevie. Rich parents, basketball jock, handsome, not a douche? Nah, man. That flies in the face of everything I know. Not to mention, my own personal Munson Doctrine. But, shit, man. When you bit the head off of that bat? I knew instantly that I have been wrong about you this whole time."

Stevie.

Eddie had called him Stevie.

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks at the high praise. The nickname, though? That had him reeling.

"Th-thanks, man."

He drew in another deep breath, letting his eyes drift up to look at Eddie. The other man gave him a charming smile, before his eyes flicked back to his own feet. Steve's gaze lingered on Eddie's face. He wished he could admire the other man, but all he saw was the future pallor of death marring his usually vibrant face.

"You okay?"

Steve nodded harshly, his free hand scrunching the fabric of his pants. His locked his eyes back onto the ground.

"Here. You look cold."

Eddie shucked off his vest, and for a moment, Steve was expecting it to be thrown at his face again. But then Eddie was pulling off his leather jacket, too. The chilled leather was pressed into his hands, and for a long moment, he wasn't sure what to do with it.

He could only watch while Eddie pulled his vest back on.

"You need help?"

Steve startled at the question. He didn't know why he was so out of it. Maybe it was some sort of whiplash from being thrown back in time. "No, I'm okay."

He pulled the jacket over his arms, carefully avoiding his hand. The lining stung against his back, but the warmth was comforting. Grounding.

"Anyway," Eddie continued. "I know you and Wheeler dated, back when you were still in school? What happened with you guys?"

This was different. Steve had expected the speech about 'unambiguous signs of love' and all that. He watched Eddie for a moment. Maybe it was the fact that Steve hadn't tried to push him away yet. Maybe this was progress?

"She- I did- Jonathan and I had a fight. Barb was missing, and Nance was a mess. I should have been there for her, but I thought she had cheated on me... and I pushed her away. Then all that shit with Billy happened, and I... I couldn't even try anymore. I didn't see any point in it."

Eddie hummed. "You still care for each other, though. I mean- it's pretty obvious."

Steve snorted. "I still love her, but not romantically. Not after-" not after she shot him down back in the Winnebago. Not after she had told him he was bullshit. "- it would never work out, anyway. We want different things."

For a long time, Eddie didn't say anything. Long enough that Steve had to try and stop himself from spiralling. Did he say something wrong? Did he offend--

"Fair enough."

Huh.

"I guess I just saw the connection you two have and immediately assumed you were still pining after each other. But, I guess if you are friends with Robin, she'd knock some sense into you, huh?"

That made Steve chuckle. Eddie had no idea how right he was. Robin was the only reason he had finally admitted to himself that he was capable of loving more than just women.

"Either that, or she'd just shoot me down on Nancy's behalf. They barely know each other, yet they are terrifying together," Steve said in a low voice, trying not to attract their attention.

Eddie laughed, tripping on an exposed root. Steve's hands shot out to steady him before he fell on a mass of vines to their left.

"Careful."

Eddie nodded, his damp curls bouncing limply over his shoulders. "Thanks."

Suddenly, the ground beneath them began to tremble violently. Steve's grip on Eddie's arm tightened, and he instinctively pulled the other man against himself, bracing his right arm on a nearby tree. His vision swam as the earthquake went on, only clearing when the shaking slowed. Eddie had an arm slung around Steve's waist, hand holding onto Steve's hip. Both boys managed to stay upright, and as the quake came to a stop, Steve could see that the girls were still standing too.

And then Nancy was running, and Eddie was pulling away from him to follow her.

 

Steve couldn't help but notice how cold he felt with Eddie gone.

[danibee33]

Chapter 18 of ‘Diablesa’

[proudofdraco]

I think you'd like this story: " 𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙏𝙐𝙎𝙀𝙈𝙋𝙍𝘼 • 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘰𝘺 " by proudofdraco on Wattpad https://www.wattpad.com/story/263338553?utm_source=android&utm_medium=com.tumblr&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=proudofdraco&wp_originator=eMRdHSNM3mDf1O0Y4ugqdHWWhX1oj9FoHQAd3fMyFLe0ChSci7P7%2BYMgi593IyH09Uca5BcOfrrYeh%2BBmme49yHoW89ecEQG2FtblbWYWzEdhu2H5O0c0iQdWqDM1Sm8

[elvieshezza]

'I Just Want To Have Friends.'

It had been a quiet evening for confession, Father Brown thinks. A few of the usual ladies from the W.I., confessing to gossip and envy and lustfulness, an older gentleman who told the priest of his decade long affair, and finally a little boy that made him smile as he confessed to stealing his big sister’s doll.

He checks his watch, and is getting to his feet, until he hears the door of the confessional open and someone hesitantly, tentatively stepping in. Brown sits back down.

Whoever it is is breathing heavily, and a little shakily. They’re clearly shy, maybe even scared at the prospect of speaking to the priest. No matter – Father Brown is well practised at setting people at ease.

“How can I help you, my child?”

He glances through the grille, but all he can make out is a dark, well-groomed head of hair bowed down in the low light of the confessional chamber. It’s vaguely familiar, like he’s seen this particular head many times before but he can’t quite put his finger on whose it is. He can just about make out the arching ridge of a nose, but that’s all.

There’s a heavy inhalation, like the unknown penitent is steeling themselves to begin.

“I- I- I’m sorry, Father.”

Oh. Inspector Sullivan. That is a surprise – last time Sullivan was here, he was a wanted man.

“Inspector? What are you sorry for? How can I help you?”

“I’m not even a Catholic. I don’t even believe in your God, I don’t deserve your help. I shouldn’t be here.” Sullivan moves to leave. Father Brown can’t let that happen, though. Something has clearly happened; something must have upset the young Inspector enough to drive him into the church that he seems to loathe.

“Wait a moment, Inspector. Please. Talk to me.”

Sullivan kneels back down, heavily, like hearing those words cut the strings that were holding him up. Father Brown is worried, now.

“I- I’m so, so lonely, Father.”

There’s a definite shake to the inspector’s voice, something raw and unguarded the likes of which Father Brown has never heard from Sullivan before. He can hear the pain, the sheer misery in the inspector’s tone, and he feels his heart clench a little in response. For the first time in a long while, Father Brown doesn’t really know what to say. Instead he sits, and waits for that poor, choked voice to continue.

“All the lads at the station, they talk about their wives and girlfriends and mothers and fathers, and I have none of that. I have no one at all, no one to talk about, nobody there for me. Not even a mum, Father. She died when I was six. It- it was her birthday, today.”

Sullivan’s voice cracks, then properly breaks at that last sentence. Even in the darkness of the booth, Father Brown sees the telltale glimmer of tears, streaming down the inspector’s face. His breathing has picked up into short, shallow gasps that sound painful to the silent priest’s ears.

“I’m so sorry, inspector. Do you have no other family? A father?” Brown says softly.

Sullivan’s head snaps up at that, and Father Brown senses he’s made a mistake.

“No! No, no I do it’s just, it’s just that we don’t- he doesn’t- he hates me. And I hate him.” A flat, broken voice replies.

“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t-“ Father Brown begins, but he’s cut off.

“He does! You don’t understand, you can’t understand, you don’t know, you, you won’t care, no one did, and I don’t blame them, I’m awful, I don’t deserve-“ Sullivan is almost sobbing, now. Father Brown can see him shuddering against the tide of hot tears that are rising in his eyes. It’s difficult to hear, far more difficult than listening to endless confessions of impure thoughts and anger and white lies. He thinks of the inspector’s poor, wounded soul, who’s only sin seems to be desperate, crushing loneliness. Not that it is a sin – but Sullivan is confessing to it anyway.

“What’s your first name, Inspector?”

The non-sequitur catches Sullivan off guard, and he answers without thinking.

“Thomas. I don’t remember the last time someone called me that.”

“I want you to know, Thomas, that I do care. And you are not awful. Who has made you think that?” Father Brown asks, but he thinks he already knows the answer.

“My- my father. He hurt me, I was scared of him, I am scared of him. He hit me, he choked me, he locked me in the cupboard where it was dark and cramped and there were spiders and, and, and- I was only a child. He made me do all the housework and the cooking and the cleaning. He told me I was soft, he said he wished I’d never been born. The best day I remember was when the headteacher let me sleep in his office because I was too tired to stay awake in the lesson. The other kids, they laughed at me, said there was something wrong with me ‘cause I never understood when they were being mean, I told my dad and he agreed.”

The words tumble from Sullivan’s mouth at the speed of sound, like when a dam breaks and the water rushes through, overpowering and all-consuming. All Father Brown can do is sit there, listening in horror as the Inspector describes his upbringing. Father Brown thinks of what Sullivan said earlier – ‘You won’t care. No one did.’. That leaves a sour taste in his mouth, the idea that no one listened to a small, terrified little boy as he lived through horrific abuse.

What he knows, and what he’s inferred about Inspector Sullivan starts to make a little more sense, now. How he is reserved and cold, even hostile at times, unwilling to open up for fear that he might be hurt again. For fear of being laughed at, shot down, ignored all over again. He thinks of that frightened little boy that Sullivan is describing, who is still there, buried beneath a mountain of armour, and a little tear springs to his eye. Sullivan has descended into incomprehensible sobs as he recounts his tale, but the kind priest can just decipher a few little words.

“I- I just want to have friends, Father.”

In the smallest, saddest voice that Father Brown has ever heard.

So what else can he really do?

Brown rises to his feet, leaves his side of the booth, then opens the door that shields Sullivan from the rest of the world.

The young policeman looks up at him through bloodshot eyes, tears dripping, and Father Brown is there, tugging Sullivan to his feet and pulling the man into him. Sullivan freezes a moment, then he’s pliant in Father Brown’s hold, pressing his face into the priest’s shoulder as he sobs even harder. Father Brown rubs his back, small soothing motions as Sullivan’s body is wracked with little shivers as he cries. Sullivan clings to him. One hand is on his back, the other rests on the back of Sullivan’s head.

They stand there for what seems like an age.

Sullivan calms a little, and tries to pull away. Father Brown lets him, but keeps his hands loosely on the inspector’s upper arms.  Sullivan is avoiding his gaze, looks down at his feet like he’s ashamed of himself.

“Why don’t you join me at the presbytery for dinner tonight?”

“Oh- I wouldn’t want to impose, I don’t-“ Sullivan starts, shaking his head gently, but there’s a flicker of hope in his still watery eyes.

“Thomas. Listen to me. You are always welcome, and Mrs. McCarthy has a rather mouthwatering stew on the stove that I’m very much looking forward to. Please, come eat with us.”

Sullivan smiles a little at that, and looks up at Father Brown.

“Then- yes. I’d like that.”

@badthingshappenbingo

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Interpersonal Chapter 8

Panicking, pancakes, and heart-to-hearts with Aurora.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! What in the ever-loving hell were you thinking last night? It had been awkward enough trying to work with him when the worst thing that had happened between the two of you was one kiss. Now… you didn’t know how you could ever look him in the eye now, much less work for him.

Oh God… work. Besides the obvious ethical reasons to not fuck your boss, it was going to be an HR disaster if anyone else from the company ever found out about this. There were already questions about your relationship with him. And you just knew you’d be the one to bear the brunt of the blame if this did come to light. 

The worst part was that this was almost entirely your fault. Oh, he had clearly wanted you just as badly, but he’d given you several opportunities to back out if you had wanted to take them. Not only did you not take the chances to stop when you could’ve, you had straight up begged him to fuck you. You’d reveled in every touch, every kiss, and now you were left with very real consequences. And the part of your brain which reminded you of those consequences, which had inconveniently decided to take a vacation last night, was back with a renewed vengeance.

First thing was first: you needed to get out of here. You’d have to find your clothes (which in and of itself was going to be a job since your shirt wasn’t in the room and you didn’t remember how to get back to the bar), and find your way out of the labyrinthine mansion, all without waking him up. And that was much easier said than done. He had you wrapped so tightly in his arms that attempting to move even a little could very well wake him up.

Thankfully, you had a test, taught to you by a friend years ago, to see if you could move without waking him. Squeezing your eyes shut to pretend like you were still asleep, you roll over, burying your face into his chest. It’s definitely not where you want your face to be at the moment, but it’s the quickest way you know to see if he’s likely to wake up.

He doesn’t move, and you let out a mental sigh of relief. But just as you’re preparing to shimmy towards the end of the bed to escape from the foot, his arm moves, and you freeze. You pray to whatever God might be listening that he’s just moving in his sleep and hasn’t actually woken up…

No such luck. He’s slowly and methodically stroking your hair, and you can’t fool yourself into thinking those actions are anything but purposeful. Your best, and probably only, bet is pretend to still be asleep and wait to see what he does next.

It seems he doesn’t want to stay in bed for long. After a few moments, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before gingerly extricating himself from around you, as though he’s being careful not to wake you. You hear him moving about his room, opening drawers, and the shuffle of clothes, but you don’t dare open your eyes to get a better look.

Eventually, you hear the door open and close, and the sound of footsteps fading down the hall. You give it a few more minutes to ensure he’s not coming back before you allow yourself to sit up, stretch, and take a good look around.

Despite the amount of time you’ve spent in here, you’d been way too distracted to take any note of your surroundings until now. The room itself is huge, of course, just like everything else in the house. There’s a guitar hanging on one wall, although whether it’s playable or just for decoration is debatable. There’s also a bookcase, which you walk over to. Within moments, you find a copy of Shakespeare’s entire works. There’s a bookmark sticking out of it. You have a shrewd suspicion on what you’ll find if you open it, and sure enough, opening the tome takes you right to Taming of the Shrew. Shaking your head a little, you close the book and put it back on the shelf.

There’s a rich mahogany dresser as well, with something on top of it. Upon closer inspection, you see it’s a simple folded T-shirt. Is it supposed to be for you? You glance around to see if he has a habit of leaving his clothes out, but the only other clothes anywhere else are the ones on the floor you threw off each other the night before. You grab the shirt, but hesitate. You really don’t want to go out in his shirt.

But more than that, you really don’t want to go out topless. Shirt it is.

The thing is huge on you, which doesn’t surprise you considering how damn tall he is. It covers you well enough without the need for underwear, but you find yours and slip them on anyway. After a moment of deliberation, you leave your skirt on the floor. You’re beginning to put together a plan for how to get out, but you don’t want to clue him into that fact. You do, however, grab something out of the skirt pocket that will be essential to your plans and hide it away.

There’s three normal doors in the place, and one sliding glass door that leads out to a balcony. You’re fairly sure which door is the exit, but you’re still curious about the other two.

