#and the demons within me that's been years since i locked in a cage want me to be vile right back but i'm choosing not to for the sake of m | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

little-diable · 1 year

Text

The Devils Inside Me - Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

Y'all voted on it, so here we go. Remember: don't like it, don't read it. Don't copy this to any other platform, please. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader's parents think she is possessed by the devil, and only one man can free their daughter from His grasp.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (m), religious connotations, power play, choking, wrong use of a bible, talks about exorcism

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (1.6k words)

Darkness. She was surrounded by a thick blanket of darkness; so thick (y/n) couldn’t even see her hands. It had been hours since she had been locked into this room, separating her from the rest of her family. She had listened to their conversations, how they feared for her soul. She had listened to their prayers, how they asked God to free her from the demons living inside her flesh cage. She had listened to their phone calls, how they begged Priest Riddle to find his way to them.

At first she had been angry, body filled with a biting heat, directed at her parents, at the two people that should love her more than anything else. They had pushed her away, scared of the daughter that was possessed by the devil, or so they thought. At first she had thought they were pulling a prank on her, a thought that had been disregarded the moment she had picked up on the fear filling her parents eyes.

The sound of three knocks banging against the door leading to the dark cellar echoed through the air, making (y/n)’s eyes snap open. Her heart was racing, filled with anticipation, wondering if it was the man she had been waiting for. Deep down she had fostered a crush on the handsome priest for years, giving into her carnal desire with her hands buried between her thighs and her lips parted, allowing his name to roll off her tongue. The man had something awfully intriguing to him, though nothing reminding her of the love a man of God should carry within him, no, he had something dark to him, like a soul stuck in Sheol, no longer believing in redemption.

“It’s me, (y/n). We will free you of the darkness inside of you.” His voice had something awfully sweet to it, dripping from his lips like honey, syllables rolling off his tongue like a prayer spoken in the early morning, betokening a good day laying ahead. Priest Riddle stepped into the cold room, holding onto a burning candle with one hand, while the other gripped his black bible. Their eyes met, two pairs finding one another in the darkness like magnets calling one another closer, a band that wouldn’t snap anytime soon. “Your parents fear you, they tell me you’ve invited the devil into your soul. Why would you do that, sweet (y/n)?”

“I didn’t. I am not possessed.” Her voice trembled, filled with anger, fear, and curiosity. Would he touch her? Would he pray for her wellbeing and leave her behind with the ever growing ache between her thighs? “I don’t know why they think that, I didn’t do anything wrong, priest, I promise.”

The clicking of his tongue forced her to shut up, eyes following his every movement. He sat down in the chair vis-a-vis hers, candle placed down on the table. Their eyes didn’t break contact, not even as he opened his bible with one hand, while the other drew a cross on his forehead.

“Pray with me, (y/n). Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned. And these signs will accompany those who believe: in my name they will cast out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up serpents with their hands; and if they drink any deadly poison, it will not hurt them; they will lay their hands on the sick, and they will recover.” His words filled the cellar, a sound so daunting even the shadows finding comfort in the darkness didn't dare leave their hiding spots. (Y/n) couldn’t help but give into the chuckles wanting to rumble through her, finding amusement in the situation – her first mistake. “I see. You’re too far gone, praying won’t free your soul. The devil has already taken over your mind.”

“What will you do? Give me a rosary to pray?” She was teasing him, wondering how far she could push him. (Y/n) had heard stories about the man, stories that forced themselves into her dreams, picturing herself with her naked body pressed against his, allowing the priest to mark her body, to leave his stain on her.

“I’d stop running my mouth, I won’t be gentle with your body and soul.” The priest rose to his feet, towering over her with his eyes focusing on her lips. Before (y/n) could begin to understand what he was doing, Priest Riddle had clamped his hand down on her throat, forcing her to tense, eyes growing wide. For a moment he didn’t move, staring down on her with a satisfied smirk tugging on his lips, lips he pressed against hers only seconds later.

The kiss wasn’t sweet, wasn't loving, no, (y/n) could taste the darkness seeping from his every pore on his tongue, a taste so biting, she feared the man was poisoning her. His hand on her throat grew tighter, would he snap her neck? Would he kill her before this could go any further? Her trembling didn’t stop, growing more prominent with every moan he lured from her, giving into the sounds only a woman guided by the devil’s call could produce.

Even though the kiss didn’t last long, she felt breathless, unable to breathe through the highs of pleasure he pushed her through. With their eyes connected the man straightened his spine, eyes flickering down to his bible. He threw the holy book to the ground, eyes focusing on it. “Onto your knees, we will get rid of your demons either way.”

Her body blindly followed his command, knees placed on the big bible. (Y/n)’s heart was pounding in her chest, a sound so loud, even those wandering the realm of death picked up on it. She was trembling, wondering if God was looking down on them, watching the sinful acts that were played out in His name, wrongdoings they’d never be freed of.

She gulped heavily as she followed the movements of his hands, how he freed his cock, twitching in his grasp. With a few of his cold fingers finding her chin, the priest tilted her head up, forcing (y/n) to look at him. His eyes had something to them she couldn’t pinpoint, he was challenging her, momentarily giving her a chance to back out, to pull away before they’d cross that last line – but she didn’t, all she did was part her lips, allowing his thumb to press down on her tongue.

Priest Riddle gave his cock a few pumps before he replaced his thumb with it, resting heavily on her tongue. Her saliva dripped down her chin, making a mess on the ground as if it was raining from the dark clouds above. She tried to move her hands, wanting to use them on the parts her mouth couldn’t reach, but the dark gaze he shot her forced (y/n) to sit still, only bobbing her head. His groans left her aching for more, shifting her hips in a desperate try to touch herself, using enough pressure to push herself further towards the edge.

“Don’t you dare move, this is not for your pleasure, this is not to satisfy your sinful needs. You shall suffer, and you shall learn.” His sharp words left her whining around his cock, eyes fluttering close to try and sort through her thoughts. Priest Riddle’s hand found the back of her head, pushing her further down on his cock, making her gag. Curses left the man of God, words only those wandering the same paths like the devil would use, giving into those fears (y/n)’s parents carried deep within themselves.

Her eyes were glassy, filled with tears as clear as the blessed water one would use in church, wetting their foreheads as if Johannes had bathed them at Bethany Beyond the Jordan. The priest wasn’t showing any mercy, fucking her mouth with rough thrusts, making her gag, whine, and moan. A sinful mixture she’d never be freed of.

“Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. You shall follow the call, you will serve me, and through me you will serve Him.” He spoke his words as if he was cursing her, sharp, without any mercy lingering inside his body. (Y/n) took his words without any chance to reply, feeling him twitch in her mouth, about to fill her cheeks with his release. The priest gave it one last thrust before his orgasm shook through him, cum painting her tongue and cheeks white.

(Y/n) swallowed every drop without protests, showing off her clean tongue as he pulled away, redressing himself with a simple “Good girl” leaving him. She was trapped in a whirlwind of different sensations, shame, pride, and arousal. But the priest didn’t seem to spare her another thought, pushing her off his bible, picking up the holy book before he turned from her.

Their eyes met once again before he blew out the candle, trapping her in the darkness once again, a fog of darkness she’d wander through till her last hour on this very earth would come upon her.

#Tom Riddle smut #little-diable priest #Tom Riddle imagine #Tom Riddle x reader

796 notes · View notes

wandaromanova · 3 years

Text

Little Sister

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: one cuss word, minor BW spoilers

A/N: hello! i’d like to note that this takes place sometime before the events in the Black Widow movie! if you haven’t seen the movie yet, please skip over this story and come back later if you’d like! happy reading <3

anon requested: hiii i have a fluff request after seeing bw haha: could you do nat x fem reader where they're laying in bed snuggling, and r asks her about her family and nat tells her and r notices how cute she looks when she's talking about yelena and it's so soft and ahhhh

Summary: Natasha tells her girlfriend about a piece of her past that she never talks about; her sister.

Word Count: 2K

| masterlist | request rules/guidelines | wips |

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

Natasha Romanoff has lived a lot of lives. She has been through more than most.

Nat had been taken as an infant by an organization that trained little girls to become lethal assassins.

She was psychologically conditioned to become a killer, having taken more lives than she could count.

Eventually, Natasha had managed to break free from the cage she was forced into and was recruited as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent; it was a new start for her, an opportunity to compensate for the red in her ledger.

So, Natasha took her job seriously, saving as many people as she could, even more so when she became an Avenger; one of earth’s mightiest heroes.

Natasha found something in the team that she never really had before; a family. She found a home within the dysfunctional team she had been recruited into.

Not only did Natasha find a family within the Avengers; she also found the love of her life.

Natasha hadn’t even considered the possibility of ever finding love.

For starters, the Red Room had instilled the concept that love was nothing but a distraction; a liability.

She had been taught that love was for children and it was nothing but a weakness that needed to be avoided at all costs.

She was quite literally programmed to be emotionally closed off and to always have her guard up. Letting someone into her heart was a risk she didn’t want to take.

When Natasha gained her independence from the organization, she had to do a lot of self-discovering. She had never been able to be her own person, but now that she could, she quickly learned that she didn’t even know herself.

However, it was Natasha’s insecurities that truly turned her off from the entire idea of love.

How could any ever possibly love her? She thought she was a monster for the things she’d done. She has done the unspeakable since ever she was a child.

What if she wasn’t enough? What if her baggage was too much for someone else to carry? She didn’t want to be a burden. She didn’t want to have to protect someone, just to fail them like she had failed so many others.

Natasha was positive that no one would ever be crazy enough to love her.

Little did she know, she would end up finding someone crazy enough to do so; you.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

When the Avengers were formed, you were extremely nervous about it.

All of the files that you’ve read on your new teammates were unbelievable; they were all phenomenal in their own rights. A super-soldier, a god, a genius, a trained-spy.

You were a spy yourself, so you knew exactly who Natasha Romanoff was. She was a S.H.I.E.L.D legend, the best of the best.

You were more nervous about meeting her than anyone else. What if she judged you? What if she didn’t think you were good enough to be an agent, let alone an Avenger?

Not only was she your superior, but she was also your crush. Yeah, you’d never even met the woman before, but you were crushing on her hard.

She was drop-dead gorgeous, but also quite literally a deadly force. Natasha could easily take down anyone she wanted to, and honestly, you wanted to be one of those lucky people.

When you met Natasha for the first time, you were a flustered mess. The redhead found it amusing, how your cheeks turned a bright shade of red and you stumbled over your words as you praised her work.

Natasha never told you this, but she was immediately smitten the moment she laid eyes on you.

There was a kindness and positivity that just radiated off of you and it was extremely contagious.

You were this beaming ball of light that lit up the darkest parts of her soul.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You got to know Natasha extremely well while being on the team. From observing her closely and paying very close attention to her actions, you had managed to pick up on little things.

She didn’t put any creamer or sugar in her sugar; opting for strong, black coffee.

She was kind of a clean freak. If she saw something out of place, she would be quick to put it in the correct place or position.

When she was happy, she would let a small smirk cross her features. When she was annoyed, she would raise her eyebrows.

When she was stressed out or angry, three little creases would appear on her forehead as her eyebrows would knit together tightly; a subtle frown on her face.

Of course, when you began dating the redhead, you didn’t really have to survey her so closely anymore because she’d tell you things herself.

No matter the circumstances, Natasha would always come to you and rant about it. Whether it was about how shitty a mission went or how she beat Clint’s ass during training; you were the only person she wanted to tell.

Natasha had opened up to you, something she never did with anyone. She told you all about her past.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You had some knowledge of Natasha’s previous life, considering it was in her files, but you didn’t realize just how horrible her childhood truly was.

The Red Room, the heavy weight of guilt that rests on her shoulders, the nightmares that forced her to relive the murders she committed, her time as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, and becoming an Avenger.

She’d go on and on about her road to redemption or ‘clearing the red out of her ledger.’

Natasha was terrified when she told you about her demons. She figured you were going to leave her the second she finished talking, waiting for you to get up and walk out the door, but you didn’t.

So, you completely caught her off guard when you pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, placing a soft kiss onto her temple, the redhead relaxing in your embrace.

“You’re the strongest person I know. It’s not your fault, you were forced and conditioned to do the things you did.”

Natasha focused on the sound of your voice and took in your words as you softly caressed her red locks with one hand.

“Baby, the amount of respect I have for you is immeasurable. I applaud you for turning your life around for the better. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Your words had brought tears to Natasha’s eyes, which was a rare occurrence.

She was expecting you to run for the hills, but you chose to pull her closer instead.

In that moment, Natasha knew she never had to be afraid of love again.

You were the most understanding and accepting person she’d ever met.

You would never judge her for her worst mistakes; Natasha had found the one for her and she wasn’t ever going to let go.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Now, a few months later and a year into your relationship with the Russian, you were both lying in bed and cuddling.

You were both watching a movie when a particular scene came on. It was of a family gathering around a Christmas tree, children excitedly opening up presents with gleeful smiles across their faces.

“You know, my sister and I got to take pictures with a Christmas tree once.” Natasha spoke, her eyes fixated on the screen.

You looked up at her in shock. You didn’t know that Natasha had a sister. She told you that she didn’t even so much as know her parent’s names.

Natasha looked down and noticed your confused expression. She reached for the remote on the bedside table and paused the movie before returning her gaze to you.

“There was a mission I was assigned to in Ohio, as a kid. I was assigned to play the daughter of two other Russian spies, Alexei and Melina. It wasn’t just me though, there was a little girl who was assigned as my younger sister. Her name is Yelena.”

Natasha had a reminiscent, happy smile on her face as she recalled the brief period time of her childhood. She looked absolutely adorable as she rambled on about this part of her childhood.

“We took photoshoots of various holidays to make our family look more realistic. My favorite one was Christmas. Even though I knew they were just empty boxes, I wanted to rip open every single one.”

Natasha let out a small giggle at the thought. Even though she had a smile on her face, you could feel and hear the underlying tone of sadness in her voice.

“Yelena and I would spend hours outside, just playing together. Swinging on the swing-sets, looking up at the stars, bending over backward, and getting into a ridiculous competition to see who could hold the position the longest… I always let her win.”

You could see the fondness in her eyes, the longing. It warmed your heart that there was a small glimmer of light in Natasha’s past. There was at least a sliver of hope that she clung tightly onto throughout her time in the Red Room.

“After 3 years, the mission ended. Yelena and I were sent back to the Red Room and were torn apart from one another.

Natasha’s breathing grew heavier as she recalled the unfaithful day. The sight of her sister being taken, and not being able to do anything to help her; still haunted the redhead to this day.

“There were so many men with guns and armor, they literally ripped us away from each other. I was eleven and she was only six.”

Your heart sunk at your girlfriend’s words as her smile dropped. She tore her eyes away from yours as she blinked rapidly, fighting back tears, but failed. You reached your hand up to her cheek and wiped away the fallen droplets.

“I haven’t seen her since. I’d like to think that she found a way out and got a life of her own; a nice, happy life.”

Natasha placed her hand on top of yours before looking down at you once more. You sent her a soft smile when she let out a shaky breath.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I knew that the it was all fake, but it was still the best part of my childhood. It was real to me.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You nodded your head at her words. She took a brief pause, trying to regain her composure, before continuing.

“Even if we have no true relation to one another, and even if I haven’t seen her in years, she is still my little sister.”

Natasha finished off with a big gasp as sobs wracked her body. You sat up from her embrace and pulled her into your arms, just like you had many times before.

You rubbed her back soothingly as she cried into your shoulder, her tears hitting the exposed skin.

“She sounds amazing, baby. I’m really happy that you had some sort of happiness back then and I hope one day you get to see her again.”

You whispered and Natasha pulled away from the hug, still in your arms as her emerald eyes surrounded by a sea of red, a result of her crying.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I doubt she’d even want to see me. I didn’t even try to find her. I’m a horrible sister! I-“

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You immediately pressed your lips against hers, effectively getting the Russian to calm down. You broke the kiss when her breathing slowed.

“Honey, of course, she’d want to see you again. Like you said, you guys are sisters. I’m positive that it was just as real to her as it was to you.”

You reassured your girlfriend, her eyes a pool of worry and guilt. You rubbed your thumb against her waist, the material of your her hoodie beneath your touch.

“From what you’ve told me about the Red Room, it would’ve been impossible to find her. Stop beating yourself up over it. You’re the best, and I’m totally not biased or anything.”

Natasha let out a small chuckle at that and you smiled at her, wiping away the last of her tears. She collapsed into your hold further, shoving her face into the crook of your neck.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you so much.”

Natasha’s words came out muffled as her face pressed further into your skin.

“You never need to thank me for anything. I’ll always be here for you, Natty.”

You hugged her as tight as you possibly could, her cold skin meeting your warmth. Natasha let out a small sigh at the feeling.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Wherever you go, I go.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

join my taglist!

taglist: @eilarch @mindofwesley @d14n4ol @marrymemcgrath @marvelwomen-simp @fayhar @ymzki-haruki @peggycarter-steverogers @midgardianweasley @unstable-sapphic-hoe @q-hearts @hallecarey1 @prentisshoe @tquick99 @levram @xxromanoffxx @romanovaslut @madamevirgo @romanoffprint @mrsromanoff @mrs-avenger3000 @acertainredhead @b-5by5 @lauraageorgiaa @peterbparkersbae @miricalebev @weelight @simpforwandanat @thewidowsghost @this-is-my-last-life @mmmmokdok @fishyandco @alexajbitar @blackwidowismylove @imasimpfornatashamaximoff @loomontoia @kingpreciouswrld @justafairygirl @rail-me-romanoff @haughtlikehell @urmomsahoe6969 @iblameitonclint @makegoodchoices @puppy-danvers2016 @natashaswifey @rvselie @hoeforwandanat @shycoloravenue @scotts-orange-slices @grxvitye

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader fluff #natasha romanoff fluff #black widow x reader #black widow #request done

554 notes · View notes

love-toxin · 3 years

Text

cw: injuries, yandere tohma, gn! reader

"so...how long do I have to play along with this little game of yours?"

the question spills out of his mouth without warning, yet each word is methodical, careful, like he's practiced it a thousand times before. the teapot clutched in your hands nearly slips out and shatters over the table you've laid out for the two of you, but the warmth of the porcelain fortunately keeps you steady enough until you can set it down in the space between you two. Tohma was kind enough to bring you a gift after spending awhile away, tending to his duties--so it's only natural that you would take him out for some tea in exchange. it's courtesy. it's expected.

but his question certainly is not.

"I...I have no idea what you're talking about, Tohma."

"really?"

he's sat cross-legged for some time now, waiting as you ordered the tea and offering you some idle chit-chat befitting a pair that haven't seen the other in a while. Tohma has always been your friend even when you were young, but as is custom in a place like Inazuma, your relationship has evolved throughout the years. there are things you can't say anymore, things that would ruin your life if you were caught doing them...and now, you fear, the glint in Tohma's eyes may be an omen that he's about to commit one of those unholy acts.

"come on now, sweetheart, everybody can see the truth for what it is. there's no need to hide it any longer."

he's purposely tiptoeing around the question, waiting for the pieces to click in your mind. he need not say anything at all, however--the way he looks at you in this moment, and the purpose with which he stands from his place at the tea table is enough to set your jaw tight and your eyes to darken.

"you know that I was always meant to be your husband. to be there for you through thick and thin, to care for you when we're both old and gray-"

he takes a few quick steps around it to get to you, to kneel at your side and reach out his hands to pull yours into them, and it's all you can do not to flinch away and risk the image of impropriety. but you've endured this lecture before, and the only thing screaming inside your head is for you to resist--just resist, don't listen to a word he says, and bite your tongue of any insult until he finally gives up and gets the hint.

"Tohma, stop."

"-to treasure you like no one else will. I understand your point of view, I really do--we're still young, and the world outside of Inazuma seems so big and grand...but you have to realize that the time to settle down is coming for us."

he rubs his thumb over your hand and smiles in your direction, but you can't meet his eyes. and then it's slipping out of your grasp and raising up to your face, and you feel yourself stiffen all over as Tohma gently cups your cheek, his gaze lowering towards your mouth as if he has an idea of what he wants to do. but that would be grounds for you to shriek for a guard, and you're entirely certain that that's the only reason he bites his lip to stave off the desire.

"you were always meant to be mine. you believe in fate, and you've always put your trust in me...so why not let me help you?"

that last part comes as a whisper, the tearoom private but the walls still thin. one of the many secrets you've entrusted to Tohma over the years is your disagreement with Inazuma's strict laws, as well as the etiquette that comes with being a member of the higher class. you've always despised being noble, and Tohma has always understood you, at least you thought so....but ever since he's gotten this ludicrous idea in his head, you've known even less peace than usual.

"I've said it a dozen times, Tohma, and I won't say it again. I'm not marrying you."

you do your best to spit the words out with as much venom as you can muster, yet you still feel the twinge of anxiety at snapping at him so informally. it could spell the end for you quite easily, but when your eyes are drawn back to Tohma's expression, all you can see is bliss written all over his face.

"...even laced with contempt, my name sounds so sweet on your lips. you've so much wit, so much grace, and your beauty leaves me breathless...I know how little you think of me, but-"

fury shoots through every vein of your body, and you know it's the wrong move when you slap his hand away from your face, the smack like a thunderclap in the small space of the little tearoom.

"enough, Tohma! enough. do yourself a favour and stop speaking to me--in fact, I dearly hope you never say a word to me again."

each finger on his hand twitches, only to close in a tight fist and sink back down to his lap. you try to avoid his gaze in this moment, but even turning your head away you can still feel his eyes staring right into your soul.

"you know I can't make that promise. you know that I love you."

that word makes you stiffen, your grip lock on your noble dressings, your blood turn to ice in your veins. you've avoided that for so long but it follows you like a demon, and it's eyes glow a verdant green as Tohma's words melt into your skin and eat you alive from the inside out.

"this feeling of yours....it's not mutual, Tohma. just leave it, and leave me."

you say so, but you're the one that stands from the tea table in the end, and Tohma jumps to get to his feet to follow you. he trails on your heels as you step with purpose towards the door and slide it open, the cool chill of Inazuma city in the night prickling your exposed skin. the blond hurries to get in front of you, and the moment you spot a few other citizens on the path this late at night, you tilt your head down and pray to the gods that Tohma won't force you into impropriety.

"...I see. you won't budge on this, then...I will have to accept that. but may I at least escort you home? I can't in good faith allow you to wander alone in the dark. I still care for you."

he looks down on you with a softness to his features, and you hate how easily you buckle under any sort of pressure from him. you prided yourself on not giving in before, but when you're not alone it's not nearly as easy--you have to piece your words so carefully together, and by the time you think of an excuse it will already be too late for you to reject his offer. so with as subtle of a huff as you can manage, you speak softly under your breath that you suppose that's fine, and grit your teeth as you thank him for the offer. and Tohma is all too relieved to stand beside you as you walk down the hill and leave the prying ears of the city, the silence near unbearable between you as you meander through the path cut down the middle of the farmer's fields.

"seems there's no one around. not a surprise for this time of the night."

it's not a terribly long walk back to your family's estate, but Tohma still evidently feels the need to speak up as you reach the end of the gently sloping hill. Konda village lies within sight in the distance, and you feel the tension weigh heavy on your heart as you count the steps closer and closer to safety. relative safety that is.

you're so focused on paying him as little attention as possible that you don't even take notice to his hand drawing closer to yours and his eyes wandering up and down your figure, practically salivating as the flames in his chest burn hotter and hotter, until the moment he can't take any more and he grabs you by the shoulders to stop you and force you to look him straight in the eyes.

"now, you're going to listen very closely. I'm going to give you a little gift, because I love you so very much. you get a minute's head start."

the shock catches you off guard to the point that you bite your own tongue, fear and panic shooting through you like icicles that make you freeze in place. Tohma's expression is so intense he nearly appears feral, pearly teeth glimmering in the light from the moon as he grins down at you like a predator examining their prey.

"here's the deal, sweetheart--if you can run all the way past Konda village, you win. but if I catch you, I win, and you must uphold your promise and marry me in a month's time. and if you win, you'll get your wish--I'll never speak a word to you again."

terror grips you even harder than Tohma is, and at his proposal you whip your head towards the village in the distance and then back to him. if he's seriously not making some kind of sick joke, then there's absolutely no way you would ever make it. you're not a fighter, you don't even know how to hold a sword much less have a vision, and you've seen the kinds of things Tohma is capable of....he'll catch you before you make it anywhere close.

"Tohma-"

his gaze lingers on you for a moment, before he turns you in the direction of the village and pushes you forward, only hard enough for you to stumble a bit. you want to question him, to try and talk him down from such an insane idea, but once you hear him start counting down aloud your feet move on their own and you take off in a pitiful run down towards your target. the night air whips by your face as you try to sprint as best you can, yet your robes that give away your nobility get caught on your sandals and trip you up enough that it makes your heart jump into your throat. your heart pounds in a cage that feels too tight, the air heavy and raw in your lungs the longer you fumble your way forwards in the night. even your tears feel cold as they stream down your face, and if speaking wouldn't expend your precious energy then you would surely be wailing for Tohma to stop, please, he's scaring you. especially once you hear his footsteps take off, and it feels as though his warm breath is right on the back of your neck.

but even so, you look up within moments to find yourself in the middle of the quiet little village, the lanterns dim and only the glow of the moon casting light on the humble little buildings. the panic ceases but resurges just as quickly when you remember that you're not safe yet, that the entrance to the village is still a few hundred metres away--and you can hear Tohma panting now, at a distance close enough that he'll make a grab for you long before you'll ever get there. but there's something you know that he probably doesn't remember, and it might just be your saving grace as you duck into the shadows and skirt around the mayor's house just as he skids into the path of the village. you fear in the pit of your stomach that getting the top off the well that you used to play near as children would make a great deal of noise, but you hurry forward and find it open--and just as you swing a leg over to climb inside and pray that Tohma doesn't think to look for you here, your foot slips on the stone that's still damp from the rain and your world is overturned as you fall through the air. it's not far enough that you can scream or grab for purchase on something, but when you land you hear the sickening crack of something breaking and pain that shoots through your leg so quick that it almost makes you black out.

but something worse is yet to come, and it's Tohma's voice calling out your name, before you look up to the sky and your heart just sinks as you watch his face pop into view over the side of the well.

"oh, archons--baby, are you all right?! did you hurt yourself?"

he hops over the edge quite easily and falls steady on his feat, not even having broken a sweat from chasing you as he hurries to your side and props you up in the crook of his arm. and despite still feeling that twinge of discomfort and panic from him touching you, the agony sets in so deeply that you cling to him without realizing as tears pour down your face and you struggle to breathe.

"let me see...yeah, that's definitely broken. c'mere, I'll help you up.."

just brushing the pads of his fingers over the rapidly-swelling skin of your calf makes you flinch and cry out with pain, and it's obvious by the deep bruising how bad you've hurt it--you wouldn't be able to climb out of here if you tried. but Tohma finds so little trouble in heaving you up into his arms that it's laughable....it would be funny how sincerely you thought you could get away in the first place, if you weren't experiencing the consequences now. and only now is it starting to sink in that you lost, even though he isn't rubbing it in your face. yet.

"poor thing--that was scary, wasn't it? aren't you glad I was here?"

despite how despairing you look, he rubs his cheek against yours as he holds you tight. you realize now how much he's always wanted to do this, and how he's dragging this all out while he has the chance to do it without anyone watching....it's such a rare opportunity, but you don't feel nearly as lucky as he does.

"I'll always be here, sweetie....in sickness and in health, right?"

he murmurs into the shell of your ear, before pressing a kiss to it right afterwards as he reaches out to get a foothold so he can lift you out of here. all you can think about now is how your chance of escaping him has slipped away....and now, your status is a death sentence in the hands of the man who saved your life, and will ask for nothing in return but your gentle hand in marriage. how romantic.

#tohma #tohma x reader #tohma genshin impact #thoma x reader #thoma genshin #genshin impact #yandere tohma #yandere thoma #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader

304 notes · View notes

sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Tangled, Tangled (Barbatos x Reader)

True devotion can only be bought with love. And the only person Barbatos will ever love is you. Unfortunately, the Demon King demands absolute allegiance from all his subjects, and he keeps Barbatos loyal by holding you hostage. After a century of separation, though, the butler's good behavior is rewarded.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

True devotion can only be bought with love.

Fear is the second-best contender. It is amazing, the lengths a man will go to out of fear. And hatred—hatred is nearly as compelling. And then there's rage. Rage and fury and deception. All brilliant ways to sway the weak, to earn followers, to gain rapport among those who otherwise would do differently.

But true devotion can only be bought with love.

Something the Demon King knows all too well.

"You may rise, Barbatos." The man arches a bored eyebrow at his butler, drumming his fingertips aimlessly against the throne. "Speak. Why have you requested a formal audience with me?"

"This is formal business, your grace." Barbatos holds his gaze level against the ground, not daring to look upon his master. "I did not want to waste your private time with my personal issues."

"You only wished to waste my public time, is that it?" The Demon King chuckles, the sound echoing through the throne room. "Very well. The hours I set for meetings are open to all. I suppose that includes even you, Barbatos."

"Thank you, your grace."

"What do you wish to speak with me about?"

"The date, your grace."

"The date?" An irritated confusion crosses the Demon King's face at that, and a small part of Barbatos's heart falls. He had hoped that the king would at least remember, but it seems that he will need to explicitly ask for it.

"It has been one hundred years, your grace, since the last...ahem. I was hoping that you might permit me to celebrate another century of my loyalty."

A glimmer of understanding falls into the Demon King's eyes, and Barbatos swallows nervously, praying that the man is in a good mood. It certainly would not be the first time he has been dismissed of this single pleasure because the Demon King felt like torturing him.

"To celebrate a century of your loyalty, eh?" The Demon King frowns. "You make it sound as if there might come a century where you aren't loyal to the crown."

"Of course not," Barbatos responds swiftly. "My oaths are for eternity. My loyalty to you and your cause will never fade. It's merely that…"

"Our agreement."

"Yes."

The throne room quiets, feeling unnaturally cold as if the stone walls are designed to suck away at the temperature, making all who pass within these walls as uncomfortable as possible. It takes all of Barbatos's strength not to shudder as the king studies him, his only solace being that the warmth will eventually return. That you are not out of reach. That the Demon King hasn't said no to Barbatos's request just yet, and that even if he does, he has a chance to find you after another hundred years.

"Beg."

Barbatos wastes no time in falling to his knees, his forehead touching the icy floor. He has no pride left, no dignity to be stolen. All that exists in his heart is the overwhelming desire for you, a love so strong that it is the only thing keeping his heart beating.

"Please, your grace."

True devotion can only be bought with love.

"Please let me see my lover."

And the love Barbatos harbors for you burns brighter than all the flames in hell.

"I am your servant for eternity, I assure you."

He is devoted to you, to your touch, to your smile, to your taste.

"And I will only ever request this of you once every hundred years."

And so he is devoted to anyone who may permit him to see you.

"But I beg you to allow me this mercy."

Even if it is the man who stole you away in the first place.

Barbatos retains his posture, head practically glued to the floor as he waits. The desperation in his voice does not go unheard, and there's the sound of laughter from the throne, arrogant and cruel.

A sharp metal bounces off of Barbatos's head.

The demon's eyes widen. Not from the pain of the action, not because his head is now throbbing. But because that is the key to your room.

Because the king has said yes.

"Rise, Barbatos. Take the key. I expect you to return it to me by noon tomorrow, and you cannot take your little friend out of their cage, but…"

Barbatos struggles to maintain his composure, no longer listening to the Demon King as he speaks. The butler is now wholly preoccupied with the key in his hand, with the fact that his master is dismissing him, with the knowledge that you are merely minutes away, and all Barbatos needs to do is turn a key in a lock to be by your side.

The rush of adrenaline which travels through his body is exhilarating. The demon's strides are controlled as he exits the throne room, but the moment Barbatos steps into the halls that will take him to your room, he's sprinting, all thoughts of propriety thrown out the window.

It's the moment he's been waiting for ever since he left your room one hundred years ago—the moment he is always waiting for whenever he has to leave you at the Demon King's orders, sworn to never return until he has sufficiently proved his loyalty, something the king has decreed to be one hundred years of faithful service.

Open, dammit.

Barbatos's actions are uncharacteristically sloppy as he shoves the key into the lock that bars your room, hating how stiff it is from lack of use.

"Open," Barbatos hisses under his breath, trying to use more force. "Just open!"

The demon slams his hand against the door, and suddenly, he doesn't know how he waited one hundred years for this. If the door doesn't stop blocking him from seeing you this instant, he's going to tear it to shreds, consequences be damned.

"Barbatos?" Your voice calls from the other end, slightly frantic. "Barbatos, is that you?!"

"The door!" He croaks desperately, trying to shove it open. "It won't—it won't—"

A sinking feeling takes root in Barbatos's stomach. What if this is a joke from the Demon King? What if he wasn't satisfied with Barbatos's service this century, and wants to torture him like this, so close from the one person he cares for but still so far?

"I barred it!" He hears you shout from inside. The sound of moving furniture fills his ears, and then you're calling his name again. "Now, Barbatos! Try to open it now!"

The demon pushes. He pushes with all his strength. He pushes and he pushes and he pushes until tears of frustration are beginning to prick at his eyes, and then he loses all sense of control and he shifts into his demon form, horns manifesting.

He sinks his claws into the door, talons tearing at the steel, and in the face of his inhuman strength, nothing can stand in his way. The metal screams as it grinds against the floor but Barbatos forces it open all the same, the promise of you on the other end only spurring his strength on.

It takes Barbatos all of two seconds to dart inside when the door is sufficiently open; two seconds before the metal screeches and the door is closed behind him.

But in those two seconds, his entire world has changed.

"My love," Barbatos breathes into your ear, holding you close against the ground. He does not know when he hugged you, or when he barreled into you with enough force to knock you both to the floor, or when you wrapped your arms around him in response. All he knows is that you're here, and no one is taking you away from him just yet.

"Barbatos," You whisper, clinging to him. Your figure trembles and the demon feels a wetness in his shoulder. "Barbatos, I missed you so much—I don't—you don't know how much I missed you—"

"I missed you too, my love." Barbatos pulls your head from your shoulder, his thumbs brushing the tears away from your cheeks. "More than I can ever say."

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that conveys his every emotion.

The two of you stay like that for a long time, completely unmoving. As if standing still will hold time back with you, giving you both longer to savor the moment. Giving you longer to savor this night. But however much you need each other's love, the need for air becomes overwhelming and Barbatos pulls his lips away from yours only to kiss you seconds later, refusing to lose a moment longer than he has to.

He wraps his arms around your waist slowly, stroking the skin there and savoring its softness. Its warmth. "Legs around me," He mumbles against your lips, and you comply instantly, wrapping your limbs around his figure as he lifts you and carries you to your bedroom.

It's hardly difficult for Barbatos to find the way there.

It takes him all of three minutes, an impressive feat given that the abode you reside within is practically a castle—but the Demon King's words were true. This is nothing but an extravagant cage, your presence in it a mere tool to keep the king's dog under control.

"Stay with me," You mumble into Barbatos's skin when he presses himself onto your bed. You layer open-mouthed kisses against his neck, slowly removing his clothing as he removes yours. "Stay with me tonight. And tomorrow. And the day after. The Demon King can't do anything if you refuse to leave."

"My love," Barbatos warns gently, squeezing your hand. "The Demon King can do everything."

"No, he can't," You argue. "You're a strong demon, Barbatos. He won't be able to hurt you, and—"

"He won't hurt me," Barbatos mumbles, frowning. He hates that he always has to go through this with you, that he always has to say it. Then again, he can hardly blame you. A century of separation would delude him into thinking that rebelling against the crown was smart, if only he weren't reminded of its power every day. "He'll hurt you."

"No, he won't," You mumble, cupping Barbatos's cheeks. You force him to look at you, and his heart breaks a little when he does. Even as you're with him, you're far away. Already thinking of how he'll have to leave you tomorrow. How you'll have to wait another century, only for it to repeat. "He won't hurt me. If I get hurt—if I die, he has nothing to hold you loyal to him."

"My love," Barbatos whispers. "He will kill you and he will make me watch. Because he knows I will turn back time such that it never happens again, so he can eternally keep me at his side."

"But how…" There is an unspoken question in your eyes, a soft curiosity as to how Barbatos can possibly know anything about a man who holds nothing but secrets.

And then there is Barbatos's unspoken answer, the flash of a memory flickering in his eyes before he is kissing you once more, trying to forget the sight of your once-empty eyes and the foolery which ever made him think he stood a chance against his master.

"There has to be something," You whisper, clutching Barbatos's shoulders as his fingers continue to work against your clothes. "Love always finds a way. That's what all the books say. We have to be able to do something to—"

"Shh," Barbatos hushes you, pressing his lips against yours. "Please, my love. I can make you no promises but for the present." Barbatos slides your underwear off. "So please do not think of the future."

"But Barbatos," You mumble desperately as he peppers kisses down your body. "I can't live through another century without...I just miss you so, so...please don't leave me...ah…"

The demon closes his eyes as he grips your hips, using his mouth the way you like best as he works your tongue along your nether regions. The sound of your moans does nothing but urge him onward, your fingers gripping his hair the way he's imagined on all those nights without you.

The demon takes his time with you. Ravishing your body as if he is a man starved. Latching his lips onto your skin at every instance, even as he sheathes himself inside and is at last one with you.

"I love you," He whispers into your ear hours later, when your bodies are finally tired and the night has grown older. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Barbatos." You hold him close, hugging him even as the two of you struggle to find your breathing, hearts returning to their normal pace together.

"Diavolo…" Barbatos clears his throat, taking a shaky breath and speaking only once he's positive his voice won't wobble.

"Are you calling another man's name while I'm in bed with you?" You flash a coy grin at Barbatos, and the demon doesn't bother suppressing the instinctive flush that crosses his cheek at your words. Your eyes are no longer clouded by desire as they were earlier, your voice having exchanged its desperate tone for one of adoration in the haze of such strenuous activities. But the demon can still see the undertones of longing behind your gaze, and even if you're no longer begging for him to stay behind with you, there's an unmistakable sadness in your eye.

"Diavolo will rise to the throne soon." Barbatos strokes your cheek with his thumb. "He suspects his father will take the Long Sleep by the end of the millennium."

"And?" You whisper, eyes wide. Eyes hopeful. Eyes desperate, because you don't know Diavolo the way Barbatos does, and you don't know if Diavolo will permit the two of you to be together.

"And Diavolo has promised to set you free when he rises to the throne."

The sob of relief that leaves your mouth at that tugs at Barbatos's heart. Your arms were already around him before, but now you're clinging to him, and you're desperately hugging and laughing and crying and trying to share your joy.

"Oh, that's wonderful, Barbatos!" Tears well in your eyes. "I can—I can eat real food—something you've prepared and not that insufferable trash the Demon King sends me—and we can go out in public together—out—outside this cage of mine and into the real Devildom—and we can—and we can see each other every night and—and—"

The happiness in your eyes falters.

"And there's a catch, isn't there?"

Barbatos nods gently. "Not a bad one. Diavolo is a just man. His only terms are that I pledge loyalty to him. The conditions of our bond will similar to what I share with his father...but he will only take you away from me if I do him wrong."

You sigh, seeing both the good and the bad of this situation.

"You will still be a collared dog."

"Perhaps," Barbatos muses. "But with you by my side, I will be happy. We will be happy. And Diavolo is a man who listens to reason. He will be a good ruler. I will not need to go against him."

But you're still hesitant.

"Can't you convince him otherwise? He shouldn't need a hostage to keep you in line. And—and you've done nothing wrong! Why can't he just accept your loyalty to be genuine?"

"Because," Barbatos brings your hand to his lips, kissing your fingertips. "They are jealous of you, my love."

"Oh?"

"True devotion can only be bought with love. And I will forever be more devoted to you than I ever shall be to them."

Your lips quirk upward at that, a flash of amusement traveling through your eyes. You don't believe him for a minute; the sheer notion of royalty being jealous of Barbatos's love for you is ridiculous.

"That sounds like a fancy way to tell me that things are complicated, Barbatos."

"What can I say? The ties that bind us are tangled, my love."