The first you try takes you to a washroom. You close that door quickly. The second is the closet, which is the one you were eager to find. It’s at least half the size of the bedroom itself. But how many green suits does one guy need? At least one wall is covered in them. It’s excessive even by his standards.

You’ve stalled for as long as you can. You take a deep breath and open the door that leads to the rest of the house… and to him.

Immediately, you notice a pink thread that you recognize as trufulla tied to the handle of the door. It creates a trail to follow down the unfamiliar hallways. You have vague memories of the path, but you’re sure you would’ve gotten lost without the thread to guide you. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re dreading who you’ll find at the other end.

Sure enough, all too soon you find yourself at a corner. Delicious smells are coming from around this corner, as well as the unmistakable sounds of someone moving around. You have to face him at some point. It might as well be now.

You peek your head through the entryway and sure enough, there he is, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. He’s facing away from you and humming an unfamiliar tune, cooking something you can’t identify yet. You can do this. You can…

Then he turns. Oh God. You can’t do this. His eyes lock onto yours and a smile splits his face. That stupid, beautiful face that you want nothing more than to kiss with as much passion as you’re physically capable of.

That stupid, beautiful face that you fucking came all over less than twelve hours ago. God, you can’t even look at him. You can already feel your own face burning crimson.

“Thanks for the thread,” you mumble, hastily sitting down at a table.

“Sure. Wasn’t sure if you’d remember where to go, and I had it lying around.” He’s speaking so easily, no trace of embarrassment. “I’m just making breakfast. You like pancakes?”

“Yeah. Pancakes are fine,” you gulp. You have zero intentions of staying for breakfast. Now, if ever, called for drastic actions. When he turns back to his cooking, you pull out your phone that you’d stashed in the waistband of your underwear and send a two-word text to your sister. Emergency Button.

Less than a minute later, your phone is ringing. You adopt what you hope is a confused expression as you glance at it. “It’s from my sister,” you mutter. “I better take this.” You pick up, breathing a mental sigh of relief knowing that you’ll have an excuse to leave very, very soon. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Dad–tal–ni–.” She’s both talking a hundred miles an hour and pretending the phone is breaking up, giving you several options for an escape. You’re so grateful you almost forget that you’re going to be questioned mercilessly by her later.

“Aurora, slow down. I can’t understand you and you’re breaking up,” you tell her, sneaking a glance at Mr. Onceler. He’s looking at you with genuine concern, so you think he’s buying it. Good. You just have to keep it up a little longer.

She pretends to try again, but keeps her words just as broken apart as before. You knuckle your left eye as if to rub out a headache. “Look, try and get in an area with better reception and call me back in like, ten minutes, okay?”

“Okay.” The line goes dead, and you sigh and look up at Mr. Onceler apologetically.

“Sorry, but I should probably go,” you say, praying he doesn’t put up too much of a fight. “She sounded pretty frantic, and from what little I could make out, I think she said something about our dad.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” Thank God. He’s bought it, and he’s not going to make a fuss over it. However, he’s making no effort to mask his disappointment. “I hope everything’s okay… do you need anything from me before you go?”

“Well, I can’t really walk outside in this–” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Oh! You can borrow a pair of sweats,” he says easily before tugging at the waistband of the pair he was currently wearing as if he meant to pull them off.

“No, no!” you say quickly. “That’s fine, I don’t want to take your stuff. I was just hoping you could… um… run back up to the bedroom and grab my skirt for me.” Your face is on fire once more, and you can’t look at him as you finish your request. It’s a wonder you manage to get the words out at all.

“Oh. Yeah, not a problem,” he agrees before flicking off the stove and dashing out of the room.

With him gone, you’re free to look for the bar to find your shirt and shoes. You know it’s an offshoot from the kitchen, but the sheer size of everything and the confusion of the night before still means it takes you a few minutes to gather all of your things. You only just barely make it back into the kitchen ahead of him.

He hands you your skirt and you manage to smile a thanks before slipping it on underneath the oversize shirt he’s lent you. The next part is the problem. You’d love for more privacy, but you told Aurora ten minutes, and you’d be lucky if she even gave you that much.

Carefully turning away, you slowly take off the T-shirt before buttoning up your blouse. You can feel his eyes on you the whole time. You know it’s stupid–he’s obviously already seen all of you–but you’re inexplicably self-conscious.

It’s not until you’re fully dressed that you finally look back at him. “I can drive you if you want,” he offers, and you feel so guilty at that hopeful look on his face.

“That’s fine. I’m very used to getting home on my own,” you say softly. Even though you’re desperate to leave, a small, traitorous, and yet, exceedingly loud part of your brain is begging to stay. “Besides, my sister should be calling me back soon,” you say, more as a reminder to yourself than anything else.

“Okay… well, still let me walk you to the door at least.” You suppose you could let him do that much.

True to his word, he leads you straight to the front door. “Get home safe,” he murmurs, leaning over you just slightly. Is he… oh no. He is.

He wants you to kiss him. His body language is making that beyond clear. Your only saving grace is that he’s not just going for it himself. He’s leaving the final decision up to you. The downside is that you really shouldn’t be making decisions when it comes to doing anything physical with this man.

On one hand, you very much enjoy kissing him. That was undeniable, and you weren’t going to waste your energy trying to convince yourself otherwise; it was pointless. And a part of you was arguing that just one more kiss couldn’t possibly make the situation any worse.

The far more rational part of you is saying that yes, the kiss could definitely make things worse. It could give him hope that this would be ongoing and not a one time thing. And this had to be a one time thing. You couldn’t afford something like this ever happening again. It should never have happened to begin with.

You can’t give him any more hope. You’ve already made too many bad decisions where he was concerned. You won’t make another.

“Goodbye,” you whisper as you duck under his arm and escape onto the road. You’re quick, but not quick enough to avoid seeing the crestfallen look on his face. It nearly crushes your resolve, but you grit your teeth and press on.

You barely make it down the block before your phone starts screaming, demanding your attention. Great. You knew you were going to be subjecting yourself to an assault from your sister, but that didn’t mean you were looking forward to it.

Begrudgingly, you pick up. “It’s safe,” you sigh in lieu of a proper greeting.

“Spill. Immediately,” Aurora demands. “Whose house did I just rescue you from?” No one could say your sister didn’t know you.

You wince. She’s going to be a nightmare. “Um… I kind of slept with my boss last night,” you whisper. You pause your walking, face screwed up in a grimace, as you brace for her explosive impact.

“Am I supposed to be surprised?” she finally asks after a few moments. “The only thing I’m confused about is why you needed me to get you out of there.”

You’re so perturbed, it actually spurs you into normal conversation. “Because you know perfectly well that I should not be sleeping with my boss,” you hiss. “And what do you mean you’re not surprised? A couple of weeks ago you said you’d be shocked if I started dating him.”

“I said I’d be shocked if you got caught in any kind of scandal,” she clarifies. “Sweetie, I’ve known for a long time you’ve had a thing for him. You’ve talked of precious little else for months now; it was not hard for me to connect the dots.”

You have no response to that, and even if you did, she’d just dismiss you anyway. “Well, I did do something scandalous. At least, it would be if anyone found out about it,” you finally say after a long while. “The media would no doubt have a field day if they figured out I slept with him.”

“Once you two start dating, just deny that anything happened while you were working for him,” Aurora said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Isn’t that what all the celebrities and other business tycoons do? They date people who used to work for them, but once they’re public about everything they always release a statement saying the person quit before anything happened. No one believes them, but they get away with it.”

“First of all, you’re assuming I want to date him, which I don’t,” you growl. “Second, that won’t work for us even if I did want to continue… this. I signed an ironclad NDA that says I’m not even supposed to contact him after my employment ends.”

“Contracts can change, that’s not an issue,” she huffs. “The first thing you said is what we’re going to focus on, because it was a straight-up lie.” You sputter out half-formed words of protest, but she shuts you up before you can get a coherent thought strung together. “You’ve never been a girl to sleep with someone unless there are emotions involved. Nothing wrong with doing that, of course, but that’s not you. It never had been. So if you don’t want to date him, why did you sleep with him?” 

That question makes you pause. You don’t want to be confronted with it and be forced to take a deep, introspective look at your own emotions, but Aurora isn’t giving you any other option here. It was time to face that question you’d been dreading more than any other: why did you sleep with him?

“He… intrigues me,” you start. “I do like him. Maybe, if our positions were different we could be more, but the fact is that he is my boss. I can’t ignore that, and I’m constantly reminded of that. No matter what you say, I will not come out looking good if we dated. I might never get another job again. This would follow me everywhere. I can’t take that risk.” You heave out a sigh before continuing. This was the part you’d been loathe to admit to yourself, much less out loud to another person. “But I can’t deny that there’s chemistry between us, that there’s this passion between us. It’s been building steadily over the past month or so, and last night, something just snapped. I knew about the consequences, but I just had to have the opportunity to call him mine, even if it was just for one night.”

Aurora was silent for a long time after that; you had to check to make sure the call didn't drop. You make it all the way to your (thankfully deserted) usual bus stop before she speaks again.

"Look, I don't have all the answers, especially not for the fact that he's in the public eye. But I do know my little sister, and I know that if you don't at least take a chance, you're going to regret that 'what if' for the rest of your life." You let out a shuddering breath as you take in her words. She's far from wrong but that doesn't mean your fears are assuaged. 

"I can't tell you what to do," she continues after she figures out you won't be saying anything more for the foreseeable future. "I can only offer my advice, which boils down to that I think you should go for it. But no matter what you decide, and no matter what follows, I'm on your side, alright?"

"I know," you say in a small voice. "You're the only one who's always on my side, no matter how much shit I get myself into."

"And I always will be," she promises. "Now, enough mush. We have something important to discuss." Her tone is suddenly much more business-like, and you're curious as to what she could possibly be referring to. "Where does he go on the list?"

"Auroraaaaa!" you screech right as the bus pulls up. Thankfully, it's not busy on a lazy Saturday morning. You take a seat at the very back as she cackles in your ear. She knows how much you hate that question.

For years now, she's kept a running list of how you rank your partners, from best performance to worst. You never like to answer, yet she somehow always manages to wheedle one out of you. The worst part is you have no form of comparable payback; your sister is very much aro/ace and has known it since she was a young teenager.

"I'm not answering that," you declare, being mindful to keep your voice lowered and not use his name now that you're in public.

"Oooooooh, that good, huh?" she trills. "Or that bad? Oh, I hope for your sake he wasn't that bad."

"I'm not answering," you repeat stubbornly, inadvertently giving an answer anyway.

"Okay, so he's either the very top of the list or the very bottom. Which one is it?" she demands. You stay silent, which you know frustrates her to no end. "For the love of all that is unholy I swear I will harass you until you tell me," she threatens. Oh, she means it. You know she means or. That doesn't mean you want to give her the answer. "I'm not getting off this call until you tell me. Now. Top. Or. Bottom?"

You're going to kill her. You swear, next time you see her, you're going to kill her dead. "Top," you spit out before hanging up so you don't have to hear her gloat.

You hate her sometimes.

[marisferasiop]

Eyooooooo at just under 25,300 words, Fuse Part 2 is about to hit my ao3.

I will post it on here in a week or so, or you can read it here now!

[feverinfeveroutfic]

flowers for alexander | chapter twenty-four

Florence remained there on the curb with her arms crossed atop her knees and tear stains upon her face. Eric and Alex had already crossed the street together and yet she couldn't help but feel as though she had done something horribly wrong on her end. The moment she believed that everything was in the clear with her and Eric, and she was more than willing to talk with him in the end, and she discovered something about the two of them in the worst way. He was hiding something, and if she had only known sooner, then she wouldn't be seated there on the curb with tears in her eyes.

The lights in the sky flickered and fluttered against the deep orange veil of the Vegas lights juxtaposed on the black tapestry, and they seemed stationary at the same time. She had a feeling that this was why the ground shook about back home in the Bay Area, and it was only a matter of time before the ships descended from the heavens, but she had not a single clue as to why it was happening.

She wiped away the tears from her eyes. She thought about Nathalie, deep within her, and what she would have to explain to her when the time came for her to understand. What she would have to explain, that her father liked both girls and boys, but she knew that she would cross that bridge when she came to it down the line. It still remained in the cards, however.

Florence gazed across the street to the two airships left behind, and she knew that it would be some time before they even so much as considered leaving the Las Vegas Valley in time. She recognized that head of smooth black hair over the sidewalk, and she couldn't help but feel the lump in her throat at the sight of him. That smooth skin that she loved to kiss and caress. That head of hair that she liked to feel and run her fingers through.

It all had another side to it that she could not even begin to fathom as his eyes locked with her own. Through the dim light of the lot across the way, she could see him sigh through his nose.

Florence wiped away tears and shuddered. Eric nibbled on his bottom lip and turned his head back into their direction, albeit for a moment. He mouthed something to Alex, and then he ducked back over to the sidewalk. In the dim light, she could see his silhouette there on the sidewalk across the street. She sighed through her nose as she thought back to her short relationship with Alex.

They were nothing more than a couple of nerds, especially him, and yet they had been drawn to each other. Both kept their heads intact even as they were lost in what they wanted with each other, and yet she still wanted him. In fact, as Eric stood there at the sidewalk, there was a part of her that still wanted him, and there was a part of her that wanted to run off into the desert darkness with him, especially with those twinkling lights up in the sky.

Eric glanced both ways and padded across the street towards her, and more tears burned in Florence's eyes. She let one fall from her right eye as Eric scurried over the blacktop towards her; as he came closer, she could see it on his face. He was crying, too.

“Don't,” she began with a break in her voice, and he rubbed his left eye with the palm of his hand.

“Florence, listen to me,” he began as well, and she shook her head.

“No! Don't!”

“Florence, please!”

She clambered to her feet but he caught up with her. She turned away from him, but he stepped before her to gather her attention. She shook her head.

“Florence—please. Listen to me. Please.”

“I can't believe … I can't—” She could scarcely speak. Eric clasped a hand to her shoulder. “With Alex of all people!”

“It was consensual, though,” he insisted.

“But you still cheated!”

“I know! And I'm sorry. I was really going to tell you about it when the time came but it never did.”

Florence gasped at that. Her heart hammered in her chest and she couldn't stop the tears from falling, either. Eric rubbed his eyes again, that time with the inside of his hand. He then let out a low, shuddered sigh to calm himself down.

“I'm bisexual,” he said in a low voice. “In fact, he is, too. I'm sorry. I—should've told you sooner.”

“How long has this been going?” she demanded with a sniffle.

“Way before you showed up,” he confessed. “When he and I first met during our very first rehearsal. You know, he was sixteen back then, so I had to wait two years to tell him how much I liked him.”