The demon sighs as you lay your head across his chest, your hands tracing abstract patterns onto his abdomen.

"I don't want to wait anymore," You whisper, pulling the demon closer. Barbatos can sense how you're already preparing to cling to the lingering warmth of the mattress when he'll have to leave, when you'll be left with the vague scent of your lover on your sheets and nothing more. "But I'll try."

And that is all I can ever ask of you, my love.

Barbatos doesn't thank you aloud. He isn't thankful. This very situation is something he will never be thankful for, and there's nothing the demon can do but press a kiss to your forehead as the two of you wait in silence for the moment where he will have to leave. There is no solace, no comfort in the fact that you will soon be separated. Even the promise of Diavolo's ascension to the throne is faraway, and Barbatos cannot expect you to be hopeful for a day that will come after so many centuries of waiting.

"Close your eyes, darling."

The demon blinks, but your arm reaches up to caress his face, his eyelashes flutter closed.

"See, if we lay like this, we can almost pretend that the Demon King doesn't exist." A short laugh spills from your lips, a sound so beautiful that Barbatos wants to bottle it in a jar and listen to it for hours. "Almost...so stop frowning."

Your fingertips ghost over his lips, and the demon smiles on instinct.

"That's better," You drawl sleepily, wrapping your arm around his neck. "Someday, we really will be able to stay like this forever."

That day cannot come soon enough.

Barbatos swallows thickly, knowing that he mustn't cry. That he cannot break in front of you. That while he is with you, he must be strong so that you have someone to lean on in your anguish.

But the more he thinks about how far away the future he desires is, the worse the pressure in his throat becomes. And the need to remain composed in your presence outweighs his desire to hold himself captive to the truth that binds him.

And so, for a few short hours, he allows himself this luxury.

And he forgets.

Forgets the king which is holding you here, forgets the prince who might set you free. Forgets the moonlight that illuminates you, forgets the bed that holds you. Forgets everything except the feel of your body next to his, your warmth spreading into his, your skin on his as he memorizes your figure to keep him company for all nights to come until he may see you again.

And when Barbatos closes his eyes like this, he can almost pretend that this night will last forever.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 3.1k

Notes: As I was writing this, there was an overwhelming urge to turn this into pure angst and have Barbatos open the door, only to see MC and Diavolo kissing or smth

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

#Word count: 3.1k #gender neutral reader #obey me shall we date #obey me barbatos x reader #om! barbatos #gender neutral mc #demon reader #king and servant dynamics #power dynamics #angst #angst with a sort of happy ending #i mean its not happy now but eventually things will be #referenced sex #nonexplicit smut #kinda wholesome idk this was fun to write #true love

439 notes · View notes

solohux · 3 years

Note

Man, idek what is up with me, I just have so many kylux and SW thoughts atm and you're always the person I think of when I want to share them!!! Part 1/2(?)

I think Ben/Kylo's struggle between the dark and the light could have been played up much better/differently than what the ST gave us... I mean, it was stated multiple times since TFA that part of Ben's problem growing up, that this "darkness" inside him wasn't actually something truly from within himself, but instead the trace of a malevolent outside presence trying to get inside of Ben. That he'd have nightmares, hear voices, see hallucinations.

It's why he gets sent to live and train his uncle, Luke. The optimistic and supportive mentor to help guide and protect Ben as he grows up. Teaching him the ways of the Force so that he could gain the skills necessary to combat this vile presence that won't seem to let Ben go.

But the years pass and Ben has still found no piece from the nightmares, the voices, the illusions. So many times over the years, he's had to resist the incessant, "Come with me and it'll stop." "Follow me and I'll stop." "I just want to help you." Whoever was talking to him, whoever wanted him, was still stronger than the skills of an almost prodigy Padawan.

There would be some days where he'd slip a little, and he'd talk back to the voices aloud, startling his peers. Or when the nightmares and hallucinations got a little too real and he started having sleepwalking episodes that almost had horrible accidents. All the while, Luke pressed Ben on to have faith. That as long as Ben kept persevering and resisting the call, he would be okay.

But by his 25th year, Ben is tired of resisting. Tired of persevering. He is isolated among his peers, them unknowing of the stress he's endured for decades and viewing him as the old Padawan who's powerful and talented but too weird and unrefined to graduate. He's got his rivals, the pitying onlookers, and the precious little Atoula who's too little to understand. Ben desperately wants to be free of this, the exhaustion, the voices, they nightmares.

Part 2/3

One night it all finally comes to head. He's woken from another nightmare, likely the most intense one he's had to date, visceral in it's grit and sound, almost like the creatures speaking to him were right in the temple with him.

And then he hears a sound. At first he wrote if off as someone awake when they shouldn't have been, but he can't shake his unsettled feeling. He takes off, his saber in hand just in case. His uncle's Jedi School was still under wraps thanks to Emperor Palpatine's history revisions still holding root among the New Republic's commonwealth. There's a bounty of 500,000 credits for anyone who catches a live "Jedi." While they tried to keep the temple a secret, there is the occasional "surprise visit."

Who he finds in the main hall is a woman that had come earlier in the day to do an interview with his uncle, to do a soft hit piece about Jedi history in an attempt to redeem them in the eyes of the public. Ben didn't meet her in person before, but he had thought that she had already been turned away earlier that day.

And then she speaks to him. And he recognizes her voice.

"Come with me and I'll stop."

So they finally decided to come for him physically. Well fine, bring it on. It seemed she hadn't come alone. as dark shadows poured into the hall. The thought to surround and overpower him? That's their mistake.

Part 3/3 Please!! I think I'm finally done!!

He makes easy work of them. All of them, throwing caution and teaching to the wind and letting all his frustration and anger out onto them. The creatures of his nightmares and hallucinations, his decade-long tormentors. They'd receive no mercy from him.

He sees some flee to the upper corridors of the temple, the dorms!! If they intend to make hostages of his peers, they really must be desperate. He follows them, catching them as they reach each of his fellow Padawans' rooms, cutting them down before they can make a move to the beds. He sees young Atoula step out of her room, sleepy and confused, even more when she hears Ben's desperate cry, "Stay inside! Lock the door!"

He chases the last of his would-be takers back the main hall, cutting the last one down by Force pulling him back onto his ignited saber. He smiles down at his work, finally free of his demons, his nightmares, his voices.

"Ben! Ben, why!!"

Ben turns to see his uncle, wet from the rain as he must have returned from his night errand. His face ridden with horror. A horror that Ben could understand. Why? Why what? All he'd done was defend the temple, finally cut down the creatures that had haunted him his entire life, freed himself----and he looks down to see the hollowed and horrified look of Jaquil, one of Padawans closest in age to him, dead underneath the light of Ben's saber, the hole in his chest still simmering with heat and embers. He turns this way and that, and it's all the same. The Padawans, his peers, strewn about the hall, massacred, viciously, horrendously.

'B, but... the woman!' He wanted to get out, but there was no woman. Not anymore. She was long out of sight. It was only him, alone amongst the carnage. A carnage by his own hand. Of his own design.

He hadn't freed himself at all. He walked into the trap. Locked himself in the cage. Sealed his own fate.Ben sees one last creature behind his uncle, and in panic he steps forward, words lost to him. His uncle goes on the offensive (defensive), bests him, due to Ben's panic--disarms him, literally. Clutching at the wound, Ben looks up in horror as his uncle ready's to end him.

Ben brings the ceiling down on them. And pulling himself from the rubble, he flees.

Oh my god. I am so emotional. My jaw dropped and I had to put my phone to one side once I realised what Ben had done. It's dark and eerie and manipulative!

Poor Ben. His nightmares and his demons really determined his path for him. I love how his apparition was a woman too!

#ben solo #kylo ren

25 notes · View notes

lemonlushff-iy · 3 years

Photo

History Lesson in how OLR came to be...

A year ago, @clearwillow, @dawnrider, and @keichanz had just finished what would be known as the spontaneous Vday “hot off” of 2020, and it was decided that white day was going to just be a repeat of what we had just done...only we wanted everyone to participate and it was going to be open to all, and you could do whatever you wanted. Tease us. Post completed pieces. What have you.

Shortly after, I fell into a VERY bad depression. I’m not shy about it. I’m not shy about my feelings or saying I’m hurt. I think people should be able to say that, and have it not be taboo. So I’m open about it. I wasn’t well. I felt inadequate. Like what I wrote was terrible. Like people within the fandom ONLY liked me because I was there for them 24/7 hyping up their work and singing their praises. I was the fandom hype girl. It felt like none of my friendships were REAL.

And I’d been ok with that.

Until I wasn’t.

And a year ago today...I decided that I wanted to work past those feelings. I’d been struggling with them for about two days at this point, and I’d been looking at Carra’s pixiv and was completely CAPTIVATED by her work. Specifically, New Moon Ride, which has since been colorized. I was nervous and so low...I’d removed myself almost entirely from discord and tumblr, but I really wanted to participate in White Day, and I had this...idea in my head about this girl returning home and having a fling with a cattle rancher. I wanted it to be like Sweet Home Alabama (which is an Easter Egg for those of you on Patreon, and something to look for for those who aren’t).

Needless to say...

My depression made me miss the mark on that...

But I very nervously went to Carra who was this FANDOM GOD and asked “Hey...Would it be ok if I did this?” Needless to say...She said yes, and in doing so...She gave me this AMAZING gift.

It was supposed to be a one shot just for White Day. I’d INTENDED for it to be a PWOP. The depression got the best of me though, and that...Clearly didn’t happen. Instead I started pouring all of these feelings I had inside of me into this story instead...And it’s become one of the greatest gifts of my life. It’s my emotional support fic. It takes all the bad and painful away from me. And I WISH that what I’d been feeling a year ago was the end of it, but it was only the beginning of it...And One Last Ride has been there for me for all of it.

Providing me with an outlet for all of the feelings I’ve had. It’s allowed me to deal with a LOT. Drama. Friendships that died and times when I was shut out. Feelings regarding my own late father. General depression.

One Last Ride has become deeply meaningful and a piece of my SOUL.

So...Thank you Carra for this AMAZING gift you’ve given me. You never knew when you drew that photo what you were about to unleash...But...I’m OH so very glad you did...

And in the spirit of how I started One Last Ride a year ago...

I offer you ALL a piece of post canon smut. It’s just a ficlet because...I just FINALLY finished the FIRST ACTUAL smut in One Last Ride (nearly a year later) and wanted to save my bandwidth for MORE smut...Can ya blame me?

And now, a short fic...

“Inuyasha...she could hear…” Kagome weakly protested, trying to push her husband away from her.

“She won’t notice,” he soothed, continuing to suckle at her pulse point. “She’s watching that thing with the talking animals.”

“That narrows it down,” she gasped, feeling his tongue burn a path up the column of her neck.

“I turned on the tv and she pointed. I weren’t about to ask questions,” he growled, pushing his hips into the swell of her ass, allowing her to feel the hardness between his legs. “‘Sides. I’m still cold from building that damn igloo with her. I need my sexy wife to warm me up.”

Yes...but they had been so cute. She loved watching the two of them play together. And watching him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing when it kept collapsing. She knew that even though it hadn’t worked, he was going to go back out there tonight and figure out how to build Moroha her igloo. Even if it took him until 3 am, he was going to surprise his princess with one in the morning, no matter what.

And she loved that about him.

“Giving her a shower didn’t do the trick?”

“Please,” he snorted. “All it did was leave me soaked. And all I wanna do is make you wet,” he murmured, slipping a hand under her shirt and laying his palm against the soft, relatively flat skin of her stomach.

“Yash…”

“She won’t hear,” he promised, his hands coming to cup her breasts over the lace of her bra. “Washer and dryer will be too loud and she will be too distracted…”

“But what about the cookies...”

“We still have ten minutes.”

“And when she tries to take them out of the oven on her own? She has a little too much of you in her, you know,” Kagome replied dryly as his fingers found the tip of her nipple. The pad of his thumb gently brushed against her sensitive skin, making her bite the inside of her cheek.

“Better make it eight then...”

“That sure of yourself,” she challenged, his gentle ministrations to her body was making it hard for her to continue to resist him.

“I know you, woman…” he growled as he reached out to find the doorknob of the laundry room, and swiveled the lock into place.

Good.

No interrupting daughters.

“I know what makes you wet,” he continued, pulling the lace cups of her bra down before lifting the wire frames up and away from her breasts to rest above them on her chest. He felt their weight in his palms, tweaking her nipples and making her head fall back onto his shoulder.

“D-do you now,” she breathed as he found the lobe of her ear, pulling it between his fangs and suckling on it.

“I think I do, Kags,” he smirked, one of his palms sliding down her rib cage and over the soft, silvery lines of her stomach to the band of her pants. He felt her freeze in his arms as his palms connected with those lines, and he kissed her that much harder.

She hated those lines. She’d done everything she could when she was pregnant to avoid them, but they came anyways, despite her efforts. She thought they made her ugly.

He thought they made her sexier.

“Stop it,” he reprimanded, kissing her jaw lovingly. He knew what that look meant. She was thinking about them again. How her body had changed since giving him the most precious gift in his life. He hated when she did that. “You’re beautiful. Fucking sexy as hell. I’ll tell you that every damn day ‘till I die. I wouldn't change a thing about you.”

“Yash,” she breathed, turning her head and allowing him to capture her lips in a sweet, loving kiss. He was so good with words...but his lips were even better at this. He had a way of reaffirming everything he said with his hands. His touch. His body.

The only sounds that could be heard in the small space of their laundry room, were the sounds of the dryer turning and spinning the wet clothes inside, and their heavy breathing. The sounds of their lips moving wetly against one another as he showered her with affection. Showed her how much he loved her. Expressed his need for her and her body.

Her hands slowly wound their way into his hair, finding his ears. She rubbed them between her finger tips, starting at the base and slowly working her way towards the fuzzy tips. He moaned against her lips and lifted her shirt, lowering his head to her soft breasts. His tongue found her nipples and she felt him swirl it around her sensitive flesh as his hands worked the band of her panties and leggings down her legs.

“Yash,” she moaned, his name clawing its way out of her throat against her will.

“Shhh...You need to keep it down, Darling,” he reprimanded, pulling away from her trembling form as he worked one of her feet out the bottom of the mess of clothing. “You don’t want her to hear.”

“I thought you said she wouldn’t be able to hear,” She replied, panic beginning to bloom in the pit of her stomach. Oh god...They hadn’t had any situations with Moroha yet, but she didn’t want to explain this to her daughter yet either.

“She can’t,” he soothed, the velvety tone of his voice slowly calming her as he lifted her leg over his shoulder, kissing her thigh. “But you can’t start getting loud neither. No screaming, remember? Anyone would be able to hear that. Demon blood or not.”

Her cheeks turned bright red at the reminder of just how loud she could be, and then red from the feeling of his tongue slipping between her lips. He zeroed in on her clit, and her nails scraped against his scalp. Soft little moans of pleasure crawled out of the back of her throat.

He used them as a guide as he slipped his fingers inside. Watched the trembling of her abdomen. The heaving of her breasts as she tried to steady her breathing.

And then she was gnashing her bottom lip, her face twisting and eyes screwing shut as her orgasm swept through her body. He held her, let her ride his face as she came - let her pull his hair and whimper his name against the palm of her hand.

When she’d finished, he pulled away from her and lowered his sweatpants and boxer briefs, allowing them to pool at his ankles as his hardness sprang free.

Fuck, he was so hard.

And she was so ready for him.

“Should have a few more minutes still,” he commented, turning her around against the washing machine. She lifted her leg, his hands coming to softly grip her delicate flesh in his palms and support her.

“Should?”

“I’ll hear when the timer goes off, don’t worry,” he soothed, lining the head of his cock up with her entrance. He slowly sank inside, his head falling to her shoulder, and kissed her neck. “God Kags…”

“Mmm…” she agreed, her head rolling back onto his shoulder as his fangs scraped against her pulse point.

He slowly thrust into her, his hips gaining in speed and setting a vigorous pace as he took her from behind. He sought out all the places he knew she loved, and his fingers brushed through the patch of curls at the apex of her thighs to locate her clit. The tips of his fingers swirled around it as he continued to work her from behind until the coil that had been tightening in her snapped.

The hand that had been holding her hip, guiding hers into his, released it to slap over her lips as he nervously glanced at the door.

“Shhh...Kags…” he grunted, his eyes screwing shut. He couldn’t take much more…

He was almost there…

“Cum for me, Yash,” she begged, lowering his hand so her words wouldn't be muffled.

“Kags…”

What was all he needed. He tumbled, over the edge of the abyss, allowing his orgasm to sweep through him as he spilled himself inside her.

“Yash,” she soothed, feeling his body go limp against hers. “What got into you today,” she throatily chuckled, and he rubbed his forehead against her shoulder blade.

“Nothing,” he sighed, burying his face into her neck and inhaling deeply as his cock slipped out from between her folds.

“Liar,” she teased, watching as he dropped to his knees to use his tongue and mouth to clean up the mess he’d made in her. “You normally keep it in your pants until she’s sleeping.”

Catching him red handed, was she?

He couldn’t lie. It wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“I want another one, Kags.”

“Another one?” she pressed, her brow furrowing in confusion, and he nervously nodded his head.

“Another baby. She’s getting older...And this house is too big for just the three of us...and I miss it. Having a baby around. And she wants a sibling too. All her friends have one. And I...I...I dunno...I just...Do.”

His words were so sweet. So soft and tender.

“Yash…”

“Don’t say no just yet,” he pleaded, pulling his sweatpants up as he stood. “Promise me you’ll think about it...And...And please don’t be mad...It’s been on ma mind a while, but you ain’t even ovulating now. But thinking about another one and how much fun we had trying ta get Mo...Well…”

So that was why. It all made sense now.

“I promise I’ll think about it Yash,” she grinned, pulling her leggings back up her legs and adjusting herself within the cups of her bra as the timer went off in the kitchen.

“Mommy? Daddy?”

“That’s our cue,” he sighed, relief washing over him as he pulled away from her and slipped out of the laundry room.

She’d think about it. It weren’t a yes...but he didn’t need one right now. That could come later.

Right now, he just wanted her to think about the possibility of adding another one to their happily ever after.

And it was a pretty damn sweet happily ever after, if he did say so himself.

#inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyashafanfic #inuyasha #inukag #DAMNIT CARRA #Ode to Carra #Clearwillow #rancher #cattle rancher #western #romance #angst #one last ride #lemonlushff

83 notes · View notes

katsidhe · 3 years

Text

Sam and Dean Breakups, Part Two: Involuntary

Part One: Voluntary

Sorted by how much longer I think they should have lasted.

Unlike in part one, pretty much all of these involve Sam or Dean dealing with either possession or grief, which adds additional flavor of

5.22-6.01/6.12/6.22 (Sam in the Cage): a year/a year and a half, one/twelve/twenty-two episodes. Perfect. Chef’s kiss. We get both a long time of Dean without a part of Sam, and a long time of getting to know this significant, different part of Sam. Which all builds delightfully to a crescendo when we finally get Sam back fully—and even then, his memories form yet another barrier. Getting him back in pieces wonderfully, brilliantly permits us to still have Sam present while simultaneously preserving focus on the length and enormity of his absence, and of the Cage’s impact. S10 and s14, take fucking notes: this is how you emphasize offscreen transformation while keeping your characters visible.

15.20 (Sam after Dean’s death): probably around forty years, part of one episode. I, personally and privately, want to read several different large sets of novel-length fics about Sam’s life after Dean’s death. Under absolutely no circumstances do I want any of these reified as canon. Let Sam’s recovery be nebulous; let it be under perpetual construction; let it be blurry and private and vague; let him build it in a place we can’t see and can’t reach.

3.11 (Mystery Spot): one day/nine months, one episode. Imagining this as two episodes instead of one is delightful, I will admit. However, I prefer the horror of it contained to just one episode, to really drive home the insignificance of this to everyone but Sam. An event with such horrific and outsize impact on him is contained to what, for the rest of the world, is just one Tuesday. Instead of it becoming an event like 2.21 that Dean externalizes, that is dragged out and explored for an additional episode and then an additional year, 3.11 is totally internal, and not something Sam mentions again.

2.21 (Sam in Cold Oak): three days, one and a half episodes. Seeing Sam apart from Dean in strange circumstances and yet confident, in his element, is so enjoyable that I’d gladly see this extended. This would also serve to ease how abrupt the ramp-up to the Azazel confrontation is--allow more time to flesh out the idea of demon hunger games. One thing I don’t think requires extension is how long Sam actually spends dead. The brevity of the interruption, how quickly Dean makes his decision, is kinda the point.

2.14 (Sam possessed by Meg): two weeks, one episode. Similar to Mystery Spot—lots of character impact contained to just one episode, a lot of Sam internalizing. But here, I think the story could have benefitted from more separation: dwelling on Sam alone rather than only on Dean’s reaction to him, lending additional horror to Sam’s true predicament rather than only to Dean’s fears of him ~going bad~, and giving s2 a greater sense of urgency and direction.

3.16-4.01 (Dean in Hell): four months, less than an episode. Much as I would have personally enjoyed the impact of an additional episode of Dean’s absence, the structure of s4 is such that Sam’s team-up with Ruby is revealed gradually: s4 is told expressly from Dean’s POV, as he struggles with suppressing and then remembering Hell, and discovering Sam’s extracurriculars. To change this would be to change our perception of the manner in which Dean experiences these events. Even so, the significance of Hell to Dean is not dealt with the way it is with Sam, nor is Dean’s absence or Sam’s grief particularly keenly felt. Putting Hell onscreen is a bad idea, and yet having Sam and Dean split up and apart from each other for longer in the beginning of season 4 would please me. Sam apart from Dean and training to kill demons with Ruby, versus Sam apart from Dean and trying to recover with Amelia: united in their forbiddenness, united in their othering.

7.23-8.01 (Dean in Purgatory): one year, less than an episode. One problem with extending this is that there would be longer Purgatory scenes, and Purgatory is objectively extremely boring. And I can, to some extent, appreciate the structure of s8 as-is: with flashbacks illustrating their lost year and with the emphasis on the lack of understanding between Sam and Dean. But I can’t help but feel that this point would have been illustrated more effectively without the flashback structure, or at the very least with less of it--if instead, we’d gotten a few episodes in the beginning showing Sam’s collapse and subsequent recovery with Amelia, alongside Dean’s friendship with Benny and issues with Cas. The flashbacks add a tone that removes urgency, since we know so clearly and explicitly how everything ends up. It’s basically a less deft version of s4′s structure, which I’m also on the fence about: and there, at least, the mystery was both a benefit for the audience and representative of how Dean was processing, neither of which is really true in s8. S8 needed better integration of the reality of Dean and especially Sam’s separate lives.

11.23-12.02 (Sam abducted by the BMoL): a few days, two and a half episodes. Sam should have stayed abducted longer. It was definitely the high point of s12, and of the BMoL’s status as villains. I think that Sam having to deal with the BMoL from within their internal structures would have been really fun, and a nice change of pace! Like, arguing his way out from under a bureaucracy, or even letting Sam be persuaded on the effectiveness of their tactics from within the institution—it would have made the BMoL both more distinct and more frightening. Also, look, it’s just plain fun that Sam’s being tortured and thinks Dean is dead, who actually wants that party to end??

13.23-14.02 (Dean possessed by Michael): around a month, one and a half episodes. What a missed opportunity. Every day I wake up and I weep for what s14 could have been. The secret good s14 that lives in my head is episode after episode after EPISODE of Jack, Sam, Nick, and Cas all coping with each other and with Dean’s absence. The tangible effects of the events of 13.23 require time to unwind, and they require that Dean not be around: I want to see Sam dealing with victory, with grief, with leadership, and with a mission; I want Sam and Nick to accidentally get locked in some room in the bunker together; I want family dinner with all four of them. I want Jack to yell at Sam. I want Dean to cope with possession in a way more lasting and meaningful than bouts of dizziness; I want Sam to cope with how he imagines Dean might be coping. This is the most ripe for conflict and recovery and pain that the show has ever been in Dean’s absence, prove me wrong. And it was squandered.

#sam and dean #sam and soullessness #dean and purgatory #dean and hell #sam and possession #dean and possession #sam and grief #2.14 #2.21 #3.11 #4.01 #6.01 #8.01 #12.01 #14.01 #15.20

13 notes · View notes

uhhhhyandere · 4 years

Text

halloween special!

hi everyone!!!!

for halloween this year, inspiration struck and i decided to craft this halloween special demon/angel light au! i had so so much fun writing this and hope yall enjoy it!!!

no matter where you are in the world, if you celebrate halloween or not, i hope you all are doing amazing and know that you are so so loved (by me) and thank you all for the love and support you give! i love every single one of y’all and let’s finish out the year the best we can!!!!

word count: 7.2k

And He will bring hell with him.

The grass will gray, and the trees will blanket with ash as all life is left withered, limp, and colorless in his wake. He takes, and takes, and takes with the full red moon on his back and the stars glittering on his lips in golden lies. Should his, Kira's eyes, red with ire from his unattained vision, seek you out, you are bound to the pits of hell itself for eternity.

"Well, that's what the tale says," Misa said. "If you believe in that kinda stuff." She flipped the book over to display the illustrations. You leaned over to get a closer look. "They really have to make evil people this beautiful, huh?" You looked at her incredulously. "What? You're thinking the same thing! I just said it…" Her eyes trailed down to the pages again.

"He was a mortal once?" Misa nodded her head and adjusted herself on the sofa for you to scootch closer. Her red manicured nails slipped the page over to the next.

"Who tried to be a god." You squinted down at the new page and pointed.

"She kinda looks like you." She laughed.

"Just wait," Misa replied. "Anyway, he was young, a few years below us, when he came across the power to make him a god. He was not chosen nor special. The power was left to be picked up by any traveler. It just so handed to be dropped outside of his family's farm, and he just so happened to be who he was. An ambitious genius with the same hunger for power the poor have for food. He used this power to rise above all others and to kill any who dared step in his way." Tragic art painted the pages as Misa continued to flip through them.

"How?" Misa shook her head.

"They don't know. We don't know. A creature crueler than Kira. A bored god looking to stir trouble. A blessing that was used as a curse. Perhaps all. Perhaps none." She giggled. "Exciting, isn't it?" You scoffed.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep going."

"But he had enemies. No mortal man should wield what Kira wielded. Those who wanted to strip him of his power and deliver justice to those he had ridden of, not grasp the power, the golden throne, he sought. They played games with one another. Cruel, cunning games of who would outsmart the other. He who was supposed to condemn his power and he who had it used the same means to win.

"Us. Regular people used and thrown away to further their game. There was one," she pointed at the girl who resembled herself, "who picked up the same power as he. It was her who tried to love him, that bent at his word, that carried out his will." Misa swallowed, "but he had lost his ability to love, or that's what was thought until..." Misa cut herself off.

"Kira and his nemesis continued to use, to manipulate the very ground the other walked on. All until he finally stood at the foot of the throne of the world he thirsted for. Pristine and shining, it stood above the clouds themselves. This is where he was slain, where his blood stained the stone, the rug, the throne, infecting and cursing them. The throne cracked, contorted, twisted, and fell. Down, down it fell until he and the now blackened throne were in hell.

"One day, when the full moon shines on the bleeding night, he will rise, and he will bring hell with him. He will claim what he has lost to reign over the world of men. The grass will gray, and the trees will blanket with ash as all life is left withered, limp, and—,"

"I know that much," you interrupted, "but I'm confused. Did you leave a part out? Where you cut yourself off, I mean." White teeth dragged across her lip.

"After," she started to rapidly flip the pages, "after he was banished to hell, they found…" Her flipping stopped at the very last page, "this."

On the page was a cage with gnarled black metal and a large gash across the bars. A human whose arms crosses on their chest in an 'X.' Their feet were bound together and tied with rope to the middle's central support pole. Blood trickled down their face, torso, and legs. Beautiful, broken, ripped wings crumpled at their back. "He had stolen an angel. Broken them. Claimed them. Upon their back, scars from where he had failed to rip them off their back." She hummed. "Kinda looks like you."

You laughed nervously then scoffed, trying to get the haunted picture out of your brain. "Should his eyes, red with ire from his unattained vision, seek you out, you are bound to the pits of hell itself for eternity because you are who he has lost, and he will not fail again.

"But that's just how it goes!" Misa laughed good-naturedly and shut the book harshly. "Pretty scary, right?" You shook your head.

"Absolutely not. First, it's actually pretty disturbing. Secondly, it's so vague! No details on how he died, if the other guy killed him. You'd think after eons of repetition, they'd make stuff up." Misa shook her head.

"Yeah, if you ask a bard, but do you really want to hear a romanticization of it in a song where they talk about how he loved whom he locked away and claimed? They do not sing about the reality, for it is far too gruesome for even documentation, much less for song. At least, that's what Rem told me. Being vague is the only option to make it tolerable, but I think she actually knows the truth and won't spill." You laughed and rose from the library's sofa. "So? It's my favorite story."

"That's because that girl looks like you."

"And?" You clicked your tongue.

"I dunno. I did say it was disturbing, but you don't really believe in this kinda stuff, right?" You scratched the back of your head.

"Of course, I do!" She giggled. "Ever since Rem took me in and taught me to read, it's been my favorite book." How could you forget what an oddball Misa was? You sighed.

"Alright, believe what you want. Halloween is the day after tomorrow, after all. Be as spooky as you want." Misa rose and slipped the leather-bound book back into her bag. "Are you stealing that?" You harshly whispered. She shook her head.

"Nope! It's Rem's." Oh, gee.

"I'd rather steal from the library—which has free books—a concept I just remembered for some reason than Rem. Do you have a death wish? Nevermind, don't answer that. Why did you make me come to the library again?"

"Isn't this where people read?

"...You're right. I got nothing. Come on. I need to get back to the market. I promised my parents I would pick up the pumpkins Mello grew and carved. Apparently, people are putting lights in them to make the faces glow at night."

Your village was reasonably large, set on the misty hillside of the mountain. Though the nearest city where the Earl of the region lived was a few miles down the path and knights on horses frequented here on their patrols, your village felt world's away from society. It was also relatively famous for the chapel, so travelers often stopped to visit, especially with the holiday season.

It rested closest to where the cliff dropped into nothingness. Flowers surrounded it, and moss grew up its stone walls. Vivid glass windows decorated all sides and around the wooden doors. A tower ascended from the front to where a millennial old bell sat still for just as long, for it was only to ring when the world was set to end.

Within, pews lined the plush red rug. The rug ran straight to the golden altar, where a large statue stood behind. The stained glass filtered color light upon its flawless, stone complexion. Water poured from the few holes in the body down into the small pond around it.

"Are we going to meet on Halloween?" Misa asked. "You know it's my favorite holiday! Everyone will be on the square dancing and dressed up!" You smiled.

"Of course. You know my parents would not miss a party. We can meet on my porch since it's closer?" She nodded enthusiastically,

"Yes! That sounds perfect! See you then!" The blonde blew you a kiss and skipped in the direction of her house. You smiled before turning on your heel and approaching the square.

Of course, the market would be busy with both locals and travelers. It was mid-day, and each stand had its unique, limited-time holiday goods. You had to squeeze your way to make it to Mello's stand. The blonde grimaced as you approached. Ah. He's in a good mood!

"Afternoon, Mello."

"Y/N," he regarded you. "You're really going to buy a pumpkin with a scary face? Would it really go with your garden?" You scoffed.

"It's my parents, actually, and yes! I can be scary and festive! Not as good as you, Mello. I heard that you carved lots of pumpkins for the village." He hummed and motioned to those on the wooden stand.

"Not for the village," he replied. "You still have to pay, got it?" You rose your hands.

"Of course, of course." You began to browse the selection. "Will you be attending the festivities night of?" He scoffed.

"No. Now pick your poison or leave." You smiled and reached for one with a broad crooked smile. "Terrible taste." You furrowed your brows.

"...But you're the one who made it?" Mello's eyes widened for a second before narrowing once more.

"It's one of my worse ones. I guess it'll go well with you, then." You laughed and rubbed the carved circle around the stem with your hand.

"Yep! Sounds good, Mello." You reached into your pockets and dropped a few coins in front of him. "Keep the change. Happy Halloween!" Mello snatched the coins from the table and shooed you off. You morphed back into the crowd, maneuvering your way through the group back to your house.

An abrupt, intense headache wracked your skull, causing you to suddenly stop amid the crowd and wince, nearly dropping the pumpkin under your arm. With your free hand, you grasped your forehead, but the pain only escalated and pulsed down your body. Two particularly intense strands of pain erupted on your back.

Peeking up, the crowd blurred around you, but your eyes on a figure at the corner of the inn. He was too far to make out the intimate details besides his lithe frame and brown hair. For moments you locked eyes before he disappeared behind the inn.

The pain stopped as if it was an illusion. You snapped back into reality, chest heaving in relief. A few eyes looked at you in concern, but no one stopped to ask. Thankfully so. You wouldn't know what to tell them if they asked what happened.

Shaking your head, you safely made it to your small house hidden behind a large oak tree.

"Oh! You got the pumpkin! How was Mello?"

"Charming as ever, of course. I was just with Misa at the library before that. She told me the story about Kira and his fall to hell." Your mom nodded her head and took the pumpkin from your arm.

"Ah, that's an old one. I guess she's always been the type to be into that stuff. It freaks me out, personally." You followed your mom to the kitchen.

"Yeah, me too. I try to remind myself it's not real, but there's also the small tick in the back of my brain that tells me it may be, you know?" She nodded again.

"Oh, I like this carving! Nice choice, Y/N, but yes, I do that too. Especially since Halloween, this year, is on the full blood moon. An ill omen in all tales. Luckily the town's party rids my mind of such horrors, as should yours. Anything else happen today?" You paused.

"N-no. Nothing comes to mind. I think I'm going to go find father then wash up before dinner. Is he still in the forest?" Your mom nodded.

"Yep. He's been hunting that same deer for weeks now. Apparently, it has a rack of the like he has never seen before. Something of beauty. I think he doesn't even want to kill it as much as he wants to see it again." Your dad was somewhat of a conundrum. As much as he awed and loved nature, he was a hunter who made income on the sale of its pelts and horns. "I'm sure he hasn't found it yet. Maybe you can help."

Unlikely, but you liked to explore the misty pines surrounding your village. They were too safe and had a few secret spots where hollowed logs led to hidden clear ponds. Wishing your mom farewell, you entered the pines and inhaled their thick scent.

Your dad's job was handy in that you knew the backwoods like the back of your hand. He taught you the ways to track and navigate through the seemingly identical trunks.

He also unknowingly taught you to sense when something was off with the forest. After ten minutes of traversing, you finally had the feeling of dread. The mist was inches too low, the grass droplets too wet, and the temperature degrees too low. You held your breath and glanced at your surroundings.

A silhouette. A deer's head with a rack so vertically high you thought your eyesight was failing you. Except, as you stepped closer, this deer had the body of a man standing upon his two legs. Large hollow eyes oozed mist.

"..." something was whispered into the air. You continued to hold your breath. "...—/N." The deer-man gave no indication of moving, and you could not bring your feet to even wiggle the frost from your toes. "Y/N."

Your name. Crystal clear. Your breath hitched. His hand with long, natural claws extended forwards towards you. "Y/N," it repeated. "You mus—....—ere. No t—." You could not make out his words.

"Y/N!" Another yell. This time you recognized it as your father. Eyes blown open, you wretched your eyes from the deer-man and sprinted towards the voice of your father.

"I'm...sorry."

…

"You're not telling us everything." Your father accused. After you ran head-first into your father, petrified and stumbling over every word, he urged you home and waited for you to take the bath you begged them to allow you to have before sitting you in the sitting room, the fire roaring under the holiday wreath behind you.

'It just scared me. I've never seen a bear of its size." Why are you lying? You had no idea. As soon as your mom asked the first questions, lies flowed out of your mouth like the truth. Stories you naturally never could have conjured on the spot. Stories you would never because you did not lie, which is why your parents, despite their dubious expressions, did believe you. "I swear. I just got freaked out. I think it's because of the story Misa told me today."

"That girl," your dad muttered.

"She told them the story of the man who fell to hell. Kira." Your dad nodded and rubbed his chin with his hand.

"Ah, I see. That would do it. Y/N, I know the full blood moon is coming, but there's no need to fret. Stories are just stories, alright? Leave your candlelight on tonight should you be scared of the dark, alright? Me and your mom are in the room over, alright?" You nodded. "Good. Now, what's for dinner?"

…

You lit the candle that night. In your nightwear, you sat on the edge of the bed. Muffled moonlight streamed through the frosted window and reflected off the full-length mirror in the corner. You inhaled deeply through your nose and exhaled through your mouth.

"They're just stories. Just stories." Like a mantra, you repeated this under your breath as you ducked under the covers. Opening your eyes, though, you were met with a flash of shadow in the mirror. You jumped and stared at it with eyes open enough to feel the cold air. You waited for something in the still room to move, for it to flash again, but nothing did. Thankfully.

Still, you threw the blanket off of yourself and approached to assure yourself that yes, it was nothing, and yes, there was nothing: just your reflection and the room behind you.

Until you blinked.

For a second, blood poured down your body and wetted down your clothes against your figure—wings broken and limp behind your back.

You screamed and smashed the mirror with your fist on impulse. Along with the shards, your body fell to the ground, and actual bloodied hands kept you from collapsing entirely. However, the features in the fragments were not yours. The man, the one from the square, stared back, but at this closer view, you can see his eyes.

Red.

You threw yourself back against the wall and screamed. Your door busted open, and your parents barged in. Your mother ran to your side and took your hand in hers while your father took in the big picture around him.

"I-I thought I saw something in the mirror. Misa told me once the m-mirror is the passage to the other world. I-I know it's stupid for me to react like this, but I just… I don't know. Do you think it's the blood moon?" Your parents were quiet.

'It could be," your mother said. "The blood moon is supposed to come with magic. It enables beings to crossover from other worlds, from other planes. It is the ill omen, but crossing over is all they can do. They can't touch you or hurt you. That, I promise." You nodded.

Your parents stayed with you, and, for the first time since you were literally a toddler, you slept in their room, blankets wrapped around you on their floor. Relief flooded your system when sunlight broke through the window. Though your sleep was haunted by vague images and muddled whispers, you slept through the night after the incident.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Your dad asked. "You can skip your daily chores if you don't want to do them. Tomorrow too. Aren't I generous?" You laughed but shook your head no.

"That's alright. I think if I stay home, I'll just keep thinking about it. I need to get my mind off of it. Doing chores will put my mind at ease. Some normalcy, I think." Your dad nodded, though you can tell your parents weren't eager to just forget the events of last night.

You knew someone, though, that would be eager to learn about them.

"Misa, can you keep a secret?" She bit into an apple.

"No," she replied simply. "I tell Rem everything, but that's it. I don't really talk to many other people here besides you and her, so no one else to tell, but I know Rem will mind her business. She talks to fewer people than I do." That was true. You could count the number of times you talked to Rem on a single hand, and Misa said she liked you.

"Okay, don't freak out, but…"

She freaked out.

"And they were red?" You nodded.

"Glowing. A sinister smirk on his face. His hands in the reflection, touching my own through the glass. It was the same as the one I saw in the square right after we met." Misa's eyes widened in enthusiasm and jubilation.

"It's him! It has to be! Kira!" You shook your head.

"No, my mom explained it to me. It's a spirit from the other plane playing a joke on me. She told me that after I stopped crying and fled to their room before I passed out. That story isn't real. It… can't be." Misa shook her head and leaned forward.

"It is! It's not that you don't believe it's real; it's that you don't want to believe it's real! Y/N, you have to believe me." You grimaced and backed away to create some breathing room.

"Why would I want it to be real?" You whispered solemnly. "Why would I want that to happen to me? I can't believe it's real. It can't be real. I'm terrified if it is real, okay? If my parents think it's real because I do, they'll tell the church, and if the church finds out? You know how they deal with spiritual trespassers and those they possess. I'd basically be dead. My soul stripped from my being to ensure I do not bring harm to anyone else. I would be a hollow body, Misa! Don't you get that!?" You inhaled a ragged breath.