She sniffled again. “And... how did he react?” she asked him, that time in a lower, calmer voice.

“He then came up to me and kissed me right on the lips and said, 'I like you, too.' We did it doggy style on the table. Like I said, it was before you and him were even dating, so it's been going on a long time. Again—” He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes again, one after the other with one hand. “—I'm really sorry. Blame me forever for it. I should've told you way sooner, like when you broke up with him and came to me. In fact, I'm surprised he never told you about us. You guys had sex once before, right?”

“Yeah. But I don't ever remember him telling me about a past love, though.”

“Huh. Do you remember him smelling a certain way?”

“We were in the mechanics' shop,” she recalled. “Everything in there smells of grease and hot metal, Eric. Any other smells get lost in the fold.” She stopped for a second. “Why?”

He gestured for her to come on closer, to which she reluctantly obliged.

“When he first joined Testament, he was an eager boy. He wanted to rebel and be free—you know, growing up with older Jewish parents who were teachers amongst a bunch of flower children in the Seventies, the Golden Age of Porn, free love, disco, punk rock, glam rock, Farrah Fawcett, and Elvira, all a boy's dream… to quote him, you go a little nuts. He and I had sex the first time, and then he tried cigarettes. He just about threw up when he took a couple of huffs and so he swore it off for good. He tried booze, and it took him a while to warm up to it. He dropped a tablet of acid and also took a huff of opium, and both just about knocked him on his ass. Remember Francine trying out opium yesterday?”

“Yeah, it smelled like someone burning pine,” she recalled.

“I remember he gave it another shot some time after you and him broke up and you came to me,” he continued. “Although, that was way after you and him split, too. So... yeah, now that I say that, that rules that out almost immediately.”

She shook her head. “I don't recall him smelling of it when he and I had sex,” she admitted. “But, again. We were in a pit of sorts. I could barely smell his cologne, to be frank.” She shook her head again. “He didn't act like he was high, either.”

Eric leaned into her face for a kiss on the cheek.

“Again. And I'll say it again when she's—” He gently patted her belly. “—ready to come out in time. I wish I told you sooner. It's my fault I didn't tell you sooner, my love.”

Florence raised her gaze to the lot across the street, and the airships closing in for the lights in the sky which remained in place over the Las Vegas skyline.

“What the hell is even going on,” Eric muttered with a shake of his head.

“I have no clue,” she replied. “I don't know why but I feel like this has something to do with the ground shaking back home.”

“It's hard to say,” he said, “especially when the fucking news outlets are dead silent about it.”

However, once the words left his lips, the ground trembled beneath their feet, a slight tremor but enough for the two of them to feel given they stood still. Not a lick of wind around them as Florence peered over her shoulder to the street behind them. The prostitute from earlier had long gone, but that plume of steam up the street had all but dissipated.

It was that fateful night back home all over again, except this time, she didn't have her rainbow umbrella with her. She gazed up to the lights in the sky. She couldn't explain it but something captivated her. Between the fact that Eric had been getting together with Alex for a long time at that point, to the fact that the world around her seemed to be going sideways faster than she could think about it, she stared off to the Las Vegas Strip. The twinkling lights and the feeling of sin, the fact that Alex had broken away from what his family wanted... it awoke something in her.

She thought back to her dance for them. How she wished to do it again once Nathalie was born.

“You should get back,” Eric advised her, and yet she never moved a muscle. She was so lost in thought that she had forgotten about everything about her.

The steam was gone and the ships were about to make their complete descent from the sky.

“Florence!”

She closed her eyes.

The pillar of steam. Right under her feet.

She felt his arms around her, and he tugged her away from the steam explosion there at the crosswalk. It was like a boiler explosion: Death Angel's airship as it arrived to its certain fate back on the coast. The rush of the steam. The rush of certain death right at her fingertips.

But Eric pulled her away from danger. He pulled her away, and he pulled her far away, as if back towards the science bookstore.

For some reason, she believed that the steam was radioactive given the sheer amount of heat that blasted off the column. But when she opened her eyes, all she saw was that vertical chute of pure white hot steam from underground, with the massive sinkhole spanned across the crosswalk left in its wake. It was then she realized she was holding her breath.

She opened her mouth to breathe as Eric jerked her back to safety, the safety of the science bookstore.

“Holy shit!” Chuck's voice carried across the street, but all Florence could do was think about Eric right then. She whirled around and pressed her lips onto his own.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Oh, god, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, my love. How could I ever repay you?”

“Don't,” he assured her, right into her lips. “You don't ever have to repay me with anything.”

“Eric! Florence!” Francine's voice rang out across the pavement.

“Frankie!” Florence called back.

As the steam dissipated into the darkness, she could see her best friend as well as Alex, Louie, Greg, Chuck, and Gary all running towards them.

“Are you guys okay?” Chuck called out once they came within earshot.

“Yeah, we're okay,” Florence assured him as Eric kept his arms around her.

“Let's get inside of the airship,” Gary advised them.

“Ours or yours?” Eric asked him.

“Testament's. It's safer. Like a lot safer against those damned lights up there. Come on, come on—”

[artiesredemptionarc]

Chapter 2

Working currently on chapter 2 of That One Love, should be out later tonight, idk yet, till then, chapter 1 is still up and if anyone has a suggestion that they want me to write like a one shot or imagine or idea for a new series please don't hesitate to send it in my ask box is always open!

[afro0with0no0afro]

Beyond the Horizon

Herobrine x Black!reader Warnings: No Explicit sexual context mentions of vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, dream sex, spanking, possessive sex, dubious consent

Chapter 4: What's a god to a Homeowner? Last chapter Next Chapter AO3

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Knock Knock

“Hosanna? Are you home?”

Knock Knock Knock

“It’s me, the cleric! I’m just coming to check on you since you last came to the village!”

Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock

Hosanna cracked open her eyes and looked around, her head felt full and fuzzy, her mouth and throat extremely dry. She tried to swallow what little spit was left in her mouth and looked around. She was still in bed and in her nightgown, when she lifted the covers off of her she saw Herobrine sleeping soundly on her stomach, lightly snoring as he loosely held her in his strong arms. She carefully and successfully slid from under him and gave him a pillow to hold instead, covering his head with her blanket and got up quietly. She hobbled to the door and cracked it open. “Hi cleric.” She rubbed her eyes, her voice hoarse and deep. The cleric let out a sigh of relief to see her, “Hosanna, I’m glad to see you up, are you doing okay? You haven’t gotten sick again have you?” He fretted as he reached his hand to feel her forehead and she swatted his hand away. “No cleric,” she cleared her throat, “I've just been…” she turned back to look at the sleeping giant in her bed and realized who she was talking to. “I’ve been resting, I twisted my ankle the other day and I haven’t been very mobile.” She lied, hoping the cleric wouldn’t want to come into her home. “I see, but I haven’t seen you in over a week and everyone has been terribly worried about you, Hosanna.” She cleared her throat and coughed, cocking her head sideways. “A week?" 

She looked back to the lump on her bed and back to the cleric "H-has it been that long?". He tried to look over her shoulder, just barely noticing the large and dark hickies on her neck and feeling like he may have been intruding, “If now is not a good time Hosanna, I can return later with some salve for your ankle. Do you have a guest?” She refocused on the cleric, and shook her head, now hoping that their conversation wouldn’t wake Herobrine up. “Uhhh, no no nooooo, I just uhhh… yeah now’s not a good time, maybe tomorrow will be a better day.” She stepped back, pretending to limp as she shut the door. “I’m sorry Cleric!” He stood outside her door and said a small prayer to himself, his face heating up a bit “Be well Hosanna, please let me know if you need anything.” He turned and made the walk back to the village.

Hosanna walked normally back to her bed and lifted the blanket to take a closer look at Herobrine. He looked angry in his sleep, emphasized by the dark bags under his eyes. She realized that it would be strange if she were to walk to the village right now, especially since she just told the cleric she hurt herself and "implied" she was alone. Whenever Herobrine decided to wake up again, he would be pretty damn hungry, and he could probably clear a whole stewpot by himself. She sighed and changed into her daytime clothes, slipping on some socks and grabbing her shoes, unfortunately breathing in at the wrong time as she passed his dirty old boots. “What in Notch’s name? What died in there?” She waved a hand in front of her face and kicked his boots further away. Looking at him, she thought about the condition of his clothes and how filthy they were. “When you wake up, I’m washing your clothes. You have to wear my nightgown until everything is washed…” She talked at him, still sleeping soundly and unaffected by what she said. “Your ass included!”

She turned around and walked to her front door, making sure that she grabbed her sword and shield this time around and left for her garden. She harvested what carrots and potatoes were ready and carried them back in her shield, dropping them off inside near the soup pot the going to the river to fill it up and bring it back. She looked at Herobrine’s sleeping figure, trying to wake him up with her mind to help her lift the heavy pot on the hooks above the fire pit, but he remained in deep sleep in her bed. She sighed and set herself up to heft the pot up. Before she forgot, she walked back out and fed her sheep and cows quickly before she walked back inside. Hosanna made her way to her cold storage chest under her crafting table and pulled out a few large pieces of frozen steak, tossing them into the pot to thaw and starting the fire. Realizing that she still had her sword and shield on her, she hung them back on her wall near her door. '

Walking past Herobrine on her bed, she pulled the blanket back a bit and took another look at him sleeping. She carefully rubbed her knuckles with the grain of his beard, feeling how rough and wiry it was. She didn’t really take the time to see how big he was, he didn’t really fit on her bed, and he took up most of it. She also really hadn’t seen how muscular he was either, his biceps bulging as he hugged the pillow she had given him. If they had been asleep for the past week or so, she expected him to wake up sometime soon.

As she set herself to work on the stew, Herobrine slowly woke up, blinking hard and moving the blanket off his head as he took in his surroundings again. He watched her as she washed and peeled the vegetables, quietly humming to herself. “Hosanna, how long was I asleep for?” She stopped and turned to look at him, her head tilting as she just stared at him. “Excuse me? Are… you in my head?” He nodded. “Yes, I don’t feel like speaking out loud at the moment. How long have I been asleep, Hosanna?” She turned back to her potatoes and cut thick slices into the stewpot. “A week, apparently.” She got up and stretched her legs, “I didn’t know exactly when you’d be up, so I’m making stew. It won’t be ready for a few hours though.” Herobrine hummed out loud, his voice coming out deep and gravely. He sat up in bed and stretched his arms. “Hosanna, come here.” She walked over to the bed and looked at him. “Give me your hand.”

She made a face at him. “Why?” She offered her hand to him and he grabbed it and pulled her down to him. She let out a ‘hey’ as he held her to his chest and smelled her, she smelled like the spruce trees she built her house from. His hands made their way under her shirt and felt the smooth cold skin of her back. “What the hell, Herobrine! Let me go, you’re being weird!” He licked her neck with his broad tongue, enjoying the slight sting of salt from her sweat on his chapped lips. “Ah! Nopenopenope Let me go!!” She felt that strange dulling again and pushed herself off of him and fell on the floor. The dulling went away as she looked at him from her new position, she wiped away the saliva on her neck and rubbed it off on her pants. “Ewww, what the fuck Herobrine?! Don’t just lick me! What gives?” He just looked at her plainly, white eyes showing some amusement. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He began to smile, “How did you feel when I licked you?” She looked at him, “Weird, like I was getting a headache, why? What did you do to me?” He then pinched his arm roughly and immediately Hosanna rubbed the same spot on her arm, yelling at him as he laughed. “What the fuck Herobrine, what did you do to me?!”

“You feel everything I feel, pain and pleasure.” His smile was wicked and wide. “We are nearly one in the same now, I’ll know if you die or fuck another man, and you’ll know if I do the same. We don’t even need to be in the same space.” He laughed loudly from his spot on her bed. She just looked at him with a sense of despair, or defeat, she wasn’t really sure at the moment. She just looked at her arm and back at him, deciding something in her mind and looking Herobrine in the eyes. Waiting until they made eye contact, she took her nipple and pinched hard, just a bit more than she’s used to just to see his reaction. He flinched and rubbed his chest. “Hey! Cut that shit out!” Hosanna started to laugh.

“Oh buddy, it’s all over when my period comes around.” She stood up and looked back to her stewpot. Deciding that he was no longer that threatening, she sighed then looked back at him. “Okay, look here’s the deal,” she sat back down and started cutting up her potatoes and carrots again, “I don’t know what all you’ve done to me, but now you’re in my home, so two things need to happen.” She pointed her small knife at him, “you need to pick up some chores and you need to bathe.” Turning back to her stew she dropped some chopped carrots in. “I don’t know what you did to your boots, but they smell awful and so do you. I have some soap and a rag, the river’s not too far from here. Find it and wash your ass.” He made a face and scoffed. “Do you really think you can order around a god of death and destruction to take a bath-“

“Yes! Especially if this ‘gOd oF dEaTh AnD dEsTrUcTiOn’” she mocked him, “is gonna sleep in my bed and eat my food.”

He got up off her bed and stood over her. “You will not order me around Hosanna, understand your situation and know your place.” The dulling came back when he spoke to her, his eyes glowing dimly. She was roughly eye level with his crotch when she looked up at him, he meant to be intimidating but Hosanna was starting to get tired of his antics so she smacked him in the groin. He doubled over and stepped back, a small wave of cramps passed through her as she watched him sit back down on the bed. “You Bitch!!”

“And I’ll do it again! Now go bathe while I finish making food! You reek!!” She turned back to her veggies, ignoring the irritated look that Herobrine was giving her. He kept staring, eyes starting to glow dimly again but he stopped and rubbed his eyes hard. Hosanna’s eyes then stung like she had gotten soap in her eyes, she rubbed them with the backsides of her hands, stopping briefly to see him harshly rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands and snickered to herself. “Ha ha that’s what your smelly ass gets.” He stopped for a moment to shoot her a look, he got up and started undressing behind her. Starting with his slightly damp, grimy shirt, which he threw at the back of her head, then his equally dirty and trashed pants, which was also thrown at her. “Ugh!” She made a gagging sound and she quickly threw the offensively soiled clothes back at him and turned to look at him. “What in the fuck did yo— no!! NO!!!” She just looked at him in his tattered and holey boxers, barely held together by a couple of threads and hope, all the original color hidden by centuries of sweat, body oils, and dirt. She turned back around, “There is no way in-” She turned back to him in disbelief, “You really live like that? How have you not been chafing this whole time? I know your thighs are rubbed raw!” She did her best to ignore how large his bulge was in his sorry excuse for boxers and turned back to finish cutting the last of her veggies "Go! Fuck man! Now I can smell you from here!!"