"...Has anything happened today?" You shook your head. "It's already almost sunset, so that's a good sign, at least. Sorry, I got too excited. Your feelings and safety are important. Okay, I promise I won't tell a soul about this." You breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you. I just… don't know what to do."

"Have you gone to the chapel? The water from the statue is supposed to cure any possession." You shook your head. "Okay! I think I know your next steps, then. Come on!" She stood abruptly from the bench and held out her hands. "Let's go!"

She dragged you across the diameter of town until your footsteps echoed across the chamber. A few holy people greeted you as they did their duties. Some travelers prayed at the pews for good luck and well-being. A single man stood next to the pond where the statue stood.

"Greetings," he welcomed. "I recognize you two from town, but I don't believe we've met. My name is Soichiro. Are you here to drink from the spring?" Misa nudged you forward.

"Y-yes. Oh, I'm Y/N." He nodded.

"I see. Does the blood moon have you nervous? Don't worry. Lots of people come to do the same before a blood moon. Come and cup your hands and drink the water. Any disease in your soul shall be healed." You lowered yourself down to your knees and cupped the crisp water between your palms. You lowered yourself to sip, and you swallowed.

But it would not go down.

You began to cough, and your body convulsed with coughs. Liquid did come from your mouth, but the drops upon the ground were not clear, but a vicious red. Soichiro yelled for the other holy people as your body shook and twisted. Ropes bound your wrists, and hands steadied your head—arms wrapped around your waist to keep you as still as possible. A man placed his palm on your forehead and whispered incomprehensible words. When he finished, he ripped his hand away, and your breath was restored. You were unable to fall with the tight grip they still had on you.

"W-what happened?" You asked, feeling the tears on your cheeks continuing to inch down and the blood drying on your chin. "I-I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Take them to the purification chamber."

"No! Please, no! Help me! Someone, please help!" It was a joint effort between numerous holy people to lift your struggling form from the ground. "Misa! Mom! Dad!" you called out for, yet, in the chapel, none of them were there. However, your screaming did not stop for them until you were placed on a large chair and gagged. Your legs were bound to the bottom of the chair, and arms rebound to the arms. Holy people circled around you.

The chair you were in was much less a chair and more so a throne. Pure white metal was attached directly to the ground. Red cushioning provided comfort to your rear and back. With ragged breaths, you looked waited until one of them spoke or did anything besides watch you. It was the man who sentenced you here that approached.

"Soichiro," someone called, but he ignored them and angled his head down towards you.

"I am going to undo your gag. Do not scream. I just want you to tell us the truth if you know anything. Sometimes… they do things without signaling a mortal." Large calloused hands undid the gag, and you inhaled greedily. "Now, tell us."

"A-are you going to take my soul?"

"Speak first. I cannot make promises I do not know if I can keep." You swallowed and explained what you could to them. Your eyes were focused on the ground. The terror you would feel if his reaction was bad was too grand for you to meet his eyes. The silence after you ended your experience was deafening. "I see." He looked to a holy person nearby. "We need twenty-four-hours to prepare for the ritual. It leaves us with little room before the blood moon rises. If we do not store their soul… go now. It is much worse than any of us could have imagined." Your heart plummeted.

"W-what? No! Please! Tell me what's going on! D-don't take my soul, please! I-I want to live! I'll run away! You'll never see me again!" Soichiro stared at you with what you hoped was empathy. The bags under his eyes spoke of his wisdom and his exhaustion. He motioned for the rest of the holy people to leave, so it was just him standing over you.

"I'm sorry, child." He spoke softly, knuckles wiping the tears flowing down your face. "No matter how far you run, no matter how fast, no matter how well you hide, no matter how you continue on: alive or dead, he will come for you. The moment you locked eyes in the mirror, you were bound to him, just as you always have been." You shook your head, vehemently.

"It's not true, is it? Kira... is he…?" Soichiro smiled sadly. "It can't be… it can't be me. It's impossible." You sobbed. "How? Please, at least tell me before… before…" You couldn't even make the words out.

"My son," he began, "was always destined for greatness, but then greatness found him, and he became too great. The power he found was a single, black notebook. Write someone's name, and they would pass. It originally is from a Shinigami, a god of death, that possessed him while he owned it, but… there are forces more potent than Shinigami in the universe. He and his opponent, the one who sought to bring the mysterious killer Kira, my son, that plagued the land to justice, who we called L, always were at a battle of wits, of plans, but, in the end, my son won.

"But this victory angered others. It was they who killed him at the throne of the world. It was they who watched him plummet to hell. It was they who built the statue in this chapel and sealed him in hell so he could never return, but they have long passed. Their magic fading in time. I could do nothing in all this time except pray to angels to keep my son at bay." He paused and looked up solemnly. "You must be wondering how I am alive," He looked down at his pale hands.

"The notebook is gone now. The Shinigami that dropped it fled back to his world when Lig- Kira, was cast down to hell. I, too, touched the notebook. A scheme my son created to get ahead. The curse of it never went away, and I am now stuck to live eternity until my son ends it." He clenched his fist. "I did not know you were so close. I did not know it was you. If I did… I would have taken your soul long before you could have known life without it." You shook your head.

"I don't understand. What is my part? The book… the book only showed a cage with… someone in it. The story has no word of them. Just the girl… the weapon that served him." Soichiro sighed.

"Back then, the plane between the mortal realm and other words was thinner when angels and spirits would roam mortal lands. You were an angel. A new one. Young. Wide-eyed and drawing silver linings wherever you walked. Someone he set to ruin. Someone with a soul so pure that he can take and twist to his own liking. No one should see you except him, so he locked you away and bound his soul to yours and your soul to his. As long as he lived, whether here or hell, you would too.

"But just your soul. Unlike me, whose mortal body is stuck, it is solely your soul that has been recycled for eons. His part, the part of his soul within you, could only be awakened should your eyes meet his. Then, with his entire soul active and with the power of the red blood moon, he will be able to break the barrier that seals him tomorrow night. We must lock away part of his power, so he cannot walk this land again.

"Should he, then he will seek to claim all that was taken from him. The mortal world will fall as we know it. Those he inevitably tricked in hell to follow him will breakthrough behind him. What the world deserves for not seeing him as the god he sees himself as." Tears pooled in Soichiro's eyes. "I still love my son. The bright-eyed boy, but he cannot love. What he feels for you is something far darker, something twisted. I do not know what he will do if he finds you. You will be better off soulless." You sobbed.

"B-but the deer-man in the woods. Do you - I mean…" He furrowed his brows and shook his head.

"I don't know, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry my son came upon you. No one deserves this fate." You wretched in your bindings, ragged breaths, and eery whines escaping your mouth. "Some will be around to feed you later, and someone… someone will explain everything to your parents.

"Let me see them!" You yelled out. "Please! One last time! They don't know anything! I just want to… please, I… I get it. Why you have to do this, but please let me say goodbye. Please. I just," you bit your bottom lip to prevent another wail, "please." Soichiro shook his head. The man could no longer maintain eye contact with you.

"I can't. We cannot risk you talking to anyone lest risk his jealousy. As far as we are concerned, you are not you. You are his." You pulled against the ropes once more. "I'm… so sorry. It is best for everyone that he does not see you with others while he is powerful enough to watch this world. I hope you never forgive me." Crestfallen, he turned his back and approached the door.

"No! Come back! Please! Don't leave me alone here! P-please! S-Soichiro!" Only the slam and locking of the door met your calls.

You don't know how long you howled and wailed, how many times it echoed back in the circular chamber to your ear. There came the point where your body could make no more tears, so you were left with pathetic dry heaves. It was then that a voice whispered in your head.

"Y/N…" It was different than the voice in the woods. It was sinister, deep, evil. You focused on anything, the floor's intricate patterns, the ceiling, the running water behind the chair, the plants around the circumference of the room, anything to not acknowledge it. "Oh, aren't you a gift wrapped up for me? Clearly my father's work. Don't ignore me, Y/N. I know your every move. I know you can hear my every word"

"F-fuck you!" You cried, and he laughed. Then, he clicked his tongue.

"Such dirty words. You're not the angel I remember, fresh out of the clouds. Ah, but there wasn't much angel left, from what I can recall. Do you feel it, Y/N? It shouldn't be long now…" For a long time, nothing happened, then, like two knives down your back, you screamed. "Ah, there it is. Those screams, I do remember. I don't care if it hurts." Blood soaked the cushion behind you and flowed down to your rear. "You brought this on yourself. This is what you deserve."

"I didn't do anything!" You writhed.

"Is that what my father told you? Is that what the story says? Oh, they couldn't be more wrong, love. You denied me what I deserve. You could have fallen to hell right with me, where you can be where you belong, but you stayed. I couldn't have you running back to the angels to live your days without me. I wouldn't allow it. If I hadn't had Mikami lock you in that cage, if I hadn't bound our souls, your grave would be in the flower fields above the clouds, but you got conceited.

"Let me remind you of something, love. You are mine. Your body, your mind, your heart, your soul, what's between your legs, it's all mine. We are bound for eternity, Y/N. There is nothing you can do about it." He got quiet just as the immediate pain receded, leaving you with intense throbs.

"You… won't get the chance," you spoke through tears. "Big talk for someone who isn't even going to breach this plane." A flash of pain sparked in your skull. He chuckled.

"Oh, Y/N. Perhaps you are just as green as you were when we met. I can't wait to feel you again. To have you watch me burn the world." Silence.

Despite your exhaustion, you could not sleep. You might as well have melted into the chair in how your body did not move a single inch, too scared to bother your wounds, and have the pain come back that is still aching. You did not want to spend your last hours unconscious. No one came to feed you.

"They're coming," he said. "They'd better be quick, then. The moon is almost up out there, after all." He groaned, and you jolted at the feeling of a cold hand on your neck.

Soichiro and a train of holy people entered the room and surrounded you. He approached your limp body and undid your bounds. You did not miss him tense, and his eyes widen at the pool of blood in the seat from your back.

'We must hurry. Any minute he will come through." Soichiro enlisted others to help him carry you back up the stairs to the altar. "Twenty four hours in the chamber has amplified their soul. It explains the marks on their back from their past life. Quick, on the altar!" The cloth was smooth against your skin as they placed you.

Movement flurried around you as different scents were sprayed, various objects were placed on the ground and on the altar around you, and foreign words were spoken around you. Fatigue racked your body. There was not a single inch of your body that you could to move.

Soichiro stood over your body. Your eyes, dead and clouded, stared up at him. In his hand was a singular, transparent, glass object. Quickly, he lifted his hand, ready to plunge it down.

A loud bang resounded in the chapel, and the glass fell with a splatter of blood. You rolled your head to the side and watched two bodies approach from the entrance. All of the holy people around you were blown limply against the walls around you. It was only when they were right above you that you recognize it was Misa and Rem.

"Rem, can you carry them? Do you still have your strength?"

"Do not worry, Misa," she replied. Long arms lifted you while Misa skipped ahead and smiled reassuringly back at you. Music filled the crisp air. Lights hanging from the trees and other ornaments swept by your visual field. You groaned and lulled your head to face Misa.

"M-Misa, no." You groaned. "He's coming." She giggled and turned around. Skipping backward, her smile widened. Behind her, the crowd gathered in the village square. Their vivid garments stuck out under the lights.

"Of course I know, silly! Rem is a Shinigami just as the one who gave Kira his power. Just like he had a notebook, I had Rem's, but it was destroyed eons ago. Still, it binds me to live eternally, just like Soichiro. Luckily, Rem's cloaking magic covered me when I've met him, or he would have spoiled it all for us!

"When I saw you, I knew it was you. No matter how you may physically change, your heart and soul are always the same. Now, he's going to return to us. He's going to spearhead the new world." She twirled her hair around her finger. "Isn't that exciting?"

You had no strength to fight in Rem's hold. Even if you did, you were unsure if you would be able to beat a Shinigami.

Eyes were drawn to you as your bloodied and weak form was carried by an almost unidentifiable figure. Gasps echoed across the crowd, the music stopping as you presumably reached the square.

"They watch helplessly," he spoke. "They know you are not theirs to touch. Soon, they will all know my power. They will all know who you belong to. Keep your eyes open, love."

"Y/N! Y/N! Move! That's our child! Move! Y/N! The desperate calls of your parents broke through the crowd, but Rem presumably pushed them far back just the holy people, scaring the public to still and part for your funeral march. You heard the sick smack of bodies against a surface. Misa hummed to herself in front of you. Your head rolling back, you met Mello's wide and helpless eyes as he stood in the crowd.

Misa led you away from the crowd and stopped at the flagpole at the village's entrance gates with the group following. Rem retied you to the base of the flagpole; your arms crossed over your chest in a familiar 'X,' legs and waist bound to the pole. Misa's settled herself next to you.

"All!" She called. "Watch as the blood moon rises behind the chapel! He who fell to hell is rising again to take what is rightfully his!" She pointed to the moon as it brilliantly glowed crimson above the chapel. Murmurs rose from the crowd, suspicious and fearful. "Watch as our god returns to the mortal realm!"

The church bell rang. Its deathly reverberations echoing in your ear. The crowd fell to silence.

"Have you missed me, love?" He spoke. "Because I have missed you."

A red beam of light erupted from the chapel, followed quickly by multiple explosions. The statue, the roof, the infrastructure all crumbling by the expanding beam of light that touched the sky, screams erupted from the crowd, and they began to scramble. You pulled with what little strength you had left, but the pole against your back seized you in pain to cease your movements.

A silhouette could be made out of the beam. Large black wings spread from his back, sharp and jagged. Hands rose above his head before he dropped down in front of the chapel submerged in flames. His shadow enraptured you, and though his shadow was mostly unclear from a distance, you could make out his eyes even from here. Slowly, he took his first step forwards.

Every needle and leaf in the trees around him fell. The grass withered all around him. Ash from the sky and littered the ground. With each step, the radius expanded until more and more life died around him. Your eyes trailed to the unconscious bodies of your parents against a tree. His zone of death stretched farther than them.

"Eyes on me."

"You're going to kill them!" You screeched. "Stop this madness at once!" You shook in your bonds. Misa was frozen next to you, eyes wide in anticipation as he approached.

"Ordering me around? Perhaps you still are conceited. I think killing them will remind you of your place, hm?" Unfortunate humans were reduced to ash in his radius. The wind blew the ashes all around him, gently lifting his brown tufts of hair. "These mortals are nothing compared to you and I. Accept me as your mate. Accept the part of your soul that is my own, and the pain will all go away. You'll be dragged down to hell, and I'll bring you right back up."

Your parent's ashes were a different color than the rest.

"You know, it's been an eternity since I've heard you call my name. Do you even remember it?" You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut. The thick scent of smoke, of ash, of death, permeated the air. "Eyes on me." He was almost here. Arms extended to the side, he approached from the other side of the square now.

"Misa, we need to leave."

"No! He's here! He's finally here, Rem!"

"His aura will kill you, Misa."

"No, I won't! He won't!" Rem, at lightning speed, grabbed Misa and flew in the other direction. "No! Put me down! I'll never forgive you! Stop!" Her voice echoed until it was out of range. Your head lashed back and forth, looking for any sign of life, but there was none: just ash, dying grass, and gnarled, graying trees.

Dressed in all black, eyes blazing, teeth sharp, wings stretched, he now stood before you with the moon on his back. You pushed yourself against the pole despite the shock of pain. The grass around you died, the bugs vanishing, but you remained fine. You stared at his feet.

"Oh, love," soft fingers reached down and tilted your head up. "You're as beautiful as I remember." Black wings encircled you, so you could only see him. "Do you remember my name?" You shook your head, and he gripped your chin harder. "Do not lie to me. Say my name, Y/N. Sew the wounds of your forsaken wings and accept your place with me." His voice resounded in you. "You feel it. I know you do. I feel your pain. Your fear. I've felt every emotion your reincarnations have ever felt. Say my name." He leaned in close.

"Kira." He clicked his tongue.

"Stop resisting," he hissed. "Say my name, Y/N." His breath glided against your cheek. His hand moved to cup your jaw, and the other trailed down your waist.

"Light." It came off your lips quickly, easily, and he smiled, eyes widening with pleasure. Immediately, relief filled your physical body, your back's pain dissolving. Your head tilted back in bliss.

"Y/N," he whispered against your neck. "Finally." He inhaled your scent deeply, hand tilting your head to give him more access. He placed a small kiss against your skin. His kisses trailed upwards, along your jaw, frantic against your cheeks, nose, until he captured your lips and stole your breath.

"Oh, Y/N," he whispered against your lips. "I love you."

#light yagami x reader #light yagami x you #yandere light yagami x reader #Light Yagami #yandere death note #yandere light yagami #death note fic #x reader #reader insert #yandere reader insert #halloween special #happy halloween everyone!

110 notes · View notes

trashmenofmarvel · 4 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 31

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The memories come to an end

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

It didn’t matter that they dragged him, restrained with glyphed chains and shackles, through a glowing portal that had looked very similar to the one he’d first gone through.

It didn’t matter that their headquarters seemed to be an old manor filled with strange artifacts and old furniture.

It didn’t matter that they told him, after throwing him into a basement cell lined with glyphs, that they were a group called the Masters of the Mystic Arts.

They were HYDRA and they were going to use him like they always used him. Bucky expected Colonel Vasily Karpov to walk through the door any moment, but his only visitor was a soft-spoken bald woman. She was pale, unnaturally so, and had a very precise way of speaking. She apparently knew who he was but would only refer to him as “James.”

He hated it. Hated her sweet words given through iron bars. It was no different than how Fairbanks had treated him. Tricked Bucky with promises of hot meals, warm baths, and protection from the guards if he would just cooperate with Fairbanks’ vision.

But that’s not what the woman asked of him. Bucky didn’t know what she wanted. She would visit him, talk to him, ask him questions about his life before HYDRA. His captors had never done that before, had never encouraged him to talk about his past as a human before they managed to burn away his memories and trick him into believing he was a full-fledged demon.

It was confusing, even more so when he was moved out of the cell and into a proper room. He still had to wear the bespelled shackles that left him weak and harmless, but they didn’t beat him or taunt him or force him to feed. In fact, the woman, who called herself the Ancient One like it was an actual title, gave him a tonic that would make the hunger go away.

Bucky didn’t believe a damn word she said. He remembered the last time he’d been offered something like this from Lukin. It had been a salve that had artificially induced his next heat, and he’d been mocked cruelly before Lukin would allow his men to sate Bucky’s cursed hunger.

And now that same hunger grew so strong that eventually Bucky drank the liquid, because nothing could be worse than the agony twisting through his body. To his eternal shock, it helped. Made the searing desire in his gut vanish into a dull ache.

That was when Bucky had finally begun to believe her. This wasn’t HYDRA, and he wasn’t going to be used as a weapon again. When he’d told the Ancient One of his conclusions, she had smiled and said, “I know that must have been very difficult for you, James. I appreciate your trust.”

Bucky wouldn’t go that far, he was a long way from trusting his new captors, but when she returned the stuffed cat to him with the strange advice that he should “take care of precious things,” he was well on his way to tolerating her.

For the next few months, Bucky spent his time relearning how to be a person. He rediscovered his love of knowledge, and the Sanctum provided much of that. The books, especially. He was fascinated by the large, bound tomes that smelled like dust and forgotten time. Focusing on consuming as many books as possible was a way for him to adjust to living as a… well, as a human again.

The Ancient One had encouraged his time in the library once she trusted him with having more access to the Sanctum. The other sorcerers had wanted to keep Bucky contained in the glyph-warded cell, but she told them, “If you cage a man like an animal, expect him to act as a beast.”

Bucky was growing quite fond of her.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky wasn’t hypervigilant and waiting for the next attack, whether from HYDRA soldiers or other demons. He was healing, very slowly recovering from the decades of traumatic memories he had to sort through. It was even more confusing with the “time dilation” he’d experienced in the demon realm. Forty-eight years had passed for him when only four years had passed on Earth. It was 1995, he was in New York City, and his only acquaintances were a sect of secretive sorcerers who kept him locked up in an ancient manor.

Things could have been worse, all things considered.

Something did happen one day to dampen his spirits. It was a warm early summer day, and they were enjoying the sunshine within the Sanctum rooftop garden. The Ancient One was training him to extend his guise around his clawed feet to make them appear as if he was wearing boots. She insisted it was possible, that Bucky had already shown an affinity for magic with his ability to take away, and later they learned, share memories.

But making his demonic aspects disappear was one thing, trying to create illusionary clothing was another, and he was growing frustrated with his efforts, or lack thereof.

“Fairbanks told me my transformation was complete,” Bucky grumbled, staring at his clawed feet as if they’d done him personal wrong. “There weren’t supposed to be any more changes, but now I have to lug these things around.”

He flexed his talons to demonstrate his meaning, grimacing at the animalistic shape of them. At least with his other changes, he’d managed to guise himself enough to look human. Now, with this…

“As if I didn’t already look like a monster,” he muttered.

“Evil men lie. You know this more intimately than most.” The Ancient One seemed almost distracted, staring over the rooftop and toward the city skyline. Then she turned toward him, her smile muted in sadness. “You’re no monster, James.”

Bucky looked away, unable to look at such sincerity for too long. She really did believe what she said.

“This isn’t working.” He sat back with a huff. “I can’t do it.”

Instead of her mild chastisement for giving up so easily, the Ancient One remained silent. Bucky looked up to find her staring off to the side again, her gaze fixed on something that wasn’t there.

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked and turned back to him, giving him one of those small smiles.

“Nothing, James. Why do you ask?”

“You seem distracted.” She was never distracted. Thoughtful and meditative, sure, but never unfocused like she’d been all day.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “I thought I heard a voice.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped, mired with guilt. He’d forgotten all about his own mysterious voice. He experienced the same shade of guilt and grief whenever he remembered what had happened to Steve. Died saving the world, not long after Bucky had been imprisoned. And here Bucky was, alive and whole, and he hadn’t bothered to think about the entity, real or imagined, that had kept him from going insane in the demon realm. It had helped him remember who he was and kept at bay the devastating loneliness.

He could barely remember what the voice sounded like.

He opened his mouth to ask her to explain what she meant, but the Ancient One clapped her hands together and said, “Let us try again. You’re letting your frustration get the better of you. Focus on what you desire and shape it into the world.”

Bucky sighed and unwillingly turned back to his lessons, the weight of loneliness still lingering at the back of his mind.

***

“This isn’t working.”

You watched Bucky struggle, unable to help or communicate with him. Not like you’d done before. Trapped on the demon world, Bucky had somehow been able to hear you. Even talk to you.

You’d almost forgotten who you were in that place. It had been so easy to just be with Bucky, to sink into his mind and be so close you weren’t sure who was who. And then you’d been jostled awake when he’d had leapt through the portal. It had been agony, split in two, and you’d been torn from Bucky and forced back into your own non-corporeal state.

And that’s where you’d remained. Seeing yourself as a child lose your memories. Forced to watch Bucky feed and suffer and then be captured, but when you’d realized who had him, you’d been relieved for the first time since being trapped in Bucky’s memories.

Now that you knew the Ancient One, had witnessed firsthand how kind and gentle she was with Bucky, you were shamed by your previous jealousy. She grew on you, and after a time, you felt like you knew her just as well as Bucky did.

Perhaps that explained what happened next.

“I can’t do it.”

Bucky’s frustration was aimed at the Ancient One, but she paid him no attention. Her eyes were focused directly on the spot where you stood.

The world grew quiet and still. The wizards around you, moving to and from their tasks, were now frozen in midstride. The water bubbling up from a nearby fountain hung in the air like a glass sculpture. Bucky sat half-hunched on the stone bench, glaring at his clawed feet.

Cold fear washed through your non-spine as the Ancient One smiled.

“Ah, there you are.”

You glanced around just to be extra sure she was addressing you, but the world was still frozen. Even the air was a dead weight against your skin.

“You…” Your voice trembled, unused in so long. “You can see me?”

“Of course,” she said, addressing you by name just to make the moment more surreal. “I sensed James had a passenger. How long have you been attached to him?”

Horror, hope, terror, all of it vied for control. Your next words were a messy jumble.

“I… I don’t know. I was, we were just. He was showing me his memories, but they were the wrong ones, and I got stuck—Please, you have to help me!”

The Ancient One raised a hand, palm toward you in a soothing manner.

“It’s all right. There’s no need to be afraid. Take your time, for we have plenty of it.”

You closed your mouth and took a deep breath, allowing the tension to leech from your muscles.

“That’s better,” she said, her voice smooth and her smile kind. “We shall start with something simple. Have we met before?”

“I… no. I don’t think so.” That was something simple? “I mean, I thought you were…”

Your voice trailed off into silence. Were you supposed to tell her she was dead? Or… would be dead. How were you even able to speak to her? Wasn’t this just a memory? You couldn’t affect a memory, right?

“Ah.” She gave you a knowing look. “I see.”

Her gaze drifted down to where Bucky sat, her expression fond. She didn’t seem to be very upset with the fact she would be dead sometime in the future.

“I take it you are important to James? You must be, for him to willingly share his memories with you.”

“I… yes,” you said, following her gaze to Bucky. Even now in a strange, frozen moment, you ached to touch him again. Hell, you ached just to speak with him, for him to see you and know you again. Being a stranger to Bucky was unbearable. “He’s important to me, too.”

“I sense that is true. Perhaps more than you realize.”

After a moment of quietness, she met your eye again. Something had shifted within her, and her tone grew serious.

“To answer the question you wish to ask, this is James’ memory, but it is also your present. You are untethered from reality and trapped in a time-loop.”

“A… a what?”

“It’s very fortunate I found you at this moment, in this place,” she continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “I suspect you would have been trapped, until such a time you would have caught up to the place you had become untethered, and time would have repeated itself.”

Her eyes darkened and the smile was gone. You wanted to retreat but your feet, as they had been from the start, were unable to move.

“Journeying through time is extremely dangerous.” There was thunder in her words, quiet but frightening, and you wanted to recoil. “Who is your teacher? Surely they would not have been so negligent with your education.”

“I—“ You swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. A teacher? For what?”

She stared at you for a hard minute, expression never changing, and in that moment you could sense the vast, unknowable power that lingered within this seemingly frail-looking woman.

“Listen to me well, young one,” she said. “When you return to your present, seek out the Sorcerer Supreme. I will not gaze forward to see who it is, as one should not know too much of their own fate. But when you return, go to the leader of the Order, and tell them I said…”

Her gaze dropped downward, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Even though you didn’t technically had lungs, you could breathe easier now that her dark gaze was gone.

“Tell them it’s their responsibility to shape the future of our kind. No matter what tests they’ve conducted or conclusions they’ve come to, you must be taught our ways. Neglecting to do so will result in consequences like these. Or worse.”

The Ancient One clapped her hands together again, the oversized sleeves pooling at her elbow to expose her thin arms.

“Now, it’s time I send you back, yes? Oh, one last thing.”

“Oh. Uh, y-yeah?”

“When the moment comes and the obvious choice feels wrong…” She looked you directly in the eye, a piercing gaze that went right through. “…trust yourself to find a different answer. Do not doubt yourself, even while others will. Your life, and James’, both depend on it. Do you understand?”

“Uh—no,” you stuttered. “No, I don’t understand—Wait!”

Your protest went unheeded as the Ancient One moved toward you while also remaining firmly in place. A shimmering second copy of her walked across the stone, raised a palm, and shoved you hard in the chest.

Gasping and clutching your shirt, you bolted upright with a cry. You were back in your bedroom, sprawled out on your bed and panting as if you’d run a marathon.

And Bucky was staring down at you with complete and utter horror.

Next Chapter

#branded #demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

129 notes · View notes

spacebunnywrites · 4 years

Text

My Religion is You

Here is my piece for the Citrus Dome server collab. The server ran by the LOVELY @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten Let me tell ya, this piece was a wild ride. Will it have a part two? Who knows. Pairing: Kaminari Denki x Male Reader Rating: E for Explicit. (Sorry, no C for Crackhead this time. Maybe some D for Dumbass though) Kinks: Mild Courting, Religious, Oral, Frottage, Clothed Sex, Chastity Cages, Virgin Reader, super low-key attempt at confinement, forced Virginity, crying while cumming, oral Word Count: 2700ish

Worship has always been a part of your daily routine. Each season you place the different fruits of the temple's labour at the altar at the top floor of the shrine. Every day you pray, lighting incense and muttering soft songs. It’s human nature, seeking answers from the Gods.

But you never expected one to answer. Especially not for you. The weather was brutal, you figured the messenger god wouldn't be able to appreciate the offerings left for him. That he would let these offerings expire and go to the wolves that surrounded the forest temple. But, when you turned around to leave the altar where offerings were housed a large crack of lightning startled you. Lightning that hit a nearby tree, knocking down a large branch. The limb falling from the top and crashing its way down. Taking other branches with it on the path downward. A cloud of ravens taking flight in the heavy rain, seeking shelter in a new tree. But that wasn't the part that caught your eye. It was the bright light coming from within the shrine.

In a flash of yellow light stood a slim man. Clad only in a long, nearly see through loincloth. It brushed the ground between his legs, and the two scraps of material were held by a thin golden chain. Small interlocking circles, woven tight enough to look closer to a rope. You could tell that his outfit wasn't complete, his chest and a single shoulder were a lighter colour than his thighs and arms. His shirt was missing. Exposing the light tone of his abs to you, eyes raking over the slender frame for a moment while your brain spun in circles.

"Where is your shirt!?" Not caring for why he had appeared. Or even how he had appeared. You assumed he was a follower that you just hadn't met yet. To be fair, you were new to the temple. A transfer from the temple in the mountains. The God of Endeavours had grown angry towards the shrines of lesser Gods. Demanding all the attention be on him as a clearly superior God. But you preferred the God of Gossip. Well… technically he was the God of Messengers. But in recent years he only carried gossip, and as such his title had changed. Most offerings were tea related, people prayed to him for their secrets to remain safe. Your old temple had prayed to the God of Gossip asking for great fortune to come their way, in the form of news from the God of Foresight. Though, the only fortune that came was bad, in the form of a rock slide that destroyed the structure. Since only young lithe men were permitted to run the temples, there was no one to rebuild the temple. Leaving all the priests without home, which is how you had ended up here. The Forest temple welcomed you with open arms. The God of Fortunes had foretold them of a misplaced virginal Shrine Maid-Man that would bring the God of Gossip to their shrine one day.

The man before you chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. Bouncing on the balls of his feet before shrugging softly. "Don't ask me such hard questions… I have no idea what happened to it." His free hand reaching out to grab an apple from the offering table. You slapped his hand away, scowling harshly.

"Don't touch those. They are for our God! You should know better. I ought to bring you to the High Priest for exile!" Your voice in a hushed whisper. You didn't want either of you getting caught after all. Only a few members of the temple had free access to the offering rooms. Each member hand selected. As of this moment, it was only you allowed to be in the offering rooms. Your previous partner in the duty had been moved to offering tours of the lower floors. Only you were allowed in the highest tower. Well… you, and now this near naked man apparently.

Somehow the man looked more sweet when he was ashamed. A soft flush covering his cheeks, spreading downward to tint his chest and neck as well. Blond hair in a messy style, parts of it standing on end as if he had arrived with the lighting itself. "Right. Offerings. So… everything in this room is an offering to the god?" Slowly closing the distance between you. If he wasn't so adorable, the look his face took on would seem almost predatory. Yet, you didn't have it in you to be afraid of him. Something seemed to scream that he was safe.

"Y/N!" A voice called from the bottom of the stairs. It was the High Priest. You had taken too long leaving the offerings for the god. You turned around to announce you would be leaving in a moment, an excuse about the oil in the lanterns needing to be filled falling from your lips easily. Only slightly cut off by a loud rumble of thunder and another flash of lightning. And when you returned your attention to the man that had been with you, he was gone. The only trace that he had been there at all was a golden bracelet replacing the apple that had been left out for your god. Along with a note telling you to wear the bracelet. It was a simple cuff, shaped like a lightning bolt.

☆☆☆☆☆

Weeks passed since you last saw the strange blond. No one had any idea who you were talking about when asked. It was like he came and went with the lightning! But that was impossible. Only the Messenger God himself could travel through lightning. And there was no fucking way you communed with the god you prayed to. Sure, an offering had been exchanged for a token. But you figured that one of your fellow Followers had played a cruel trick on you. Which is why you had yet to put the bracelet on, despite how badly you wanted to wear it. The golden bracelet called to you, without meaning to you often found yourself playing with where it sat in your tunic.

"Y/N! Why do you keep playing with your pockets, boy!? Get up to the offering rooms. Lately the offers are ignored, how did you anger the God? You won't leave the room until he shows and accepts the offerings." The tone cold as he grasped your wrist and pulled you towards the stairs leading up to the offering rooms. “There will be a guard stationed here day and night. You will go no further than the bottom of the stairs, and only to retrieve the day's offerings. Hope he shows soon, or you will starve waiting for him.” You didn’t understand how he could be so angry with you. Nothing had changed in the way you did the offerings. Yet every offering was rejected. The roosters refused to eat, all of the tortoise shells perished. It seemed everything that showed your God still cared for the temple was fading. No other temple reported these findings, it was only yours. The High Council concluding the problem was you, since you were the only Shrine Maid-Man that was allowed in the offering rooms. No one listened about the blond you met in the room those weeks ago. Everyone assumed you had defiled the offering altar and lowered yourself to one of the Sacred Prostitutes. That you had allowed such sacrilege happenings to occur in the room designed just for offerings to the God. No one listened to you insisting that you were still pure. Only the Sacred Prostitutes were permitted to have any form of intercourse, the rest of the Shrine was to remain chaste. A practice you didn’t understand. It wasn’t like the Messenger God was known for his virginity. Quite the opposite, really. It seemed that every week new stories of his conquests filled the shrine. Not to mention the Shrine Prostitutes seemed to only exist for this one shrine. You knew your old shrine certainly didn’t have them. Not with how often an orgy was often walked in on. Maybe this Shrine wasn’t all it was chalked up to be. Maybe the God of Messengers no longer wanted the Forest Temple. Had they strayed too far from him that he ignored them? You fiddled again with the bracelet in your pocket, frowning at how it called to you. You shouldn’t be attracted to the piece of metal that likely caused this discourse. You swallowed back your anger towards the High Priest and settled into your routine. Filling the oil lamps that had gotten too low, lighting any incense that had extinguished itself, opening the curtains to the windows, and polishing the wood that the altar was made of. The light of high noon filtering in and warming your flesh. Taking your mind off the way the bracelet in your pocket screamed for attention. The simple, habitual tasks easy for you to get lost in. It was comforting in a way to have only a few things to focus on. Until your stomach growled. The only food belonged on the offering table, and your devotion was strong enough to not even think about taking the offerings. ☆☆☆☆☆ You found yourself thinking of the bracelet more and more. Especially when the pangs of your hunger began to actually settle down on you. Reminding you more frequently of the last time you ate. It took every ounce of your being to not slip on the golden cuff. The cuff was what put you in the trouble that you were in. You had let some random man take one of the offerings left out, and now your God had abandoned the temple. Abandoned you. All you had left was the soft voice in your dead telling you to put the bracelet on. That everything will be okay once you wear the bracelet. But you knew that to be the voice of demons. They were trying to tempt you away from your God. Yet less than a full day of being locked into the room, you sighed and slipped the bracelet on. Succumbing to the voice calling to you. Slightly freaked out by the way static seemed to run through your body as it did. Yet nothing else changed. The sky was still a bright blue, the light breeze still fluttered the curtains, and you were still stuck in the room. Why had you expected anything different? “You finally put it on. I was wondering how long being ignored would take to work.” The soft voice whispered into your ear. Jumping at the suddenness only had you knocking your shoulder into his jaw. Watching as he pouted and stuck his tongue out to make you inspect it. “Di’I ite eye ung?” Clearly a failed attempt at did I bite my tongue. How could a demon be so adorable? How had a demon even gotten on to holy ground? It was only then that you noticed the lightning bolt in his hair. This was no demon. You had summoned Chargebolt, the Messenger God by putting on the bracelet. “Holy fuck.” Whispered as you fell back onto your ass. The simple tunic you wore parting to expose yourself, the golden chastity cage you wore glistening in the lowering sunlight. You didn’t even realize that it had happened, more focused on putting distance between you and the actual fucking God that stood before you. This time he wasn’t half dressed. His sheer loincloths connected to the upper half of his robes. Everything was so see through he might not have been wearing anything at all. Your eyes tried not to linger on his sex, but it was basically at eye level. Every scoot you took back, he took two steps forward. “Well, you did say everything in this room was an offering. So I suppose a holy fuck as you put it could be provided.” Shrugging as he began to remove his clothing. The sheer material falling around his feet with ease as he shrugged his shoulder out of the strap holding his top up and unhooked one of the thin golden chains on his hips. He didn’t seem to notice your eyes going wide as he approached. He was entirely naked before you, and seemed to actually want you. He wanted a lowly Shrine Maid-Man such as yourself. “We have to remain virgins! I…. I can’t. I’m sorry Chargebolt, God of Messengers, Teller of Gossip, Traveller of Lightning, Spiller of Tea… Um…” You couldn’t remember the rest of his monkiers at this moment. But he had stopped advancing. Brow furrowed and his head tilted as if he were a puppy and not a whole ass god. As if he had never heard of this rule before. Which was likely true. You knew your old Temple certainly didn’t have the rule. That or your Temple only had Shrine Prostitutes. Which also could be the case. At this point you didn’t know anything anymore. “Virgins? That has never been a requirement in my temples… And you wear a strange device on your loins. Is the device to keep you pure?” His hand reaching out to grab at the caged cock between your legs. Sinking down to his knees while he inspected it. The metal eventually falling off into his hands. You felt scared and excited to have a divine being between your legs. He seemed so intent on inspecting you- Oh!

A wet heat swallowed your length down. Chargebolt was using his mouth on you! Your god was defiling you in the room designed for his offerings. Had he mistaken you for an offering? You didn't mind it… no. You loved being used by your God. Chargebolt taking your virginity certainly couldn't be a strike against you. The Messenger God had a mouth clearly designed for this kind of debauchery. His tongue pressed firmly on the thick vein that ran along your underside, it swirled around the tip when he came up for air. When he sank down to bury his nose against your stomach his throat pulsed around you. Everything he did had you falling apart in an embarrassing amount of time. But you found yourself too lost in the mindless delight of the act to even warn him.

Instead you spilled down his throat with a quiet sob. Whimpering slightly as you curled around your head. It had been so long since you last got off, and now Chargebolt was getting you off. Using only his mouth as well. The God smiled and wiped at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Pulling the digit into his mouth and sucking off the last remnants of your essence.

"There's my pretty Angel. You look so good like that. I was right to select you as my favoured." Cooed softly into your ear before he crawled over you. Pressing quick kisses against your clothed chest. Licking the sweat away from your neck. Humming softly while he was doing so. Despite just finishing down his skilled throat, you wanted to go again. He had opened the door to your repressed sexual appetite, and now he needed to fix it. Your hips rolled up to grind your erections together. You swore you heard needy whimpers, but Chargebolt didn't seem to be making any noise. Oh- it was coming from you.

You were making those soft whimpers. Just from a little bit of friction on your newly freed cock. "Oh, Angel. You sound so sweet for me." His words whispered straight into your ear. Followed by a wet tongue licking the shell of your ear. Holy fucking hell. Was any of this supposed to feel that good? Faintly you heard yourself whispering soft pleas. Begging him for more.

"Nothing more than this, Angel. Not on our second meeting. Allow me to relieve you once more, and then I need to leave. Keep the bracelet on. Take it off, and I can't come see you again until Incinerate, the God of Pride has a mood and it causes a storm. I felt so bad ignoring your offerings. But how else was I supposed to get you to put on my bracelet?" Soft kisses pressed against your neck as he continued to roll his hips against yours. Providing you the friction you needed to ruin your robes. By the time you opened your eyes again, he was gone. The only trace he had been there, your broken chastity cage and the cum drying on your clothing.

#kaminari denki #kaminari #denki #male reader #kaminari x male reader #denki x male reader #kaminari denki x male reader #god au #god denki #denki as a god #messenger god #gossip god #xoxo gossip god #chargebolt #chargebolt x reader #please appreciate this

338 notes · View notes

crimsonwolfie · 4 years

Text

Best Mistake Part 2 — Hamish Duke x Reader

Requested by @shania122600 and many more!