Herobrine smirked and set a hand on his hip, once he pulled his “boxers” off his large frame he also threw them at the back of Hosanna’s head. Except this time she threw them in the fire. “What the fuck?! What is your problem, woman?!” Hosanna turned back and saw just was was hiding behind his now crispy boxers. She wasn’t going to lie to herself, it was pretty impressive and thick, but a follow up thought was the smell that it probably had. Which was more than enough to keep any sexual thoughts at bay. “Herobrine, so help me Notch, if you stop me one more time from making my fucking stew, I will fucking burn your book in your sleep.” He just stood there, silly attitude fading as he watched his underwear disappear into the fire. “I know your dick cheese is unreal so please, go take care of it. I’m not asking.” Hosanna turned around for the last time to finish her stew while Herobrine stood naked in her home. While he wanted to argue with her, she was right, a whiff of his lifted pit was enough to huff and sigh as he grabbed her soap and washcloth and walk out butt ass naked to the near by river.

Once the stew was ready to simmer, she stretched her legs and tossed the rest of his soiled clothes into the fire, “There’s no saving those.” Looking to the awful and horrid smelling boots near her bed, she contemplated tossing those too, but felt that just setting the poor sacks of leather outside would be better, so she pinched her nose and carried them outside. Stepping back into her home, she rummaged around through her clothes to see if she could find any nightgowns that might be big enough for the behemoth that decided to sleep in her bed, satisfied with the largest one she owned, she laid it on her bed and walked back outside to finish her chores before Herobrine came back from his bath.

After about an hour she was interrupted by the sound of him clearing his throat as he stood at the other end of her garden. “Hey, Hosanna. What the in the Nether is this?” She turned around and giggled at the nightgown he found, she didn’t even hear him walk into and out of her home, so she was a little surprised to see him with it.

“It’s your new outfit until I either buy or make you new clothes. It’s huge on me so it should fit you.” He proceeded to stretch the poor nightgown over his large chest, pathetically stopping just over his navel and fitting like a vacuum sealed shirt. "Huh..." Holding back a laugh she made herself busy with watering her crops and turning her back to him. "I guess that one doesn't fit."

Herobrine’s face scrunched up in irritation and frustration. “Fine.” He turned around and started walking towards the village “I’ll get my own damn clothes.” Hosanna whipped her head around and scrambled to stop him. “No no no no- hey hey hey!!!” She put a hand on his broad chest, staring directly at him and ignoring this meat that he was freely shlanging around. “Herobrine lets just- How about I make you some clothes! Theres no need to go to the village!!” She spoke quickly, hoping he would turn back to her cabin so she could figure something out. He looked down at her, his upper lip twitching in annoyance before he pushed her to the side and kept walking.

Hosanna stepped in front of him again, grabbing his arms and stopping once more. “Listen listen. Let’s just go back inside and make you something for right now.” She tried smiling cutely at him be the large man could only read it as nervousness. Herobrine smiled smugly, letting an amused breath through his nose and crossed his toned arms over his chest. “Oh? Now we’re being cordial? What changed woman?” He let himself be steered back to her little cabin, playing along for a bit. “Are we…scared?” Hosanna scoffed behind him, spluttering excuses while they made their way back inside. He ducked his head walking into her home and sat down on her bed. Hosanna was still rambling on and on about something about scaring the villagers with his threatening stature, his all white eyes, his scary voice… His chest puffed out in pride “Please woman, you’re flattering me.” She stopped and looked at him, her mouth opening closing as she tried to say something in response. “Don’t keep your mouth open too long, I might be temped to put my cock in it.” 

“You-you listen here you big bitch!” She stood in front of him now, roughly face to face. They stared each other down for a minute or so. “Oh, don’t you worry, Hosanna. I’m listening.” Her name rolled off his tongue so smoothly. A flash of heat briefly rolled through her, then through him. Herobrine licked his teeth, “Oh? We liked that, huh?” His eyes glowed dimly as he reached out to bring the side of her neck to his mouth. He spoke in her ear and filled her mind with his voice “I’ll forgive you for your disrespect earlier. I’ll just take your body as consolation.” He licked a fat strip across her neck and bit down. Hosanna’s knees went weak and she rested her whole weight against him, breathing softly in his ear.

“Yes, Hosanna. give yourself to me.”

[girlsloveamystery]

I have Fourth Wing fanfic that I’m really enjoying right now so if you want the links to that, just lemme know.

[cod-dump]

I’m Not Simon Riley I’m Ghost

Chapter 2

SoapGhost

TW: Gore

___

Months after Graves’ betrayal and after hunting down and killing Hassan, Ghost was hoping for a sense of normalcy to return. But, that wasn’t going to fucking happen with John “Soap” MacTavish in his life.

He tried distancing himself from the man but Price thought they worked good together and decided that they would be going on plenty of more missions together. Ghost wanted to scream. Previously he usually dealt with things solo, it made it easier for him to feed. But now, he had to deal with a ride along. Price could see Ghost seething at his decision and only smiled “kindly” (read mischievously) before sending the lieutenant on his way.

Ghost could’ve killed and eaten the man right then. But covering up Price’s sudden disappearance would be an absolute pain in Ghost’s ass… Plus he would sort of miss the man. Not that he would ever admit to that.

Once Ghost left Price’s office, he begun his newest mission: Avoid Soap like the plague. Considering Ghost has developed a strange fondness of the man, a potential weakness, he had to eradicate the issue before it became a serious problem. The likelihood of Ghost coming across another one of his kind here was low, but there wasn’t a zero percent chance that it wouldn’t happen.

As Ghost walked down the hall, planning on heading to the gym to get a workout in, he heard a familiar laugh. He stopped in his tracks and looked around before spotting Soap with a couple of other soldiers. He recognized Kyle “Gaz” Garrick and maybe a couple others but their names escaped him at the moment. 

Soap was animatedly telling a story or elaborate joke that the others were deeply immersed in. Ghost should’ve started walking the other way. Should’ve pretended he didn’t even see them and continue on to the gym. But then Soap spotted him and grins, beckoning Ghost to come over. And for some fucking reason he obeyed and walked over.

(Mission Avoid Soap Like The Plague: Fucking failed not even ten minutes after obtaining said mission.)

The others were not as happy to see Ghost as Soap was. Gaz had turned around to see who Soap was beckoning over and yelped when he saw that Ghost was standing right behind him. Ghost remembers one of his first meetings with Gaz. It involved a dark alley, Ghost covered in blood, and a headless corpse. Ghost believed there was no other way to continue the life of Simon Riley without killing the young man. But then Price appeared and Ghost had to abandon that idea and make up a story about how he ended up covered in blood and why the guy they were shadowing was missing a head.

He managed to get away with it, but ever since then Gaz has avoided being alone with him. Ghost found his fear amusing and loved to spook him whenever. It was honestly one of his favorite pastimes… Other than haunting the new recruits. Soap was either blind to Gaz’s horror or was simply ignoring it in favor of warmly greeting Ghost.

”Ay, LT!”

”Sergeant MacTavish.”

”Oh, Lieutenant Riley doesn’t want to be friendly now we’re back on base? Is that why you’ve barely been around? Don’t want to be friends?”

It was clear that Soap was trying to get a laugh out of everyone but instead they stared at him in horror. His reputation of being a living nightmare to those who piss him off proceeds him. Ghost briefly looks at the tall man behind Soap who was desperately trying to avoid eye-contact with Ghost before he tilts his head and locks eyes with Soap.

”Ah, so he does have a brain.”

Soap gasps, barely restraining a pleased smile. Ghost felt a smile of his own coming on but he fought it off. Soap turns back to the others and laughs.

”You should’ve heard this guy! Death hanging over us, practically no hope, and here he is. Cracking the worst jokes you ever heard!”

The other soldiers’ eyes flicker over at Ghost, clearly trying to imagine him making a single joke. Ghost felt his eye twitch as Soap recites some of the jokes Ghost told him. For some reason, Ghost felt exposed. He told those jokes to Soap and Soap alone. Soap telling these soldiers who were uninvolved in Las Almas those jokes felt… He couldn’t place the emotion. Apparently the look he was giving Soap made the others nervous to the point they tried to get him to talk about something else. Soap waved them off and turned back to Ghost.

”Tonight we plan on heading to the pub in town. Wanna join?”

Ghost would’ve laughed at the expressions of the soldiers around Soap if he wasn’t so stunned about the invitation. Ghost couldn’t recall the last time he actually spent time with the soldiers of 141. Actually… He could. The last time he ever went out drinking, was with Roach. And that night, Ghost had gotten too comfortable and accidentally let Roach get a glimpse of his true nature. Roach’s horrified look is forever engraved into his mind. After Roach disappeared, and even though no one could confirm that Ghost was responsible, it was like everyone knew.

They were afraid of him. Everyone has been ever since. That was years ago. Around ten or so years. Ghost hadn’t been asked out for drinks or anything of the sort since. Yet, here they were. Soap honestly asking him to join him and his friends. He even appeared to be anticipating Ghost’s response. Ghost looked at the dreadful looks of Soap’s peers. Everyone avoided meeting his gaze. Everyone was obviously biting their tongues and attempting to appear as steady as possible. 

“No.”

Ghost only caught a glimpse of Soap’s expression changing as he turned and walked off. He turned the corner and pressed his back against the wall. Out of sight, and for a human out of hearing range. But for Ghost, he could hear just fine.

”Why the hell would you ask him out for drinks?”

”He saved my ass! Why wouldn’t I ask him out for drinks?”

There was a sigh, “Soap, listen. He may have saved your ass, but that was because he was obligated to.”

The sound of Soap trying to say something, the beginning of a word escaping his mouth, was all the Scot managed to get out before someone cut him off.

”Lieutenant Riley is bad news. People tend to disappear when they get too close to him. Don’t believe me? There was a whole investigation about one sergeant who disappeared within minutes. Not a trace to what could’ve happened to him. Before that, a private disappeared after two days on the base.”

Soap growls and actually sounded defensive, “What the hell do those have to do with Ghost?”

”They both were bunk mates with Lieutenant Riley. That private was brand new. He was just assigned to a room that so happened to be Lieutenant Riley’s. The day before he disappeared he tried telling someone that he saw something off about the Lieutenant. And the day after, before he could tell anyone that would listen, he vanishes.”

Memories bubble up of the private that Ghost practically blocked out of his consciousness. Out of all the people he killed and eaten, that was the one he actually didn’t mean to kill. Roach, he felt like he had no choice. He regretted killing Roach. But the private? That young man that was so genuine, much like Soap, catches Ghost becoming more and more restless due to not eating. He had gotten a injury that humans considered impairing and put him on medical leave so he could heal. Ghost had to play along to keep up the image of the very much human Simon Riley.

He was out for months without feeding properly. He tried going out to town to hunt down a random civilian or to the woods to kill any kind of wild animal that could hold him over, but he wasn’t allowed to leave the base without supervision. He tried so hard to keep it together by eating rats. He even tried going to the morgue. But the morgue was a bust and the rats did nothing. The private witnessed him eating a live rat. The next day, Ghost blacked out in the middle of the day. When he came to, all of left of the private was some shredded pieces of clothing. Ghost didn’t believe he ate him until he coughed up a tooth.

Ghost had lost control. He had no attachment to the private given on any other opportunity he most likely would’ve willingly killed and ate him. But, for some reason, losing control like that and blacking out haunted him. Ever since, Ghost ate as much as he could when he could to hold off his hunger. He refused to lose control like that again.

Ghost snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Soap speak.

”You think he killed them?”

”No one ‘thinks’ he killed them. We know that he killed them. But he’s always been everyone’s favorite killing machine. He will always be prioritized over everyone else. As long as Price is running things, the lieutenant will never be held accountable for what he has done.”

Ghost’s claws break throw the tips of his gloves and dig into the wall. His eyes glaze over black and he couldn’t help the low snarl that climbed out of his throat. He made it a rule to not eat those of the 141 or their allies. But… He’ll make an exception for tonight.

Ghost leaves, having heard enough of the conversation. He decided to ditch the idea of going to the gym and just leaves the base to stalk the woods nearby. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed out there. But by the time he felt more in control of his emotions the sun was long gone and the moon was out. Ghost decided it was time to hunt. He went to town, knowing that the soldiers would still be there or were just about to head back to base.

He stuck to the shadows across the street of the pub and watched through the windows. He could see the soldiers inside, all drunk and vulnerable. And the very one that had unfortunately caught his attention was hanging off some girl. They were hitting it off. Ghost knew the soldier, that irritating morsel, would separate from the others and leave with the girl in favor of meeting his carnal desires. Considering there were strict rules against anyone bringing back civilians to the base, especially for one night stands, the morsel would be heading to a unsecured area. He would be practically walking right into Ghost’s mouth.

After a couple hours, the morsel and the girl finally leave. Ghost watches them start to go down the street and follows. He keeps hidden, head down, eyes forward. Considering he didn’t bother to change his clothes from earlier, the morsel would probably recognize him quickly if he got in his line of sight… Well, one would think he might recognize his Lieutenant. With the amount of alcohol in his blood, Ghost wondered if the morsel could he tell whether or not he actually found the girl he was with attractive.

After a couple minutes of following the pair, they grow restless and turn down a alley way. Ghost scoffs, how classy. Ghost sneaks into the alley even though he probably could’ve just walked in normally and the pair still wouldn’t have noticed him. The morsel had the girl pressed into the brick wall behind a dumpster Ghost cringed. He wasn’t the heroic type, but he felt he should stop the girl for making the mistake of actually settling for a hook up in a alley next to a fucking dumpster.

Ghost clears his throat at first to try to get their attention. Nothing. They were too busy sucking face to notice. Ghost rolls his eyes before letting out a deep snarl. The sound was enough to make the pair freeze and turn around, eyes wide in horror. Ghost felt himself preen at the fact he managed to scare them by simply growling. The morsel finds Ghost at the end of the alley. Thanks to the street light at his back, it was near impossible for him to see Ghost’s face. But despite the sheer size difference and the morsel’s drunken state, the man still tried to act all tough.

”The fuck you looking at? Got a problem?”

The girl steps behind the morsel and Ghost actually laughed at fact the girl thought he would be able to protect her if Ghost chose to eat her as well. 

Ghost looks at the girl while he was thinking about it. She didn’t seem worth eating. She was practically a walking stick. He could just kill her so he didn’t have to worry about a witness. Ghost tilts his head and steps forward. The girl flinches and Ghost immediately knew that she was the squealing type. Sometimes, sometimes, he liked it when they screamed and begged for mercy. But he preferred near absolute silence, the only sound that was allowed was fading heart beats or the sound of someone choking on their own blood. If Ghost was going to kill her, he needed to make it quick.

Ghost lowers to the ground on all four and lunges forward. The girl’s mouth opened but the only sound that managed to escape was gasping breaths as Ghost slices her throat with his claws. The morsel doesn’t get a chance to even turn his head to see her drop the ground before he’s slammed into the wall opposite of the dumpster. His head hits first and if Ghost threw him with his full strength, he would be dead. The morsel was stunned, eyes wide open, as Ghost steps over the girl’s twitching body. With the new angle, he was able to see Ghost better. He was able to recognize him.

The morsel seemed to had forgotten how to scream for the only sound that came from him was whimpering. Ghost snickers, a growl behind it. Ghost takes off his mask and makes sure to smile widely for the morsel. Ghost gets down and crawls, his eyes glazing over as he does. He gets close to the morsel’s face and opens his jaws wider, his long tongue sticking out to lick the tears from the man’s face. 

Ghost wasn’t one to make small talk with his food. But, he’d to make a exception for this one. He leans close to the morsel’s ear and whispers.

”Maybe you’re right about one thing. I am prioritized over everyone else. So much so that, within a month or less, your disappearance will be forgotten and Price won’t bat an eye. Because as long as he has me, the rest of you are just second rate.”

The morsel would live the last few minutes of his life motionless, wordless. He would feel the blood be drained from him. Maybe feel Ghost eat each limp at a time, depending on whether or not Ghost wanted fast food. He wouldn’t live long enough to witness Ghost crack open his ribcage to get at the tasty treats inside. Won’t be alive to witness Ghost gnaw on bone until it’s a messy paste. Ghost someday wanted feedback from one of his victims. He was so curious about what it was like to be eaten. But he would never know. At least not until the fateful day came when one of his one overpowered him. If that day ever came.

Ghost finishes the morsel. Nothing left. Though the scraps of clothes he spared eating and threw them in the dumpster. Ghost turns around to leave, but he would find himself staring at the girl he had killed prior. Her blood leaked from her mouth and neck. It was very inviting. So Ghost checks his watch before shrugging. Guess he’ll have that drink afterall.

[neonbrutalism]

I posted a new fic! It's on Anon because it is has nothing at all to do with Mostly Intact and I felt it would be a bit of a tease to post something the next day and have it not be related. But I will post it here too.

Title (and themes) are from Heretic Pride by The Mountain Goats.

Heretic Pride

Summary:

The monster dies at the end of the story. Miguel is expecting it. Hell, he won’t even blame them for it. And tonight is the beginning of the end. -- Miguel comes back to headquarters the night Miles escapes and waits for the reckoning to arrive.

Character: Miguel O'Hara

Tags: Drabble Introspection Character Study Dehumanization Suicidal Thoughts Self-Hatred Graphic Depictions of Violence

Please mind the tags.

The monster dies at the end of the story. 

Miguel is expecting it. Hell, he won’t even blame them for it. And tonight is the beginning of the end. 

He’s failed.  Failed to catch the anomaly. Failed to prove his worth. Failed to hide his true nature. 

The monster dies at the end.

The good townsfolk will come together and throw the creature into a pit of spikes. They’ll hunt him down and cut it open to release all the children he has devoured, like that will bring them back. They’ll light torches and storm the gates and burn the beast alive in his home. And he’ll deserve it.

If the anomaly breaks the canon — and he has to think of the kid as an anomaly, a glitch, not a child , not Miles, who wants to save his father — that will be Miguel’s fault, if the universe falls apart. Billions more lives he will have failed. More blood on his hands. Claws. Monsters have claws, not hands.  Monsters who steal lives and steal lives and doom one world after another.

The beast has killed again. The townsfolk find its lair, dark, because no monster can stand the light, filled with bones and broken pieces, and drag it through the streets. 

They dig a pit of stakes in the town square and tie it up and cast it down. 

The monster screams, skewered, and weeps until it’s bled too much to move and the townsfolk will know they’ve done the right thing. The creature is dead and joy will fill the town again and thank God it didn’t fight back, thank God it knew it deserved to die after everything. 

What kind of monster kills its own daughter? 

Miguel knows he deserves it.

He has failed, but what if the anomaly succeeds? What if Miguel is wrong? 

The monster has been haunting the townsfolk. Demanding tribute. Demanding sacrifice. Bring it your children, your parents, your uncles, and watch it tear apart everyone you love with its fangs — that’s what fangs are for, ripping, tearing, devouring. Bring your heart to the web and let it be sucked dry.

It’s for the best. 

It’s for the greater good. 

Bring it flesh and blood, pay the price, sacrifice your love to the monster because that’s all it really wants to taste. It can’t really love anything, it can’t be loved, so it must destroy any love it can find.

But the creature is wrong and now the spell is broken. The townsfolk will see it was all false, it was all a lie to feed the insatiable thing in the center of its web. They’ll rise up together, strong and unafraid, pin it down with pitchforks and slice its belly open to free all the lives it has devoured. But there’s nothing there, of course, it won’t undo anything. At least it didn’t lash out or try to stop them — at least it knew what it had done. The townsfolk mourn their losses and leave the monster alone to rot and fester in the sun. No one mourns it. Who even would?

What kind of monster devours its own daughter? 

Miguel won’t blame them for it.

Maybe right and wrong, truth or fiction, won’t matter at all. The scales fell from their eyes tonight and they saw him for what he really is. Stronger, faster, unstoppable, fangs bared, claws out and eyes like blood, ripping open the fabric of reality. 

The monster has been hiding among the townsfolk. In plain sight. In fact, it tells them the story of how it has hidden before.

It has never been one of them. They should have known — the townsfolk all know each other when they meet. Their hearts sing and connect and know when they are like them . They feel nothing when they meet the monster. It’s different.

But then it gets sloppy, it gets angry and its true face peeks through for a brief moment and now they all know. It’s not a man. It’s not a person. It’s an abomination, a crime against nature, a freak. It pulls apart the world to try to destroy a child. It lies and says it’s good, it’s a hero; and it fools nobody, least of all itself. They look in its eyes and see red and know it must die.

The townsfolk gather their torches. They storm the creature’s lair, bar the door and set it ablaze. The monster shrieks in agony but doesn’t try to escape. It knows this is the ending meant for it.

When the flames die, they find nothing remaining of the man it pretended to be. Just a twisted shape, neither human nor spider and somehow both and entirely wrong. At least it’s gone. At least it suffered.

What kind of monster rips apart its own daughter? 

Well. Not its own daughter. 

The monster dies at the end of the story. 

Miguel sits in his lair, in the dark, surrounded by images of worlds he has ruined. Eyes red, flesh between his fangs and blood on his claws, and he waits. 

The townsfolk will come with fire and pitchforks and spikes, ready for the end.

He sits in the dark and waits.

He deserves it. He doesn’t blame them. 

It will feel happy when they come.

[lazarus-rose]

It was just Dean’s luck that his mate would go into heat in the middle of a case. They had gone to sleep in the motel (suddenly, Cas’ extra enthusiasm the previous night had made a lot more sense) and, when Dean had woken up, it was to the scent of heat and with a horny, desperate omega squirming against him, whining as he humped his leg.

“Cas, are you-”

“I need you, Alpha.” Cas nuzzled his throat, licking at the bite mark over Dean’s scent gland. “Need your knot in me, beloved.”

Dean moaned as his omega crawled into his lap, his ass grinding back against Dean’s morning wood. Dean could feel the dampness of Cas’ slick through his boxer briefs. He was about to try and reason with Cas when his lips were claimed in a hungry kiss.

Dean tried to jerk upright when he heard the door open, but Cas’ weight on top of him was enough to keep him down.

“Hey, guys, I got you breakfast- Oh, god!” Something dropped to the floor and there was the sound of someone scrambling backwards. “Guys, what the hell?”

“Our room, Sammy,” Dean pointed out as Cas licked his scent gland like a lollipop. “And I think-”

“Yeah, no shit, man, even I can smell it,” Sam grumbled. Cas’ heat scent really must have been strong if Sam’s less acute beta-nose was picking it up. Dean finally managed to look up and saw that his brother was pressed into a corner, his face covered by his hands.  “Are you gonna be okay for the case? We’ve got to be at the police station soon, remember.”

Dean stopped to consider. Cas needed him right now, that much was clear, but the case was important as well. Surely he could wait a few hours…

“Yeah, man. Just give me half an hour?”

“Gladly.” Sam left the room fast, clearly not eager to see his brother getting it on with his mate.

“Knot, alpha,” Cas growled as the door slammed behind Sam. “Now!”

“Okay, okay, babe, just…” He pulled Cas off his neck, holding his mate’s face between his hands. Cas blinked a couple of times, his eyes hazy and his skin slick with sweat. “Let me take care of you, ‘kay?”

Cas nodded vigorously. Dean flipped them over and helped his mate strip off his briefs. It would take too long to knot his omega, but there were other ways of keeping Cas’ heat at bay.

“Alpha, please, alpha,” Cas whined, clutching Dean tightly. “Need you so bad, need you to knot me!”

“I know, sweetheart.” Dean kissed the claiming mark on Cas’ scent gland before slowly mouthing his way down the angel’s chest. “I’m gonna help you, I promise.”

When Dean got down to Cas’ cock, he ignored it in favour of sucking a mark into his thighs. Just because they were a bit short on time didn’t mean that he was going to forgo foreplay.

“Dean, Dean, alpha, please!” Cas pleaded, grabbing Dean’s hair tightly and trying to pull him towards his straining cock.

Whichever asshole alphas said omegas had small dicks had obviously never seen what Cas was packing. His cock was not only almost as long as Dean’s but also thicker. Dean enjoyed feeling Cas inside him, pounding into his ass just as much as he enjoyed knotting Cas’ gorgeous, tight hole.

“Alright, babe,” Dean said, licking his lips as he eyed Cas’ cock. “I got you.”

Cas yanked his head forwards and Dean went willingly. He swallowed down Cas’ cock in one go, groaning around the thick length.

“Ah, Dean, please,” Cas moaned, bucking up into Dean’s mouth. Only years of practice kept Dean from gagging as the cock hit the back of his throat. Dean hummed in response, which only served to drive Cas even wilder.

While continuing to work Cas’ cock, Dean lifted a hand and slipped one of his fingers into Cas’ slick ass. His mate whined, the sound starting low in his throat as he writhed, his hand tightening in Dean’s hair.

“More, Dean! Please, knot, I need your knot!”

Dean hummed again before pulling off Cas and flipping his mate over. The omega thrust his behind up towards Dean desperately.

“Please, alpha!” he begged.

Dean had never been able to refuse a request like that from his omega. He licked at the slick on Cas’ thighs first before going for the main course. The sound that was punched out of Cas as Dean’s tongue thrust into his slick heat nearly made Dean come right there and then. He wrapped his hand around Cas’ dick, now wet with his spit, and began caressing it, timing his strokes with the movements of his tongue.

“Dean, alpha, I’m gonna-” Cas didn’t finish his sentence before he seized up, his cock spurting in Dean’s grip and his hole spasming around Dean’s tongue as he came.

Dean kissed his way up his mate’s spine as Cas finally fell still, his heat satisfied for now. The two of them lay on the bed, Dean pressed against Cas’ back, for a few seconds before he patted Cas’ waist gently.

“C’mon, tiger, up and at ‘em.”

Cas stirred with a low whine. “Knot now?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder and blinking his stupidly blue eyes at Dean innocently, as if he hadn’t just been fucking his mate’s throat and then had the alpha’s tongue up his ass. “Please, alpha?”

“Sorry, buddy.” Dean kissed Cas’ shoulder before sitting up. His own cock was straining against his sleep pants, desperate to bury itself in his omega, but they had a case. “We gotta move. Monsters to hunt, remember?”

“But Deeeeaaannnn-”

“I know, babe, I know, but we need to solve this. It’ll be one day, tops, and then, I’m all yours,” Dean promised.

“But I need a knot.” Cas grabbed Dean’s arm tightly. “I’m so empty, alpha. I need you in me, please. I need your knot, alpha, your seed.”

Hearing Cas begging for Dean’s knot wasn’t helping his dick, which clearly wasn’t getting the memo that it was going to have to wait.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, gently pulling his arm out of his omega’s grip. “I promise, once the case is over, I’m all yours. You can do whatever you want to me.”

Cas squinted at him and tilted his head. “Alright, fine. Whatever I want.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Dean said, kissing his forehead before standing up. “You can shower here, I’m gonna go use the one in Sam’s room.”

“You don’t want company?” Cas pouted.

“Sorry, babe, no can do.” If he got in that shower with Cas, there was no telling what would happen. Dean didn’t think he’d be able to resist his omega, naked and desperate for him in a tiny, enclosed space with just the two of them.

Cas huffed angrily before turning towards the bathroom. Dean pulled his jeans off the floor and put them on, hissing when they touched his still-not-flagging erection.

On his way out of the room, Dean stopped to pick a bag up off the floor. Now that Cas’ scent was slightly less strong, he could smell the aroma of bacon and fried egg. Sam must have picked it up from a diner for them. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he called to Cas. “There’s breakfast here.”

Luckily, the room Sam was in was only a few doors down. Sam, who was already in his suit, ready for the interviews they would be conducting, eyed Dean as he entered, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed.

“Dude. You stink of heat,” he said bluntly, his nose wrinkling.

“I know,” Dean replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna use your shower.”

“Better be a cold one,” Sam muttered.

Dean rolled his eyes again but, when he got in the shower, he did make the water cold. He kept the shower brief, only staying in long enough to wash the scent of heat and sex from his body. He had a bottle of scent blockers in his bag and sprayed it on thick once he was out, not wanting anyone to smell any remaining scent of omega-in-heat on him, before pulling on his suit.

Sam was on his computer when he left the bathroom to get back to Cas. When he entered their room, the heat scent hit him like a speeding train, his cock chubbing up automatically in his pants. He was standing there, his mouth open as he inhaled the delicious fragrance, when Cas appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, naked except for a towel tied loosely around his waist, his skin sparkly from water droplets.

“Alpha!” Cas dashed across the room, pressing Dean back against the door before the alpha had time to react and burying his face in his neck. “Dean, I need you, please-”

Dean licked his lips, trying his best to remember why he couldn’t pin down his beautiful omega and knot him until he was bred.

“Cas…” He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Case, Cas. We’re on a hunt.”

“But I need-”

“We’ve due at the ME’s office for the latest vic in twenty minutes,” Dean said. “Come on, please, babe, just hold on.”