Prompt: The Reader (a Succubus) returns for her love, Hamish Duke, for one steamy night ;)

I haven’t proofread this as it’s 2am and i knew y’all wanted this, i kept you waiting long enough (really sorry!!) but i hope this makes up for it 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

Warnings: smut and fluff :)

Word count: 3.639

Masterlist

Best Mistake Part 1

Tossing and turning, Hamish Duke kicks his legs out from under the duvet cover. Sweat beads drip from his forehead as his grey T-shirt sticks to his hot, sweaty body. Murmuring and groaning, he fidgets from side to side, clearly in and out of sleep.

The window is opened slightly, letting the white netted curtains to dance delicately in the breeze of the wind. Hamish stirs as the breeze hits his scorching hot skin, invigorating him. His lashes flutter as his eyes open gently, squinting as the moonlight shines a beam so bright onto his face. The covers are a heap and the air is thick, muggy with heat...evocation. Hamish sits up with one hand holding his head, rubbing his eyes, whilst leaning on the other hand that holds his weight.

The room is cold against his skin as shivers run up and down his spine like a marathon. He sighs, looking around the almost empty room that surrounds him. The room has an antique tone to it; walls painted an off-white with a singular wall painted a brewing crimson colour, with an unusual tile bordering of moons, stars and other symbols of some sort lining the top of the walls. A window, rectangle and fairly big, is seen beside Hamish. With nothing but the bed, a small wardrobe, a thin nightstand and an armchair in the corner (which is covered in clothes), the room seems fairly new...cosy. It’s minimal, but just right.

Although it’s summer, there’s still a bitter coldness in the air. Not just in temperature, but in ambience. An indescribable coldness that’s descended from somewhere unknown, somewhere utterly dark and unwelcoming.

Hamish wipes his forehead of sweat, pushing his ever-growing hair out of his eyes as it sweeps back effortlessly. His crystal eyes gleam in the moonlight as his skin reflects like milk off a silver tray. His palms are sweaty mom’s spaghetti haha as he grips on the bedsheet, arching his back as he stretches.

He stays still for a second, in a sort of sleepy daze, eyes fixated on the foot of his bed. Head tilting, he quickly snaps out the trance and reaches his arm to his bedside table, picking up his phone. The screen lights up full beam, causing Hamish to squint his eyes in instant regret as he scrambles to lower the brightness.

3:29am

“Great” Hamish mumbles with a croaky voice, laced with exhaustion. He sighs loudly, flopping back onto the bed, his head compressed in the pillows. This is the second week of restless nights he’d had - and they’re getting worse each night. At first, it was only a couple of broken sleeps...you know...nothing too dramatic. Then, it developed into vivid dreams which startle him and disturb him. Now...he hasn’t slept in a week, in order to avoid... them. His body wants to, so badly...but his mind isn’t having it. And it shows. Deep, dark bags surround the sockets of his eyes as his body grows weaker and feeble. His skin loses it’s glow and his mind is scattered. Everyone who sees him notices how much he’s let himself go, and they worry about him. Hell...he’s worried about himself.

Hamish throws his hands on his face, rubbing at his eyes hard, in an attempt to exhaust himself out. He kicks the covers off himself completely, revealing his loose knee-length shorts and bare feet. His mind wanders occasionally wanders to dark places from time to time, however lately it’s been happening a lot more. And every time, it’s the same place. A dark, painful place that he wishes to forget only for the reason that it brings him sadness, a nostalgia that he cannot get back. And what is that memory that his mind wanders to? Well, Y/N of course.

The truth is...every time he’d fall alseep, he’d dream of her. Vivid, realistic dreams of touching her, kissing her, being with her. Any other person would die for dreams like these with the person they loved, but Hamish...he didn’t. For him, it was a constant reminder that he’d lost another love that fulfilled his soul. It reminded him that he would never see her again, and he couldn’t handle that heartbreak.

He would reminisce about when he met Y/N, the Succubus, for the first time. Her beauty, elegance, poise, that mischievous glint in her eye which Hamish couldn’t tell if he was turned on by it...or threatened by it. He was infatuated by her, as if she held his soul in the cage of her heart.

It’s been 3 months since he’d last seen her. 3 months which felt like 3 years. Before he met her, he felt a hole in his soul. Ever since Cassie’s end, he’d never experienced something so true to ‘love at first sight’, he’d never believed he’d be truly happy again, or that he’d ever fall in love again...that was...until he met her. It was short, too short, but it gave him that electrifying feeling of wholesomeness again. Of happiness, love, euphoria. In those moments they had together, it was like he’d been hit by a century’s worth of feelings that he had lost. Both him and Tundra felt it...and she did too.

A single tear trickles down his pale, cold cheek at the memory of her. Lips quivering slightly, he bites down on his lower lip, scrunching his eyes shut tightly. He sits up gently, walking over to the open window for some air.

There’s something about nighttime that is so soothingly calm to him, almost as if he’s free. The silence that echoes around the clearing, the darkness dimly lit by the stars in the sky, the bitter sweet breeze smacking your rosy hot cheeks with an immense feeling of coolness.

Hamish rushes towards the window in desperation as if he cannot breathe, before inhaling deeply, releasing a hot breath into the night air. His head is stuck outside the window as his forearms lean against the windowsill. That familiar scent of fresh grass and slightly damp air surround him, leaving him feeling relaxed and at ease, until he feels the panic and sorrow leave slowly.

Part of him wishes his memories of her would disappear, so he can feel normal again...feel human. Although, part of him wishes they’d stay. Because she made him feel human. She made him feel alive, in ways he never thought possible.

He stares up to the moon, smiling softly.

“Hey, Y/N,” he begins with a voice barely above a whisper, “i miss you. And i know you probably can’t hear me, or see me for that matter...but you’ve messed with my head.” He grins, cheekiness glowing across his face. “I wish you were here, you know that. Well..i- i hope you’d know that...a..anyway”

He brings his hands to his face, cupping it whilst leaning on his elbows. “I think...i love you. And that scares me...really. Because the last woman i loved left me, and i....you know what nevermind. Anyway i uh...i guess i’m just saying hi, and that i miss you...” he looks down, a sad smile across his lips, but sadness painted across his expression. “Yeah...i really miss you.” he sighs “but please...Can you just let me slee-“

“-Only if i’m next to you”

Hamish’s eyes widen at the voice from behind him, as his body whips round and jaw drops at the sight in front of him. His eyes light up, his heartbeat quickens and races rapidly. His body shakes...is he hallucinating? Is this what happens when someone hasn’t slept for a week?

From out of the shadows, Y/N appears. Her beauty as astonishing as ever and her pace is slow, gentle. The gentle breeze pushes her hair from her shoulders as it flows through effortlessly. Hamish is frozen, he wants to touch you to make sure you’re real...but he can’t move.

You smile sweetly, lips berry red and cheeks lightly blushed pink. You take in the view in front of you as you slowly take a step closer to him, your sweet scent knocking him back to reality.

“Y/N...i...how are you here?” His voice cracks mid sentence, his arm barely lifted from the side of his chest. You laugh softly at his astonishment, thinking of how cute he was and how deeply you missed his face.

“Hey, cutie” you sigh, “i missed you, too.”

“I...” he begins, only to stop and rush his hands towards you, gripping you tightly as he lifts you up in the air for a hug, your legs wrapped around his torso and hands around his neck. You smile into his neck as his familiar scent of coconuts and musk fill your senses. He squeezes your body against his, almost as if he’s scared to let go again. Not again. Not ever again.

“How are you here?” His eyes are glossy with emotion and his voice is wobbly. His hands cup your face, as his thumbs rub against the sides of your cheeks softly. Your big Y/E/C orbs locked with his own, softness and comfort hidden deep within each other’s eyes.

“I made my way back to you, like i told you i would” you smile, bringing your hands to his own, which cup your face still, intertwining your fingers into his.

“But i...i thought you had to be summoned?”

“No, well...yeah,” you whisper “but i sort of made a deal with these dumb ass kids...they give me my freedom in exchange for A+ in all their classes-“ you roll your eyes playfully

“That’s not that bad!” Hamish interupts, his face blushing at your touch and his smile bright.

“-for the rest of their time at Belgrave.” you finish, nodding your head down at Hamish, who understands what you’re about to say next.

“Oh...i see...so you...exp..?” He hints, squinting as he looks for confirmation in your expressions

“...i gave them 3 weeks before they’ll be expelled” you smirk, head up whilst looking directly at Hamish’s eyes.

Hamish smirks back, knowing your mischievous side when it comes to making deals...you are a demon at the end of the day!

“They should have known better” he quietly murmurs with a smirk planted across his face. “Well, i’m glad they gave you your freedom. Very, very glad.”

With that, Hamish strokes your face as he brings his fingers to your shoulders, then to your arm. Electrifying shocks run through your body as butterflies roam freely in your stomach at his touch alone. Blood rushes to your cheeks, heating them up with a perfectly pretty pink shade. From the window behind Hamish, a breeze gusts through the room, sending your hair flying back effortlessly. You lean your forehead on Hamish’s, as he leans down slightly to reach you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down and place your lips on his. Passion, lust, desperation and pleasure coat the kiss as the world comes to a stop. Euphoria explodes in your mind as his soft, luscious lips compliment your own perfectly. Ham gets deeper into the kiss, slipping his tongue in between your mouth whilst gripping your waist and pushing it harder into his own body, completely breaking any distance between you both. His hands roam your curves and every part of your body, pushing your head deeper into the kiss. Lightly, you bite onto his lip which causes him to smirk into the kiss, moaning ever so quietly.

“You know that turns me on,” Hamish whispers in a husky tone, a light growl evident in the back of his throat.

“That’s my intention...” you hum on his lips.

Your hands leave his neck and lead to his hair, gently pulling every time the butterflies invade your stomach. Even as a succubus, you’ve never felt this turned on by anyone. And THAT is saying something...

“We have-“ he stutters out of breath in between your kisses, “-have to be quiet-“ your hands roam down to the rim of his shirt, causing Hamish to get a little too excited, “-others are here.” He takes a deep gasp of breath whilst looking up to the ceiling, then looking you up and down.

“Then we’ll be quiet.” A devilish smirk appears on your face, as you lock eyes with Hamish, then look down to his lips...faces barely apart.

Hamish bites his lip, attacking your face once again. Only this time, he pushes you to the wall, pressing your back into it as his body presses into your front. You moan in euphoria with your arms up above your head, hands and fingers intertwined with Hamish’s as he breaks the kiss, leaving a trail of hot and wet kisses on your neck. As he brings his hands down, he knocks one of your horns gently...to which startles him,

“Shit, I’m so sorry” he apologises, concern on his face as his brows and eyes crinkle in fears of him hurting you. Sweetly, you laugh whilst shaking your head and drawing over his features with the tip of your finger,

“Hey, it’s okay,” you reply sympathetically, tone soft and delicate, “you could never hurt me.”

Hamish takes a moment to soak in your beauty in front of him; the way your dark, bold wings form the most magnificent silhouette, how your clothes hug your perfect figure and curves irresistibly, the way your wide Y/E/C doe eyes captivate his soul in the way that he forgets how to breathe, your smile...so bright, contagious and exquisite. With skin as soft as the clouds above and lips as dreamy as sunsets in the heavens, you couldn’t have been more perfect to him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hamish mouths into your skin, causing shivers to run through your body, “i never want to let you out of my sight again”

“Then don’t let me go”

“You can count on it, darling.” He brings his head back up to face you, mischief and adoration in his orbs. He stands there sandwiching you between the wall for a long few seconds, staring deep into your own eyes.

“Hey, carry on kissing me!” You huff, desperation lacing your voice.

“I can do one better” he pipes up confidently, as he begins to untie your blood red, laced top...slipping his fingers smoothly under the straps, letting them fall off your soft, delicate shoulders. As a sudden urge impulses you, you rip his top completely in half, revealing his toned chest. A low growl escapes his throat as he throws his lips back onto yours, fingers working tirelessly at the straps on your top, whilst yours work at his sweat-shorts. You throw your head to the side whilst soaking in the allure and pleasure before you. Before you know it, Hamish removes your top, leaving you in your bra and tight leggings. He picks you up, letting you wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you to the end of his bed...his lips never leaving yours.

Hamish lets you down gently, being careful to not hurt your wings, as he continues to undress you...you vice versa.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He whispers for consent, being the true gentleman he is.

“Of course. I want everything with you” you chirp “do you want it?”

“Why wouldn’t i?! You’re everything to me,” his smile speaks a thousand more words, but right now...you want nothing more than for no words. Just action. Smiling back, you wrap your hands around his neck, before snapping out of the moment,

“okay now carry on. Please.” You beg, pulling him forward from his neck. He crashes his body on yours after removing his sweat shorts impatiently. Skin to skin contact sends waves of pure electric through both your veins as hormones and pleasure flying through the roof. Your skin burns under his as he buries his head in between your shoulder, whilst slowly but firmly thrusting in. His hands search the bed for yours, intertwining as soon as he finds them. With your legs wrapped around his torso, you push yourself closer to his body, deepening the feeling inside you as simultaneous moans can be beard from the both of you, complete euphoria filling your senses.

A single beam of moonlight illuminates the room directly on Hamish’s face, allowing you to admire everything about him; the way his dimples show when he’s either concentrating or happy, how his cheeks are chiseled and his jawline is sharper than thousands of knives put together. His perfect skin complexion soft to the fingertips and his ocean eyes full of hope and life...and how his irises have a black lining around them, which follows the legend of how if one has a black line around their eyes...then they have a soul. Sure you’ve had your fair share of experience, of lust and hopeless devotion...but It’s little things like this that make you realise that love can be real...and that Hamish has truly captured your heart. Succubus’ are notorious for their seduction and willingness to draw emotion to their pray, without having to actually experience any their-self. However...every succubus has their one love, their power source for love, their anchor. Hamish is yours, and it took you until this long to realise.

Squirming under his weight, you bring your mind back to the present. His breath is rigid and his skin is sticky with sweat. Swiftly, you bring your hands to his hair and roughly tug at it, causing Ham to push himself deeper into you. You moan in satisfaction as you crash your mouth onto his with sloppy, wet kisses. Hamish returns your kisses with equal passion, occasionally biting your lip and tugging it with a small amount of force, leaving you to scratch at his back with your nails. As soon as you do so, Hamish’s claws make a quick appearance, gliding over your skin before he shakes it off and yearns control again. Due to your abilities of super strength, you manage to slip from under Hamish’s weight and flip your positions, so he’s now under your weight as you cradle his body with yours on top. It takes him a hot minute to notice, but when he does...he just get even more turned on.

You start to move your hips lightly forwards and backwards, leaving Hamish to squirm under you before moving in synchronisation to your movements. Easing into it, you both move in a delicate and ever so tender fashion, more intimate than sexual.

Hamish’s large hands position themselves on your hips, his thumbs drawing little circles around your skin as his grip tightens, meaning only one thing.

As you begin to feel the hot sweat on your body, you start to slow down, legs shaking upon reaching your climax, Hamish too. You take a deep breath and flop in his chest, your forehead on top of his. With your eyes closed, you think to yourself ‘i have never felt more alive than when i’m with him’ whilst Hamish tenderly kisses both your eyelids in pure devotion. You look up to him, forehead still resting on his, and smile. You lean forward and leave a final kiss on his perky lips before climbing off and lying on the bed, wrapping the sheets around your naked body.

The silence in the room is interrupted with the sound of rapid heartbeats and heavy breathing. Hamish turns to face you with his hands stretched out to rub your skin and one arm holding his head up.

“That was...amazing,” he kisses your nose “you’re amazing”

“I love you” you suddenly blurt out, almost as if it felt natural to say. After realising what you said, your eyes widen and cheeks blush immensely...instantly thinking you’d moved too fast

“I...i mean i uh...i” you stutter trying to save yourself, until realising that you can’t save yourself from something like that. ‘Nice one, Y/N’ you curse to yourself

“Hey, it’s okay” Hamish reassures you, his forefinger drawing small circles on your skin as his other hand runs through your hair

“I love you too, Y/N”

Your heart stops beating all of a sudden. Did he just say he loves you? You’ve never heard that before. You’ve never had someone love you - YOU before. In your eyes, you weren’t worthy of love. That you weren’t worthy of...him.

“I love you and i want to spend every night falling asleep by your side and every morning waking up to your face as the first thing i see when i open my eyes. I don’t care about realm rules or anything like that...all i care about is you.” His face is inches away from you at this point.

You’re left speechless at his declaration, but your eyes say everything you can’t say. Tears begin to drop from your eyes as your lips curl into a heartwarming smile. You pull Hamish into your face, kissing him passionately and intensely.

“No one’s ever made me feel the way you make me feel” you hush, your voice wobbly with emotion. “Thank you for being everything i wanted” Hamish grabs your hand in his, bringing your body into his for a warm snuggle. He brings the covers over you both as you nestle your face into the crook of his neck, your cheek flushed against his skin.

“So urm...was it just like how you dreamt?” You mutter curiously

“Yeah it was act...” his smile drops suddenly in confusion “...how did you know i had dreams of you...of this?”

You laugh playfully as you bring your hands to your face, covering your blushing cheeks from the man beside you “i maaayy have caused you to have those dreams...” you trail off, leaving Hamish to figure it out for himself

“You did dream-walking on me!” He gasps, eyes widening in surprise

“Hey!” You shush him with a finger to his lips “i couldn’t let you forget me could i?!”

I don’t know if i’ll write any more smut as it just felt ✨dirty✨ writing this idk, i have much respect to those who are able to write it 😂 let me know what you thought of this!

#hamish duke #the order #randall carpio #the order netflix #hamish duke x reader #jack morton #lilith bathory #the order season 2 #alyssa drake #x reader #the order fanfiction

231 notes · View notes

waywardsons-imagines · 3 years

Text

I’m Not Okay

Author - Admin Aingeal

Characters - Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Y/N

Pairing - None

Summary/Request - When Y/N runs off on yet another suicide mission, the brothers find her having taken down an entire nest of vampires. They are determined to figure out what has been driving her, before it’s too late.

Word Count - 1,960

Warnings - Angst, Descriptions of Depression, Mentions of Blood (from killing vampires) (If you spot any other warnings I should add, please let me know so I can edit this post to include them!)

A/N - Based on the song “I’m Not Okay” by Citizen Soldier

Story -

The rain was pouring. With everything I had been dealing with inside, it was as if the sky decided to cry with me and just let it all out at once.

I stood there in the parking lot with my arms out as if I was trying to catch the water with my bare hands.

Machete in one hand - blood dripping onto the pavement from my fingers & the large blade, more still running down my shirt and finding its way to the ground around me, mixing with the water to form unique artwork around me.

Tonight - the monsters that inhabit my brain are screaming so damn loud. I can’t ignore them any longer. The walls I built up so that I would never have to hear their voices couldn’t go any higher.

I hear the rumble of an engine in the distance. They are approaching quickly, sure, but will they make it in time?

The person that they see, day in and day out, is nothing more than a mask. A facade. A blatant lie.

But it’s also the only way to cope that I’ve ever known.

Being the real me - broken, scared, desperate for something I can never obtain - has only ever resulted in being more and more alone in this world.

I hear the purr of the engine a short distance behind me - the doors slamming shut in their hurry, and their booming voices carrying through over the din of the downpour.

“Y/N! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Their footsteps cause distinct splashes as they make their way to where I stand. I find the sound amusing for as morbid a moment this has become.

“Dean, chill,” Sam interjected, seemingly noticing my exasperation of their presence. “She’s fine; that’s the important thing.”

I am far more thankful for the water falling from the sky than I ever have been before. It is hiding the falling tears and making it that much easier to replace the mask I need for the interaction ahead.

“Sorry guys,” I keep my tone stoic and passively positive as always as I turn to face them. “I got a lead, and I took my chance before they could move again.”

“Sorry?” Dean bit out. “All you can say is ‘sorry guys’? We were worried sick, Y/N!” His voice was rough as always.

“Dean!”

“No, Sam! Not this time!” His hand was out, waving to dismiss his brother. “What the fuck is going on with you, Y/N!? Sneaking off, not telling a damn one of us where the hell you’re going off to. Taking on demons, werewolves, even a fucking wendigo - ALONE.”