Cas looked up at him wildly, his eyes tinged with omega-gold. “Alpha…”

Dean sighed before resorting to different tactics. “Omega,” he growled, letting through some of his alpha voice. “Wait. Be patient.”

Cas whimpered. Usually, he was able to shake off any command given by an alpha with ease but, with the heat making him more vulnerable, it was way easier for Dean to enforce dominance over him. Plus, they were mates. Cas let himself be a bit more vulnerable with Dean, just as Dean did with Cas.

The omega was still trembling and visibly sweaty but complied with Dean and didn’t try to jump him again. It took quite a lot of scent blockers to cover up the heat smell. Even after they had finished the bottle, Dean was pretty sure he could still smell it. They’d probably have to pick up another one at some point that day to top Cas off.

When they finally got on their way in the Impala, Cas was in the front seat next to Dean, fidgeting restlessly with his trenchcoat, while Sam sat in the back. Ever since Cas and Dean had finally admitted their feelings for each other and then spontaneously mated, the seating arrangements in Dean’s car had been changed permanently, much to Sam’s chagrin.

The moment they exited the car, Cas latched onto Dean, pressing into his side and scenting him again. Dean pushed Cas off while Sam watched, one eyebrow raised.

“C’mon, Cas, hold on, yeah? We’re gonna talk to the medical examiner now, remember? The case?”

Cas whined but complied. He did stay close by Dean’s side as he walked inside. Luckily, the medical examiner was an old man, probably a beta, by Dean’s reckoning, who didn’t comment on Cas’ sweaty, feverish state. He showed them the two new victims (a man and a woman, both omegas, just like the rest of the victims) and explained that, like the other bodies that they had found in the mass grave they had happened upon, had died due to exsanguination. They had both been identified from missing person records and had last been seen a couple of months previously at the same bar a lot of the others had vanished from.

“So, definitely a vamp nest,” Dean said as they walked back towards the Impala.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “They’ve probably been hunting here for years and then burying the bodies.”

Dean nodded in agreement, distracted by his mate rubbing up against Dean again like a possessive cat, nuzzling his nose into the crook of his throat, a deep purr vibrating through him.

“I could talk to the police and the families if you two need some time,” Sam said, apparently taking pity on them.

“Nah, I’m good. The sooner we wrap up this case, the better. Right, babe?”

Cas’ only answer was a low, needy whine.

Sam took the Impala to go and talk to the families of the two recently recovered victims while Cas and Dean went to talk to the sheriff in charge of the case. Cas, at least, seemed lucid enough not to hump Dean in the crowded police station as they were directed toward the sheriff’s office.

The moment the sheriff walked through the door, Dean had him pinned as an alpha, and a dumbass knothead one at that. Everything about the guy's stance screamed overcompensated dominance. Plus, he hadn’t applied his scent blockers correctly, probably on purpose. At least it was unlikely he’d figure out Cas’ omega status, even with his mate being in the depths of his heat. Alphas, especially douchey ones, didn’t tend to pick up on beefy, intense Cas, with his thick, muscular build and commanding, dominant stare being anything but an alpha.

When they had first met, back in the barn, Dean had thought Cas was an alpha as well. Angels didn’t have scents, at least not ones that humans could pick up on. All Dean had gotten during that first year was the occasional lingering fragrance of beta Jimmy Novak. It had taken meeting Cas in the alternate version of 2014 for Dean to realise that he was, in fact, an omega, with one of the most mouthwatering scents that he had ever smelt, combining the sweetness of honey and muskier fragrance of beeswax along with the more electric, inhuman scent of a lightning storm.

Since Cas had been damaged in the fall, he had become just human enough that he had a scent. Usually, it was pretty faint, more like a beta’s, but his heats always magnified it, making it as strong as any other fertile omega in heat.

Currently, the ever-so-faint scent of Cas, elevated above the blockers by his heat, was overwhelmed by the alpha sheriff’s stink. At least it made it less likely the alpha would scent Cas’ heat but, unfortunately, the smell was making Cas twitch even more, his nose wrinkling at the foreign alpha scent. Dean elbowed him gently in the side, a silent command to pull himself together, before standing up and offering his hand.

“I’m Agent Page and this is my partner, Agent Plant,” Dean said.

The alpha shook his hand, practically crushing Dean’s fingers. He was shorter than Dean, but somehow still managed to look down his nose at him.

“Sheriff Moore,” the alpha said. “So, you’re here for the serial. Figures.”

Dean somehow resisted the urge to flash his teeth at the other alpha. “Just following orders, man. Not trying to step on any toes.”

Moore smirked, seeming to think that Dean was submitting to his dominance. Dean’s alpha was begging him to force this guy to submit, but he managed to hold back, clenching his jaw tightly to hide his lengthening canines.

The sheriff sat down behind his desk and Dean fell back into his chair. Behind the cover of the desk, he placed a hand on his mate’s knee, trying to ground himself. Even through the fabric of Dean’s pants, he could feel how hot Cas’ skin was. His poor omega was burning up.

“Is he okay?” the alpha asked, gesturing carelessly to Cas, probably noticing how sweaty he was.

“He’s, er sick. But he’s a stickler, refuses to take a day off,” Dean said with a nervous chuckle.

“Huh,” Moore said with a raised eyebrow.

“So, you gonna give us the case details?” Dean asked.

Dean was listening as the sheriff droned on and on when he felt Cas lean into him, his lips against his ear. “Alpha,” the omega whispered. “Please, alpha, I need you now. Knot me, alpha, please.”

While most of Dean was horrified, part of him was perking up at the desperate begging. Great, this day keeps getting better and better, Dean thought as he tried to calm his alpha’s urge to pin his mate to the desk and knot his ass in front of the sheriff. Added bonus, on top of satisfying his mate, he’d also get to show the asshole knothead how a real alpha treats his omega.

Cas’ tongue brushed Dean’s ear, making the alpha’s breath hitch. He could smell Cas again, his heat making his scent even more delectable. He forcefully pulled away, trying to shove his instincts down.

Thank God the sheriff was too in love with the sound of his own voice to notice Cas trying to entice Dean into a public knotting. Dean tried to listen closely as the guy finished his long-winded explanation of the case and ignore his mate’s hand rubbing his thigh, brushing tantalisingly close to where Dean was chubbing up in his pants.

“I still don’t see why you Feds think you can do a better job,” he said, raising his chin self-importantly. “Me and my guys, we know this town and the people. There’s no way-”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Dean interrupted him loudly, standing up. “Thanks for the info.”

The guy sighed before standing up and circling around the desk. “Fine. Good luck then, agents ,” he said with a twisted smile.

Dean shook his hand again and then the alpha turned to Cas. The angel stared at the hand for a few seconds before taking it. The alpha probably repeated the bone-crushing grip he had used on Dean, but then he paused, his brow furrowing. He took a deep sniff, leaning close to Cas. Dean’s alpha was going haywire, a warning growl beginning to reverberate deep in his chest as the guy leaned close to his omega, sniffing deeply.

The sheriff’s face broke into a grin. “Nice. You fuck a bitch in heat?”

Cas stared at him, uncomprehending. Dean, on the other hand, was conflicted. On one hand, the term bitch in heat being directed, however unknowingly, at his mate made him want to tear the guy’s throat out. On the other, they had also just been handed an easy out.

Moore continued, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Is that why you’re so…” He gestured towards Cas’ sweat-shiny skin. “Did the omega slut you fucked set off your rut? That happened to me once, it was the worst-”

“Yup, that’s what happened!” Dean said, wrapping an arm around Cas’ shoulders and ignoring his alpha’s insistence that they teach the other alpha some respect. “He’s an animal, this guy.” He dragged Cas away, glad that the omega at least went willingly.

Cas was nuzzling him again, his nose pressed right up against Dean’s scent gland.

“You smell good, alpha,” the omega purred. “Please, need you inside me. Want you so much, beloved.”

Dean looked around nervously before pulling Cas into an alleyway behind the station.

“I know, babe, I’m sorry, we just need to finish this case, then I’m all yours. I promised, remember?”

“But I want you noooooww,” Cas moaned. “Please, alpha, please, I need you now, please!” He pressed up against Dean, grinding against his thigh.

“No… Cas, c’mon, please…” Dean threw his head back against the wall, his mouth falling open in a rapturous gasp as Cas’ leg pushed up against his dick, which was, once again, taking an interest in the proceedings. The returning smell of horny, in-heat omega wasn’t helping. “The hunt, babe, remember? Need to finish that first, and then-” He was cut off by a sharp moan as Cas’ palm found his cock and pressed down against it.

“Dean.” Cas’ husky whisper in his ear, combined with his scent and the pressure on his cock was nearly enough to make Dean blow his load right then and there. “Dean, please.”

Dean wasn’t sure what he would have done if he hadn’t suddenly heard the roar of the Impala’s engine. Cas whined as Dean pushed him off him and began walking out towards the sidewalk. Sam stepped out of the car, looking around and then waving when he saw Dean and Cas emerging into the light. The bitchface he shot Dean when he noticed their dishevelled state made Dean seriously consider punching his brother. The freakin’ moose should be grateful he didn’t arrive five minutes later.

They went to a nearby diner to consolidate the information they had gathered. Dean made sure to order loads of food for Cas and coaxed him into eating all of it. Heats took up a lot of energy. Sam rolled his eyes when Dean finally gave up on simply asking and began hand-feeding Cas and then faked gagging when Cas began to lick the salt from the fries off Dean’s palm.

“So, far as we know, all the omegas went missing from the same bar,” Dean summarised. Cas had finished all his food and was now leaning into his side, his nose against Dean’s throat and one of his hands rubbing Dean’s thigh insistently.

“And, at least eleven of them were either in heat or due for a heat,” Sam added.

“So, the bloodsuckers are most likely alphas looking for vulnerable omegas to lure to their nest,” Dean concluded.

“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asked. “We could wait around at the bar and see if any alphas turn up trying to find omegas in heat?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean said. “We have no idea where the nest might be, if we can just get a vamp and make ‘em talk…” Dean trailed off when he noticed the significant look Sam was giving the omega currently mouthing at Dean’s neck. “No. No fucking way. Absolutely not.”

“Dean-”

“Ain’t happening,” Dean growled, baring his teeth and throwing an arm around his omega’s shoulders protectively. “It’s too dangerous!”

“Cas can handle himself-”

“He’s in heat, Sam!” Dean hissed, leaning forward and, in the process, detaching Cas’ mouth from his throat. “He’s-”

“I’ll do it.”

Dean and Sam both turned to look at Cas.

“The fuck you will!” Dean snarled, his teeth lengthening in a display of dominance. “You’re not thinking straight, Cas, you’re-”

“In heat. Like the other omegas. I’ll be the bait.” Cas turned to look at Dean, ignoring his low growl. “You said, once the case was done. This will speed that up.”

“Omega-” Dean started.

Cas’ eyes narrowed. He looked more coherent than he had all day as he stared Dean down, his lip rising slightly to display a hint of fang and his eyes gaining a slight glow from his grace.

“Fine,” Dean finally said, ignoring his alpha’s rage at the idea of putting his vulnerable omega in danger. “But, first sign of trouble-”

Cas leaned close, nosing along Dean’s jaw before pressing his lips against Dean’s ear. “I know, alpha.”

Someone must be punishing him. That was the only explanation Dean could think of for why he was currently sitting at a bar with a whiskey in front of him that he wasn’t allowed to drink, wearing half a bottle of blockers to drown out the scent of enraged alpha while he waited for Cas to arrive. Initially, the plan had been for Sam to sit at the bar while Dean waited outside in the Impala but Dean wasn’t having it, not when it was his mate that was being put in danger. So, that was how Dean found himself staring moodily into his drink while he waited for Cas to turn up.

“Rough night, buddy?” the bartender, a handsome blonde alpha, asked, raising an eyebrow in the direction of Dean’s untouched drink.

Dean grunted in response, running a finger around the edge of the glass. More than anything, he wanted a drink, but he needed to keep a clear head. He had only ordered the whiskey in the first place to blend in.

“Well, man, you wanna talk, I’m here,” the alpha said. “But you’ll have to make it quick, I’m off in ten.”

Dean didn’t answer, so the guy moved away to talk to someone else.

He felt it, the moment his mate entered. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as the scent of honeycomb and a brewing storm, strengthened by heat and horniness, filled his nose. The rest of the bar fell silent as everyone else caught the scent. Dean heard his mate’s slightly uneven footsteps approaching the bar. His senses were now dialled up to eleven, checking for any threat to his omega. He glanced over when he heard the sound of Cas sitting down a few stools down from him. It wasn’t long before some sleazy alpha approached, leering at Dean’s omega.

“Hey, gorgeous. Want a drink?”

Dean turned away, suppressing the urge to sink his teeth into the other alpha’s throat for daring to hit on his omega, settling himself in for a long night.

As it turned out, it was only a few minutes later when Dean sensed Cas moving. A lanky alpha with greasy-looking brown hair dressed all in black was leading him out of the bar, one arm wrapped around his waist while the other gripped his wrist. Cas looked pretty out of it, and Dean felt his hackles rise, a growl starting low in his throat. He threw a few banknotes on the bar before following Cas and the alpha. When he got outside, the two of them had vanished, though their scents lingered.

“C’mon, omega,” he heard the other alpha say from somewhere just past the bar. Even his voice was slimy.

Dean crept forward, keeping to the shadows. The alpha was in the alleyway behind the bar, Dean’s mate pressed between him and the wall.

“Alpha,” Cas said breathily. One of Dean’s teeth pierced his lip as he bit down, holding himself back from ripping the other alpha away and taking what was his. He knew Cas was just playing along but, somehow, that didn’t make watching his mate with someone else any easier.

“Got a fat knot for you right here, omega,” the alpha growled.

That was it. Clearly, if he just wanted to get off quickly in the alley, he wasn’t the vampire. Dean wasn’t watching this douchebag fuck his mate. He was about to start forward when Cas pushed the guy off, shaking his head. He said something, but his voice was too quiet for Dean to make out the words. Whatever it was, though, the alpha did not like it.

“You fucking tease!” He shoved Cas back against the wall, pressing his hips forward against the omega. Dean growled, about to leap forward to defend his mate, when Cas turned, caught Dean’s eyes, and shook his head. His alpha wanted, more than anything, to kill this fucker for laying hands on his mate, but he trusted Cas and he knew that, if things took a turn for the worse, Cas would be able to deal with the guy himself. So he held himself in check as the alpha pressed against Cas and snarled, “You were asking for it, you little slut. You were asking to get fucked like the bitch in heat that you are. And now, suddenly, you don’t want it? That’s fucking bullshit, you-”

“Hey!” Dean had been so distracted by the asshole with his mate, he hadn’t noticed the scent of the other alpha. The guy marched over and shoved the alpha pinning Cas to the wall away with a low growl. “The guy said no, what, you deaf or something?”

Dean recognised the new alpha, it was the bartender. Once the other alpha had scrambled away, the bartender turned to Cas.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked, one hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“Yes. Thank you,” Cas said. He shuddered, pressing closer to the bartender. Dean saw the guy’s nostrils flare.

“Why don’t I take you somewhere safe, huh?” the alpha said slowly. “I live with a couple of other guys in this huge house. There’ll be plenty of room for you. You can stay with us, we’ll look after you.”

Cas nuzzled against the other alpha’s throat, his eyes, once again, focusing on Dean. “Yes, alpha,” he purred. “Take me home.”

Dean backed away as the alpha began walking towards the mouth of the alley with his omega in tow. The Impala was across the street, he could see Sam waiting behind the wheel, watching Dean. He hurried over, got in the passenger seat and closed the door behind him. The bartender led Cas to a black pick-up truck parked on the side of the street and helped him inside.

They followed the car as it drove down the streets. The brothers exchanged a look as they followed the car out of town. Eventually, they watched as the car parked outside a giant, run-down house that looked like it had come straight out of a Gothic novel.

“I hate douchey cliche vampires,” Dean complained to Sam as they parked the Impala behind some bushes and collected their machetes from the trunk.

“It’s a good hideout,” Sam said. “I bet no one comes out here. Hell, I bet no one knows anyone lives out here. Doesn’t exactly look up to regulation.”

“Whatever,” Dean muttered mutinously. “C’mon, let’s go and get Cas.”

They hurried towards the house, Dean in front, eager to get to his mate, already conjuring up a hundred different terrible scenarios in his head. Cas could be hurt, he could already have vampires drinking him dry, he could be dead. As they approached the door, he heard raised voices, and then a scream.

He kicked in the door, his alpha ready for blood. He was prepared to see Cas on the ground, Cas being held by the vampires, Cas with one of the monsters latched onto his throat, feasting on his blood. He was not prepared to see Cas, standing in the centre of the room, surrounded by corpses with burnt-out eyes, his palm pressed to the forehead of a screaming vampire. Dean froze in the doorway, watching as the vampire fell to the ground with all the rest. Cas’ eyes snapped to him.

“ Alpha, ” he snarled. Then he ran at him. Dean barely had time to drop his machete before his mate was on him, his weight knocking Dean to the ground. “Case is over. Monsters are dead. Now you’re mine.”

Dean groaned as Cas began biting at his scent gland while pressing his ass back against his cock.

Sam coughed, but Dean was too far gone to care about his brother’s presence. Now, all he could think was mate, breed, fuck. His omega was right above him, hair a fucked-up mess and eyes black with lust, his mouth hanging open as he panted.

“Okay, I’m gonna go…” Dean couldn’t care less what his goddamn moose of a brother did. He heard retreating footsteps and then the door closing.

“Bed, alpha,” Cas growled at him.

Dean somehow managed to stand, Cas in his arms, his omega’s legs wrapped tight around his waist. He managed to navigate through the house while Cas squirmed against him, his hard cock pressing against Dean, and found a bedroom with a huge, ornate bed (another fucking cliche, fucking vampires, man). Dean dropped his mate down on the sheets before stripping, needing to sink his poor, neglected cock into Cas’ hole and knot him.

He bent down to untie his shoes and then shuck off his jeans and boxers. When he looked up at the bed again, his mate was laying back against the pillows, completely naked, his legs spread obscenely as his hand pumped up and down at his cock.

“Cas…”

“Come here, alpha,” Cas said, sounding amazingly composed for a guy that was still frantically jacking his dick.

Dean obeyed. He climbed onto the bed and crawled over to Cas. He had intended to climb on top of him, but then, without warning, Cas was suddenly pinning him to the bed, growling at Dean. He yanked Dean’s arms above his head before tying them to the headboard. Dean looked up, groaning as he recognised the blue fabric binding his wrists as Cas’ tie.

“Cas-” he moaned.

“Shut up,” Cas hissed. “Alpha’s are supposed to take care of their omegas. Aren’t they?”

Dean nodded vigorously as Cas began to grind his ass back against Dean’s cock. “Yeah, babe, I’m sorry!”

“Now I’m gonna punish you,” Cas growled, a firm hand planted on Dean’s chest, holding him down. “I’m going to take what I want from you. What I need. ”

Dean’s eyes widened and he let out another moan. The idea of being tied down while Cas used him to satisfy his heat appealed to him. A lot.

“You’ve been a bad alpha.” Cas pushed himself back so that his ass was hovering above Dean’s cock, the tip brushing against his entrance. Dean wanted to thrust up into the tight, clenching hole but he doubted Cas would look favourably on that. So he kept himself still, suppressing a whimper as his mate stared him down, a domineering eyebrow raised. “But I’ll let you make it up to me, beloved. You’re going to be still and quiet while I fuck myself on your cock and fill myself with your knot. Do you understand?”

“Y-yeah, Cas,” Dean stuttered, barely able to think beyond the promise of having Cas clenching around him.

Cas stroked his cheek. “Good boy.”

Dean’s mouth fell open and his eyes clenched shut as, without warning, Cas impaled himself on Dean’s cock, not stopping until Dean was fully sheathed. The omega didn’t let up as he began bouncing up and down on Dean’s lap, his hands pressed against Dean’s chest, his mouth open in a pleasured moan.

“Alpha, alpha!” he cried, pressing his face against Dean’s skin, his breath coming out in harsh pants. “Good, alpha, good, so good!”

Dean itched to wrap his arms around his mate, to flip them over and pound into him until he couldn’t say anything other than Dean’s name, but the tie around his wrists kept his hands above his head. He pulled against it a bit as Cas continued to ride him, becoming even more turned on by the slight pain from the tight restraints.

Cas moaned as Dean’s knot started to inflate, catching on his rim. Dean could feel it, his alpha roaring at him to fill his omega with load after load of his seed and then lock it inside with his knot. Cas licked at the mating bite on Dean’s scent gland before slamming down one last time onto Dean, the knot locking into him just as he sank his teeth into Dean’s throat.

Dean couldn’t help his cry of pleasure as he came, Cas’ teeth renewing his claim on his alpha as the omega’s ass was flooded with Dean’s come. He felt Cas hum approvingly against him before withdrawing, his teeth bared in a satisfied grin. Dean panted, his skin slick with sweat and his mind fuzzy from his recent orgasm.

“That was good, alpha,” Cas said, stroking Dean’s damp hair as his hole clenched around Dean’s knot again.

Dean’s head fell back against the bed with a groan as he felt himself release another load inside his omega. His scent gland hurt, but it was a good pain, reminding him of the angel he was fortunate enough to call his mate. When Cas began moving on top of him again, he whined, the pleasure of his knot in a tight hole right on the edge of being too much. He tilted his head upwards slightly so he could look up at his omega, who was fucking himself on Dean’s knot while his hand worked his own hard dick. It wasn’t long before Cas threw his head back, gasping as ropes of come splattered across Dean’s chest.

The omega collapsed against Dean’s chest, his eyes falling shut.

Round two happened as soon as Dean’s knot deflated half an hour later. Cas had woken up a few minutes before, burning with heat again. Dean had whimpered and squirmed against the bed as Cas rode him again, this time coming on his knot. After he had come, Cas had finally released Dean’s wrists and let the alpha spoon him while they waited out his knot.

“Why’d you go with that first alpha?” Dean asked while they waited for his knot to go down, remembering the sleazy guy who had taken Cas into the alley. “Trying to lure the bloodsucker out? Or make me jealous?”

Cas turned to look at Dean over his shoulder, giving him an irritated glare. “I thought he was the vampire, Dean. He put something in my drink-”

“He what?”

“-and then asked me if I wanted to join him somewhere private.”

“That fucker!” Dean growled.

Cas chuckled and patted the hand that Dean had rested on his mate’s stomach. “Don’t worry, alpha. I can handle myself, remember?”

Round three had Cas on all fours, begging Dean to knot him, own him, fuck him full. That time, the knot only lasted about fifteen minutes. Dean was not a young man anymore, and he doubted that he’d be able to fuck Cas again without giving his poor dick a rest. Instead, he had sucked the omega off, his cock making a valiant effort to perk up again as his mate began to fuck his face, his hand tight in Dean’s hair.

Cas was loose-limbed and sated when Dean led him out of the room. Sam was waiting for them beside the front door, his arm crossed as he eyed them bitchily.

“I searched the rest of the house. No more vampires, no more victims. And I took the bodies out back. They’re all ready to burn.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, still focused on his mate.

“Well, I figured you two wouldn’t be doing any of the work.”

“Oh, I was working all right,” Dean replied, winking at his brother, whose lip curled in disgust. “Can you take care of the bodies? Cas needs me.” His mate purred, looking at Dean approvingly.

“Good boy,” he whispered against Dean’s ear, making the alpha’s throat bob.

“I don’t wanna know,” Sam said, glaring at the two of them.

Dean led Cas out to the Impala and sat him down in the back seat.

“I’m forgiven then?” he said as his mate climbed into his lap and began to slowly grind his dick against his thigh.

“Of course, beloved.” Cas licked the fresh bite mark on his neck. “I can’t stay mad at you, alpha.” Dean choked when he suddenly felt a hand pressing against his overstimulated cock through his jeans. “However, I believe I am owed your full attention from now on.”

“Of c-course, sweetheart.”

Cas smiled, showing a hint of his sharp teeth. “Good alpha.”

Dean had no idea what he was in for.

You can also read this (and two other works in this series) on AO3

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Interpersonal Chapter 7

Here's your smut. Hope you like it.

Without hesitation, you throw your arms around his neck, tangling one of your hands into his hair to pull him even closer to you. The force with which he had grabbed your face had pulled you into a standing position, but not for long; without breaking the kiss he picks you up and sets you on the bar. He’s so tall that now he’s only slightly above face level instead of completely bending over you.

You take your legs and encircle them around his waist, causing him to groan and impatiently probe your lips with his tongue. You immediately open your mouth, tilting your head at a different angle to give him better access.

He pulls away, but before you can whine in protest, he moves his lips to your neck, kissing and nipping this new expanse of skin. Your whine turns into a gasp because fuck his mouth feels so good on you…

“Oh God!” you cry out. His mouth has found your pulse point and he’s decided to pull it between his teeth, sucking on it harshly, and no doubt leaving a mark behind. 

When he releases your neck, he pulls back and just stares at you for a moment, a look of sheer wonder on his face, before attacking your lips again. You’re only too happy to respond. “So. Fucking. Beautiful,” he murmurs, punctuating each word with a kiss.

Your hands slide down to find his shoulders, and you slip them underneath his jacket. When he doesn’t stop you, you push the jacket off his body and he lets it fall to the floor in a heap.

With a groan, he moves his own hands to the front of your blouse and begins undoing the buttons with quick fingers. When the buttons are open, you waste no time shrugging the garment off, leaving you bare from the waist up save for a simple baby blue bra. You wish you’d worn something more exciting, but he’s pulled back again and is staring at you with undisguised want in his eyes, so you suppose this is good enough for him.

“Do you wanna take this into my bedroom?” he asks, his voice sounding oddly strangled. You have to bite back a moan when you realize how far he means to take this. 

"Lead the way," you say breathlessly.

He takes your hand and goes on a mad dash through his mansion, going down hallways and up a flight of stairs. Finally, he comes to a door and throws it open, gently pushing you inside ahead of him.

As soon as you're both in, he closes the door and slams you against it, resuming his ministrations on your neck, pulling a high-pitched mewl from the back of your throat.

Before your knees go out, since they're starting to feel more and more like jelly, you bring your fingers up to his tie, fumbling with the knot for a minute before you finally get it loose and toss it somewhere to the side. His mouth is making a line up your neck, over your jaw, finding its way back to your lips, continuously coaxing more gasps from you.

Once his tie is off, you practically rip the buttons of his shirt open and begin running your hands over his chest and stomach. The shirt falls off his shoulders, catching on his elbows, but before you can remove it completely he's spun you around and is guiding you towards his bed.

Your lips part when the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall backwards onto the soft surface. He immediately crawls on top of you, greedily capturing your lips once again.

He manages to get his arms completely out of his shirt, and once he does, he skims his fingers over your breasts, making you arch your back and gasp yet again. He pulls back just slightly, the question clear in his eyes. You push yourself up on your elbows, giving him both access to your back and clear permission. He takes full advantage, swiftly removing your bra with one hand.

You fall back to the bed, ready for him to resume, but he seems to be taking a new approach now. So far the night has been fast, the unspoken tension having finally snapped. Now, he's going a bit slower, setting your nerve endings on fire, making every touch a hundred times more sensitive. He drags a finger down your neck as he takes all of you in, then follows the line of your clavicle. Your breathing is getting louder and louder to the point where he finally starts tracing your nipple, you're nearly screaming for him.

He leans down and runs his flattened tongue over the rosy bud, while the fingers of his other hand dance over the other side, just enough to keep you stimulated, and just lacking to have you wanting so much more. "Please," you whimper, pushing your hips up into his. 

"Please what?" he smirks. He's quite aware of how crazy he's making you and thoroughly enjoying it. Under normal circumstances, you'd never give in, but at the moment, you couldn't care less. He's lit a fire within you, a fire that only his touch can quench.

"Touch me… please," you beg, running your nails up and down his back, probably leaving angry red marks in your wake.

He looks down at you with a devilish grin. "Well why didn't you ask?" he says innocently before taking your nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly, finally giving you the sensation you'd been craving. You mewl into his ear in appreciation, which only seems to encourage him further. There's a noise coming from the back of his throat now as well, and his free hand roams up and down your body until he finds the zipper of your skirt. He pulls it down without a second thought, and you help him push the thing off of you until you're in nothing but a thin pair of underwear that's already soaking through.

He releases your nipple and soothes the area with his tongue before moving back up to your lips and kissing you again. You notice that there's more passion, more emotion, in this kiss than any of the others, but you have no complaints; that just makes you want him more.

After a moment, you sit up, bringing him with you. You slide off the bed, grasping his hands so he's forced to stand. He gives you a quizzical look, but goes along with you for now.

You drop to your knees in front of him, making sure to keep staring into his deep blue eyes, hardly daring to blink. Slowly, ever so slowly, you start to rub the hard bulge in his pants as you unbuckle his belt with your free hand.

"Shit!" he gasps the second your hand makes contact. You smile to yourself and free the belt from the loops, tossing the leather aside, before undoing the button and zipper on his pants.

"Wait," he manages to get out just before you start to pull his pants off. "If you start, I can't promise I'll be able to stop. And I kind of want to be able to take my time and enjoy you tonight."

You direct your smile up at him, and bite your lip for good measure. "Believe me, I want that as well," you purr, your eyes full of promise. "I'll stop before you go over the edge, don't worry." And with that, you push his pants and underwear down to free his cock. 

Still looking up at him through your lashes, you swirl your tongue around the head before taking him into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, sucking gently.

"Fuck baby!" he hisses, grabbing the back of your head to help guide you.

You quickly learn that he's not quiet in the slightest, and his frequent moans and gasps spur you on. You continue sucking and rubbing your tongue on the underside of his cock, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

When you sense he can’t take much more, you release him, slowly taking him out of your mouth, but allowing your tongue to linger as long as possible. If he wanted to be a tease earlier, you could dish it right back.

He stands there gasping for a minute, trying to catch his breath again, while you just smile from your position on the ground. You adore having the power to make him come undone like that. He was one of the richest men in the world, and one of the most influential as well, but tonight, he was yours.

When he recovers, he hoists you to your feet with little effort and throws you back on the bed. “Is there anything you’re not good at?” he asks half-admiringly, half-exasperatedly as he kicks his clothes off all the way. You don’t respond, but your breathing hitches again in anticipation. He said he wanted to have fun with you, and you fully expect him to keep his word.

Sure enough, he hooks his fingers into the hem of your panties, and you raise your hips so he can peel them off you. Again, he takes a moment to look at you with that same sense of wonder he’s had for most of the night. Despite how badly you want him, you take the time to allow this. You’ve never felt more wanted, or more beautiful than you do now with the look he gives you. You almost feel like you’d be content with seeing that look for the rest of your life…

Your confused thoughts come to a screeching halt as his hands find the inside of your thighs, his fingers so close and yet so far from your burning center, where you’re positively aching for him. Still, you can’t complain too much; your thighs are sensitive enough and he’s certainly making the most of the situation, kneading the area and eliciting sharp gasps from you.

He moves down so that his head is now in between your legs, and his mouth takes over the work on your thighs. He’s kissing and nipping them much like he did to your neck, only now everything is a thousand times more reactive. You’re paying the price for edging him now. If he doesn’t touch you there soon, you’re going to combust. 

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers huskily, his breath ghosting over you, but he still refuses to give you what you crave.

“Touch me, fuck me, PLEASE!” you scream, all sense of pride gone. You’ll give this man whatever he wants if it means he’ll give you your release.

With a wicked smile, he finally, finally, skims a finger over your entrance before swearing under his breath. “Fuck baby, you’re dripping,” he moans before dipping one finger into your core, slowly moving in and out. You sigh with contentment. His fingers are so long that he’s reaching spots inside you no one else ever has before, and God almighty it feels so good.

And then he curls that damned finger and you swear you almost fall apart right there.

“Not yet,” he chastises as he slows down, but makes up for it by adding another finger. He slowly picks up the pace, occasionally curling the fingers inside you, and brings his thumb up to rub your clit. Closer and closer he takes you to the edge, but he never quite lets you go over.

“Please… please let me come,” you beg, your words coming out as high-pitched as your voice was capable of getting.

"This is it, I promise," he murmurs, and he lowers his face to you, replacing his thumb with his tongue, giving the sensitive bud little flicks, while at the same time thrusting his fingers inside you hard, curling them forward to hit that spot he'd found that drove you crazy.

“Fuck!” you scream. Your legs wrap around his head, trying to keep him there for as long as possible to prolong the feeling. You come hard, and he gently continues to finger you as you ride out your wave.

You fall back, gasping. When he makes a promise, he damn well keeps it. You’d never admit this out loud, and especially not to him, but that was quite possibly the best orgasm of your life.

He pushes himself up to lay down next to you while you’re still recovering. That self-satisfied smirk is still firmly in place, and even though it was well earned you're still annoyed by it. "Oh, shut up," you grumble, turning away from him so he can't see how red your face is getting.

"Shut up? Why would I waste time talking when I can think of quite a few things I would rather be doing with my mouth?" he asks innocently enough, but you can hear the smugness in his tone. He clearly knows how good of a job he did and how well he was able to break you down. You'd be so mad if it hadn't been such a good orgasm.

You roll over and capture his lips with yours, just to shut him up. He responds enthusiastically, tangling one of his hands in your hair and using his other arm to pull you as close to his body as he possibly can. Despite everything that had happened tonight, and how impossibly good he had made you feel, even this simple act of kissing him still sets your whole being alight. You can't get enough of kissing this man. You doubt you'll ever be able to.

Eventually, he makes his way back on top of you, his still-hard cock positioned directly above your entrance. He pulls back, giving you one last chance to change your mind if you wanted. 

You drag him back down for another searing kiss, confirming to him that yes, you do want this. You desperately want this. You desperately want him.

Slowly, almost agonizingly so, he pushes himself into you, causing you to let out a loud moan directly into his ear. You wrap your legs around his waist, but refrain yourself from bringing your hips up to meet his just yet. You'll let him control the pace for now, but once the two of you find your rhythm, you'll happily join him.

Your breathing gets heavier and heavier until he's fully inside you. Keeping his eyes locked on yours, he pulls himself out nearly all the way before thrusting back in, just a little bit faster this time. You start to move your hips in time with him, building together. All the while, he refuses to take his eyes off of yours, which is something you've never experienced. It somehow makes the moment so much more emotional, so much more intimate, and you never want it to break. If the world ended in this moment, you would die happy, tangled up in this man.

"Fuck," he gasps, and without warning he pulls you up so that you're sitting in his lap, all without removing himself from you. He presses his forehead against yours as you continue to move in tandem with one another. He's holding himself back from going all out, clearly trying to make the moment last as long as possible, but as you feel yourself start to crest, you're not sure how long you're going to be able to last either.

Your breathing becomes erratic, and you toss your head back, unable to keep your eyes open any longer. Your pace picks up as you find your second release of the night, whispering his name over and over in his ear through the waves of this second, far more intense orgasm.

This one lasts much longer than the first; as soon as you're taken care of, he leans you down on your back again and chases his own release, therefore prolonging yours. He's getting loud again, hands clenching and unclenching in your hair until he spills himself inside you, panting heavily as if he's just finished running a marathon.

He pushes himself off of you, falling limply at your side. It's several moments before either of you manages to form any coherent words. "Ah… sorry. I should've checked with you before finishing inside," he winces. 

"It's okay, I'm on the pill," you manage to reassure around a yawn. You're exhausted all of the sudden.

It's just occurred to you that you're not really sure what you're going to do about sleep–does he even want you in the same room now that you're done having sex? But before you can pluck up the courage to ask the question, he answers it without you saying a word. He wraps his arms around you, tilts your chin up to give you one last, lingering kiss, then falls back with his head on a pillow, seemingly already asleep, with you still tucked firmly in his arms.

It's unbelievably comfortable. You snuggle closer to him ready to drift off to sleep yourself…

As you begin to stir awake the next morning, your first thought is annoyance–you don't want to wake up. However, this annoyance is quickly replaced by confusion. Where are you? Why are there a pair of arms around you, and what feels like a person's body spooning you?

And then the memories from the previous night come flooding back to you and you're wide awake now, jolting so bad that you're shocked you don't wake your boss. Your fucking boss, who is currently naked and in bed with you.

You fucked your boss. Oh. Shit. You are in so much fucking trouble.

[leet911]

you can mend my dress (but not my heart)

Imogen sits cross-legged by the fire, needle in hand, squinting at the robe in her lap.  The dancing flames flicker and sputter, making it hard to see the sheer fabric she's trying to mend.  Her magical purple lights hover overhead, but they don’t help.  It’s too dark, and Imogen hasn’t done this in years.  Laudna is the crafty one.  Laudna is the one who fixes things.

“Couldn’t sleep?”  Deanna’s voice comes from the other side of the fire.

Imogen looks up and then back down as the needle jabs into her thumb.  She shakes out her hand and sucks away the drop of blood welling up from the wound. “F.R.I.D.A went to walk the perimeter.  Your watch isn’t for another hour.”

Deanna moves closer nevertheless, invokes a brief flash of magic to stop the minor bleeding.

“I’m fine,” Imogen insists, but she lets out a frustrated sigh.  “It’s just my sleeve got ripped in that last fight.”

"Do you need a hand?"  I had young children once, with clothes that always needed mending.”

The ripped sleeve is held up, and Deanna sits next to Imogen so the dress can be draped over both of their laps.  Imogen hands over the needle and rubs the strain of concentration from her eyes.  “Laudna’s usually the fixing one.”  And Imogen doesn’t know why she needs to make an excuse.  As if Deanna expected her to mend her own clothes, after a battle, in the night, by erratic firelight.  Maybe Imogen is the one who needs fixing.

Deanna's hands glide with practiced motion, deftly stitching the tear together.  She licks her fingers and repositions the garment, proceeds to pull the thread back and forth.  When the worst of the rip is mostly closed, she murmurs a prayer, her symbol of the Dawnfather glows, and the torn fabric fuses itself back together partway.  "I should meet this Laudna someday."

Continued below the cut or on AO3

"Yeah, Laudna's great with kids." And Imogen doesn't know why she says that, because it's not at all what she meant to say.  It's neither here nor there, and Deanna's kids are fully grown by now.  It's just that it's the sort of thing that Laudna wants to be true.  It's the sort of thing that Imogen knows to be true.

Deanna hums as the needle bobs a few more times, then one more burst of magic closes the rip and the sleeve looks good as new.  The dress is passed back to Imogen.  "It's ok if you miss her."

It doesn’t feel ok to Imogen though.  Because Imogen doesn’t know what to do without Laudna.  They never set out to save the world, or even become best friends.  She thought they would travel together for a bit, and maybe find her mom, but not this.  This feels like the world is going to end, and Imogen — of all people — is supposed to help save it somehow.  This feels like the world is ending, but the only thing Imogen can think of is Laudna.

She remembers those first few days on the road, when she was terrified of being alone, away from home, with only her nightmares.  Those early days, when she went along with anything that Laudna suggested, because Laudna was so nice to her and Imogen would be lost if Laudna wanted to part ways.  She remembers when she decided she would never read Laudna’s mind without permission, because Laudna’s thoughts were like music, and they didn’t hurt Imogen’s brain.  She remembers walking for three days with a hole in her shoe until her foot was blistered because they didn’t have money to buy new shoes, and Imogen absolutely did not want to be left behind for slowing them down.  And when Laudna finally did see the hole, she fixed Imogen’s shoe overnight, like in that stupid children’s story, and Imogen was so relieved she cried the next morning.

I’m sorry I’m such a mess.  Thank you so much, Laudna.

Of course.  Why didn’t you say anything?

I didn’t want you to think I was slowing us down.

I won’t leave you, Imogen.  We’re friends, right?

So Imogen remembers the laughs, and smiles, and funny stories that Laudna would tell, the puppet shows with Pâté, the nights spent on the roadside in Laudna’s worn threadbare tent, all the times Imogen woke scared and sweating only to find that Laudna was there.  Laudna was always there, with a kind word and a drink of water.

But now Laudna’s not here.  And Imogen doesn’t know what to do.  "I miss her so much."

Deanna starts to reach for Imogen’s shoulder, but it’s too far up, so she pats a knee instead.  "That's what it's like to care about people.  I'll let you in on a secret.  Most everyone is just getting by.  You're not any different.  Even Chet, who talks a big game, is just like you and me."

"Laudna's different from us," Imogen gestures at the bedrolls around the fire, where Chetney and Fearne are sleeping.  She points over towards some rocks, where FCG sits motionless in stasis.  "Us here, we're not nice people.  But Laudna is. She might look scary, but Laudna is the nice one.  The world doesn't deserve her."

"You think you don't deserve her."

"I wish…" Imogen starts but doesn't finish.  She wishes Laudna were here, of course.  Or that she could be wherever Laudna is.  But the truth is, however much she misses the way things were before, she knows they can never go back.  Imogen can't go back.

Because Imogen can't pretend anymore.  She can't pretend they're just friends, that she bought Laudna a ring just for fun, that she doesn't worry about Laudna all the time, that not knowing if Laudna is ok is killing her inside.  She can't pretend that she doesn't dream of a safer, quieter world, a cabin somewhere far away where Laudna could bake cookies and have a herb garden, where they could drink tea on the porch, feed the birds, and watch the stars at night, maybe a big bed where they could huddle up together on cold days and Imogen could just listen to Laudna's melody.

“I wish Laudna were here.”  It’s selfish, Imogen knows.  But Laudna was always the one who made her feel safest.  And she sort of needs that right now.

There’s a rustling then, as F.R.I.D.A. strides back into their little camp, eyes scanning the perimeter then each of their party members in turn.  “Is something going on?”

Deanna points to the mended sleeve.  “Just helping with some sewing.”  Then she speaks to Imogen, more softly.  “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

Imogen nods and crawls back her own bedroll, drags it a little further away when she sees F.R.I.D.A. linger near FCG before sitting next to Deanna by the fire. “Goodnight,” she whispers,

“Goodnight.”  “Goodnight.”  They both call back.

Imogen smoothes out her hair and turns away from the fire, tells herself that it’s the heat and ash that’s stinging her eyes to bring the tears.  Under her breath, she casts Sending to Laudna.  It worked with FCG, even if they were close by.  There’s a chance, right?

It’s me, Laudna.  I miss you.  I hope you’re alright.  It’s nighttime here, so I’m going to bed.  Goodnight.   She pauses, steels herself for a burst of pain and static that doesn’t come.  I love you, Laudna.

There’s no response.  Imogen doesn't know what that means, doesn’t know if this is better or worse.  Did the spell work?  Does it only work sometimes now?

She waits for several minutes in the darkness, thinking again of those early days on the road, when they used to sleep back to back.  Imogen remembers all the times she woke up cold, in the middle of the night, terrified that she had been abandoned, afraid to turn around and check, so she would hold her breath until the quiet wheeze of Laudna’s breathing let her heart start again.

So now she holds her breath until she can’t any longer, and even as she gasps for air there’s no reply.  She watches ash dance in the night through tear-filled eyes even as lightning-scarred hands wring themselves together.

Many more minutes pass, with Imogen's breaths settling into a slow sad rhythm.  But as she drifts off to a fitful sleep, she hears a singsong “I love you” in her head, and she’s not even sure if it’s real or a wistful dream.