I felt unattached from my body. As if watching overhead at the scene playing out below me. With a stoic blink, I heard myself respond, “I don’t see what the big deal is. I came out of each one alive and well.”

I sidestep the brothers and start the sadly short journey to my car on the other side of the vast open lot.

“Look, Y/N,” Sam said softly. I could just hear the resignation. “We’re just worried. Taking on those creatures is dangerous; let alone doing it without backup. And now you’re here taking out an entire nest of vampires?”

He tried to stay strong - not the ever tough soldier his brother was, but the solid rock we all came to expect. I could hear his voice break, though, despite his best efforts.

I turn back and lock eyes with each of them again, all while still taking steps back toward the vehicles. I could feel how dead my stare was; I could feel how painfully emotionless my face rested.

‘I’m not okay - can’t you see that?’ I want to shout at them.

I have so much to say, but no one to hear it.

Despite how much is at stake, keeping quiet not burdening the brothers - or their angel - with the battle inside myself.

I feel the emotions clash - the want and the need to tell them everything, right here and right now - the futility of it, seeping in and convincing me they don’t care.

So, I let the monsters win, silencing me once again. Lying to myself, they’d never understand why it’s so hard to say that I’m not okay.

“I’m fine, Sam. Really.”

“Then what is your excuse?” Dean cut in. “What is your reason for going out on these suicide missions? I mean, come on Y/N, let’s face it - you’re either hell-bent on destruction, or you’re just being stupid. And we both know you are smarter than Sam and I put together. So what’s the deal? What’s next? Trying to take on HellHounds?!”

I blinked heavily.

I wish I had an answer. I wish I had a scar, a bruise, something to show the proof of the battles I face, day in and day out. Something to show for the invisible abuse - faced with the choice to either be judged or hideaway in secret as I inevitably choose to do.

I let out a soft but long sigh. “I have no answer for you. Not one you’d accept anyway.”

Words may be my only option. The only visible symptom to show for the battle that wages is the sheer desire to end the torment that is my life.

I look at the two of them for a moment before finally breaking away to turn back - back to my car, back to my escape, back to a place where they can’t see the battle playing out in my mind. I can only hide so much. The tears were beginning to fall once again.

I hear the steps approaching. Their long strides make it easy work to catch up to where I am. Feeling a hand grip my upper arm and spin me around quickly - my face must have physically shown how distraught and angry I am. Unable to hide my emotions as I usually would - my gaze clashed with the glaring green eyes of Dean’s boring into me.

The reason I say my face must’ve revealed more than I wanted is because, after a long but instant moment, I saw his face drop.

In all the years we’ve been fighting together, he has never seen this side of me, and for a good reason.

“Y/N? Wh-” he releases his grip on my arm, running his hand down his face, contemplating. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing, Dean,” I say, schooling my features. “Forget it.” Quickly I ground myself, now trying to turn my features to stone - removing any trace of the ever hidden emotions that were trying to pour out.

“Bullshit.” His voice stopped me dead in my tracks. “Talk to me,” he said and shared a silent look to his brother, almost as if to confirm he didn’t imagine things, “Talk to us.”

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Sam joined. “You know you don’t have to hide things from us.”

“I’m fine. Just -”

“No. You’re not, okay,” Sam interjected, joining Dean in speaking firmly. “Something is wrong; tell us.” Sam was quiet for a moment before adding, “Please.”

I felt guilty as I noticed his voice break.

Staring at the brothers, I felt a mixture of emotions — contempt, love, bitterness, relief.

“Fine,” I bit out.

Perhaps knowing it was a losing battle, I caved for the first time in my life. “I’m not okay. You’re right. But I don’t have the words to explain the hell that goes on within my mind on a daily basis.”

“Try.” Dean retorted instantly, seamlessly - I hadn’t even finished speaking. I knew he was trying to offer comfort, in his ‘unattached,’ ‘too cool for attachment’ way.

“Humor us,” he added after a beat of me not responding.

I looked at him with a pinched look, shaking my head. I could feel every emotion ripping through me like a storm.

“I am in a constant state of being numb, Dean,” I finally said. “Numb to emotions, numb to life itself. Most people survive because they can see that light at the end of the tunnel - but for me?” I shake my head. “There is no light. It’s all just a dark cage without a key, just suffocating darkness and weight, with demons screaming at me. I don’t control my thoughts anymore; they control me.”

Sam shook his head now. “Y/N, why didn’t you say something? We can help you get through whatever this is.” Sam tried taking my hand, trying to offer some sort of comfort.

“It’s not a phase, Sam.” I pull my hand free abruptly, ignoring the pain in my chest from seeing Sam’s hurt expression. “It’s who I am, all I ever have been. I’m never going to be safe, always inching closer to that final breaking point.”

Dean seemed exasperated. “That’s fine,” he said. “If you break, that’s okay. Just don’t hide, and don’t go running off.”

Dean wrapped his arms around me with a strength I couldn’t gently pull away from, pulling me in close but still speaking loud enough that Sam could hear, “We’ll help you pick up the pieces. We’re a family, like it or not, punk. As a member of this family, you’re not allowed to quit.”

My brow furrowed the moment he called me family.

Dean, holding me at arm's length, graced me with a small, awkward smile. “Look, this may be a battle you feel you have to face solo, and so be it,” he motioned with one of his hands as if dismissing the thought, “but don’t quit on us. Sam and I, we’re here, always. Even if you just need to sit in silence with someone, so you aren’t alone. We get it; we’ve all been through a lot.”

I couldn’t stop staring at him, conflicted and upset - his grip on my arms felt heavy. Itchy and uncomfortable, as the only place I wanted to be right now was in my car. The rain had long since stopped or lightened - I couldn’t tell - but I just wanted to start the engine — bake in the heater. Drive.

After a long awkward beat of silence, Dean rolled his eyes lightly in slight awkward annoyance. “This is the part where you say: ‘back atcha! We’re a team!’ Y/N.”

I took light offense to how he mocked my voice, but it didn’t matter.

With a light, honestly fake feeling laugh, I removed his arms from mine.

“You don’t entirely get it, Dean.”

Dean scoffed lightly. “What, are you saying we don’t have hard times too? I can guarantee we—“

In an outburst I couldn’t control, I snapped. “Stop! Okay?? I’m not dismissing that you two have had a shitty life! I’m saying you don’t hear what goes on in my head, Dean.”

Sam, raising a placating hand, tried to calm me. “Please, Y/N, we may not understand what exactly is going on, but we understand your reactions to it.”

I just stood still, breathing hard - trying so hard not to cry.

Sam took this as a sign to continue. “Y/N, we care for you. And honestly, we don’t think anyone should be alone with thoughts like that.”

I felt my face melt like paper catching on fire - every emotion displayed as I felt my chin tense, and my lips quiver as I burst into tears.

The brothers’ embrace was welcome, however wet.

The emotions were not as welcome, but it was unstoppable.

Dean was closest to my ear as I sobbed, and I heard him softly say, “You’re not okay, but you will be. We’re with you every step of the way.”

A part of me hated him saying that, but I couldn’t ignore the relief I felt.

Maybe I would be okay.

25 notes · View notes

handlewcaare · 4 years

Text

Art credit: @kajuhz

Since the time he crawled out of his grave at the laboratory, isolation was the best company he could make. Anyone who approached him with well-meaning intentions were shot down. Mistakes were bound to happen, but he would have been a fool to make the same one twice.

Once he returned to the little hole in the wall that was his agency, he ensured to keep a gun wherever was accessible for a friendly genetist. Was it paranoia? He didn’t know, but he thought he was desensitized to it all. What one man’s fatal wounds were his blisters and mild annoyances.

That had been the exact reason as to why the Association wanted him.

Several years after he retired from being a lab rat, his agency ran slow. People would hire him for small investigative work, nothing that he usually did in the golden days. It was honest work, he wouldn’t complain, finding a stalker within the bushes and seizing him got his mind off it. However, with the rapid development of caped crusaders typically found in comic books, what good was an old gumshoe?

It wasn’t until a monster had destroyed his agency that he comprehended why people regarded them as a persistent menace.

The fault was his own for leaving his agency unlocked, but after seeing years of evidence for cold cases left in ashes, his regrets immediately flourished to rage. Furor was not a typical characteristic of his, but after seeing his furniture destroyed, the maps and photographs partially charred or shredded, the malicious being only grinned at how he set down his groceries by his feet and locked the door.

The aroma of burning flesh against the lashing tongue of a conflagration never bothered him. How his muscles and ligaments were shredded under the velocity of the being’s claws never hindered his own onslaught. How he had to pry his own intenstines out from his peritoneal cavity to prevent him from tripping over it never evoked a sense of horror. He would give credit when it was due, the doctor certainly enhanced his healing factor.

As it turned out, a Griffin-like being with a flaming head was harder to swat than he anticipated. From a bucket of water, to using the fire extinguisher before bashing it’s skull with the end of the empty canister, he didn’t know how long the fight lasted until it was a new record.

Seven days. Four hours. Twenty minutes.

As someone once said, “time flies when you’re in an adrenaline rush.”

Not even after he hobbled out of the destroyed agency with the singeing aroma of salt, copper, gasoline and rotting flesh, was he greeted with the cries reserved for the victor. Gasping and cheering onlookers could only watch in wide-eyed wonder and admiration at how he stood in grotesque triumph. Being in the limelight never gave him comfort, in fact, he nearly shuffled to escape the crowd as soon as possible.

“We could use someone like you,” a man in a well-tailored suit said, “I’m part of this association and—”

“No,” a harsh refutation, he knows, but he knew better than to hand out his trust like brochures.

In spite of his protest, the intern attempted to chase after him, “but, sir! That monster was a threat level—!” Demon? Dragon? Dog? Who knew. It wasn’t until his arm, the one hanging by a thread of rotting muscle, fell off his shoulder that he was finally left be. The suppressed disgust did not go unnoticed.

“I don’t care.”

Not initially. Had it been his choice, he wouldn’t have even dreamed of being regarded as a poster boy. Since being confined in a pseudo-cage match with just about every abomination Genus could conjure, joining a group of Boy Scouts would have heightened his sensitivity to something he encountered often.

He could barely stomach analyzing a pallid, frigid reflection of himself projected onto a stranger. To envision that scarlet thread lay limp between their finger and his own—a relationship he could best describe as acquaintances—only served as an irritant he couldn’t scratch out. Though, that might have been amplified by the constant attempts to recruit him.

At this point of his life, the private investigator would resume his work. He always did, even after spending a quarter of his immortal days chained to a wall with nothing but his thoughts and his weapons to keep him company.

His last case was what prompted him to apply.

He didn’t know who hired him, but he did know that someone managed to figure out the address to his homely apartment. When asked whether he knew who the handwriting belonged to, none of them would have matched the description of the writer.

Lollipops?

The private investigator couldn’t help but be a bit dubious, but it was better than getting harassment calls and emails from interns. He read somewhere that people ate sweets to stimulate their thinking, but he just assumed it was a quick way to get a sweet tooth.

What the hell, he needed to get some coffee anyway.

As instructed, he took the public transit to Y-City. Folks were more kinder, a bit pompous, but it could have been due to the fact that he was a walking carcass that made headlines already—save for the idol hero, Anal Mask or whatever the hell his name is—but college kids were quick to point out where Doctor Hajime’s lab was. “He teaches my robotics class,” was the usual answer.

By the time he encountered the front door, he counted how many seconds he would have to escape. Chances were there was gonna be a cyborg or a robot to try and pin him down, inject him with something to make him black out. He had his machetes tucked under the collar of his shirt, his dessert Eagles were holstered at his hips and he had a handsome fire axe within the bag of lollipops and candy apples. He had time to escape, he would ensure that he would, least he opt to shove himself into the nearby wood chipper to finally do himself in.

What he anticipated from the opening door was an older gentleman, someone with a bow tie and unruly and snowy hair. His countenance would have been cobwebbed with age, his shoulders hunched to pronounce a spinal compression. Yet, he would offer a smile as dulcet and as mannerly as any other kind old man.

Instead, the private investigator was greeted with a boy with vibrant tawny eyes and a little auburn curl at the top of his crown. He had to be no older than nine years old. He couldn’t have been any taller than the door knob.

In an instant, he snuffed out his cigarette against the masonry and knelt down to the kid’s height. An instinctual response from someone who was once an uncle—father?—in a family who had long forgotten about him. “Hey kiddo,” the investigator began, “you seen where your dad went off to?”

As incredulous as the kid was, the investigator nearly assumed he went to the wrong place. That was until the boy spoke, “Considering I haven’t seen my father in nearly four years, I’m afraid not,” he paused as he offered a small, wistful smile, “but trust me, you’re not the first person to ask me that.”

Safe to assume that the child genius was much more hospitable than the private investigator was accustomed to. Then again, as he presented a lollipop to the child, those tawny eyes flourished as he hastily accepted the treat from the detective’s grasp. “Thank you, sir!”

“Don’t mention it,” whether or not he was aware of it, there was a smile that aligned.

As the two of them enjoyed their sweets, Hajime elucidated further about the technological black market. What routes they typically took and how he managed to figure out their patterns. The kid truly did have a good head on his shoulders.

“I have a hypothesis that these robots that are being trafficked underneath City W, X, Y and Z aren’t really used for security.”

“And why do you think so?”

“Well, Z-City has a lot of manifestations of monsters. If basic security-Trons were sent off to handle the threats, it would be a waste of resources. I mean, it’s carbon and bismuth—it’s elementary stuff.”

The boy paused as he used his watch as a hologram to present the blueprint of one of the robots. The private eye wasn’t exactly ‘technologically savvy,’ but Hajime called it ‘basic’ so he would just have to take his word for it.

“But that’s not what caught my attention,” he elucidated, as the boy extended his fingertips, the robot’s physique separated by segments of its parts. When he pointed toward a certain adapter, the private investigator couldn’t help but furrow his brows a bit.

“That’s a cranial nerve implant.”

Hajime paused, as if he had fully prepared an exasperative and long-winded statement, “you’ve encountered them before?”

When implored, he suppressed the urge to visibly quake under the phantasmic impulses of electricity that had once trailed down the expense of his brain stem. It was a way to analyze how fast he developed increased intracranial pressure, he remembered Genus saying.

“Friend was a doc,” a decent lie that Hajime seemingly overlooked, though the private investigator felt an acrimonious taste in his mouth. “She said something about how it’d use electricity to wake up dead nerves.”

His russet glare narrowed as he brought a hand to caress his own chin, “thought they’d still be in development...”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” For a moment, the boy’s joviality made him appear exactly his age.

Ah- now it’s starting to make sense.

“From what I know, Z-City has monsters just about every corner,” the investigator began. His baritone suddenly lost it’s intrigue once he mentally assembled the puzzle pieces the best he could. “With monsters, people tend to be more scared than they should be. What do you think being scared means?”

The boy’s eyebrows raised, “they’re paranoid?”

“And—?”

“They...” while it was easy to assemble a mechanical enigma to guard civilians, it was harder to provide a baseline to something as fluctuating as human response. Hajime eventually restored to shrugging his shoulders, “...they’re desperate?”

With that, the private investigator pressed a finger to the tip of his nose before he pointed at Hajime. “Desperate people tend to do stupid. If I’m a single father living in Z-City, you think turning into the terminator wouldn’t be my go-to?”

Such analysis didn’t seem to satisfy the boy. Whether or not it was a challenging diatribe, it was enough of a refutation to make the investigator think a bit, “but you know it’s permanent right? I mean, the cranial nerves aren’t exactly something you want to tamper with, especially if those implants can get into your cerebrum and alter you entirely.”

“Well, you—the kid genius—might know that,” he deflected easily, “but what about me? I’m a single father with a degree in underwater basket weaving. Do you think they taught me about cranial nerves while I was trying to make a basket?”

One could hear a pin drop until the boy piped up, “I mean- if you’re scuba diving and you’re weaving the basket—”

“Just finish your lollipop, kiddo.”

Several weeks had passed when they finally traced a call to one of the robotic manufacturers. It was certainly much more handy than to thread scarlet yarn along what tabs had pinned photographs. Then again, doing things the old fashioned way made old habits die hard.

Needless to say, the private eye could understand the boy’s fascination with his toy-like projects. From a giant action figure he kept buried within the depths of the earth to the robot dogs that served as a pseudo-trump card, it was like assembling legos for him. As the two of them took the public transit to Z-City, the two of them settled into a comfortable silence, save for Hajime’s need to tamper with a Rubik’s cube.

Unlike the other Alphabet cities, the ambiance around Z-City felt calloused and empty. It was but the abyss that stared upon them once they left the transit and it gave the private eye an eery sensation that crept along his vertebrae. It must have been that paternal instinct.

“Stay close to me,” he cautioned, though he should have known better that Hajime didn’t like to be talked down to.

“I can take care of myself.”

“—and if I can’t take care of myself?”

Reverse psychology seemed to do wonders, as Hajime’s vanity subsided for the need to have his partner’s back. Should anyone ask, the detective wouldn’t admit the presence of his little smile.

The call had declared that the deal would be set in the alley nestled next to a udon stand and an apartment complex. It was an easy hole in a wall and, considering how the civilian was late, he and Hajime had to play their part. Between himself and no one in particular, he preferred it that way. The last thing he wanted was for someone to die in front of the boy.

“Oi,” the thuggish chirp resounded from the maw of a strange man who looked mechanically modified. His brows were too close to his eyes, accenting a crueler look. The detective fought every urge to usher Hajime behind him. “You Hammerhead?”

He silently reprimanded himself for not bringing a hammer.

“Yeah,” the detective’s response was nonchalant, a lethargic drawl that could have remained hidden within a thick penumbra of nicotine.

“Who’s the brat?”

“Mine,” short and concise, though he let his russet gaze nearly puncture into the dealer, “you want the money or should I show you my wedding photos?” He went in too eager, though that was exactly the point with desperate people. Fortunately, the dealer turned out to simply comply at the mention of money.

“Seven thousand yen.”

It was agreed upon with a shaky baritone by the real customer prior. However, it was a game that the detective often played prior to meeting Dr. Genus. Once he began to thumb his fingers along the bills in his pocket, the dealer swiftly interjected the detective’s counting.

“I-I meant Seventy thousand!”

“Oh?”

Seventy thousand it was that was instantly slapped into the dealer’s hand. However, there was hardly a moment when the dealer abruptly seized the detective’s arm and held him hostage at gunpoint.

Needless to say, one should never underestimate the strength of a man who wanted to make civilians into cyborgs. With an irritated sigh, the immortal felt his head jerk to the side as a bullet pierced through his temporal lobe. Albeit, the moment his body should have sprawled limp was the instant he seized his machete and took a blind swipe. What astonishment and pure horror from the mechanical marvel only wrought a hand to catch the blade.

Fortunately, the fist that veered to deck the detective never came to deliver. Rather, a tendril that emerged from Hajime’s backpack seized the mechanical marvel’s appendage into a tight lock. It was but a split second when the detective retrieved the machete’s twin and severed the appendage.

“Shit—!” The hydra hydrolauics swiftly seized ahold of the being and attempted to suspend him in the air. Hajime’s hands braced tight to his backpack’s straps, though the dealer proved to be a formidable foe, as he laconically wrapped his free arm around a tendril to toss the brat.

Safe to say that the detective prioritized catching the kid than the dealer. Both had landed with a harsh grunt against the asphalt before the detective hastily retrieved his desert Eagle and fired. Once again, it was a null chance, given how he was abruptly seized by his throat and tossed through the brick masonry of the neglected library.

What sanguine from the brunt trauma coagulated and the flesh wounds he sustained, he could only instinctively block the blow from the mechanical marvel. Regular fisticuffs was a fond favorite of his, typically because of how seldom he did it. What reciprocating strike had been enough to swivel his head evoked him to land a brutal bite of his axe into where his opponent should have been.

“Mr. Detective!”

It was but a moment that the private eye peered over to see Hajime with a snapped tendril, it’s cobwebs of electricity was a big enough hint for him. The instant he distanced himself, the dealer had not a moment to abstain when his back arched under the brutal conduction of carbon and lightning. His howl was guttural, ripping through the empty ambiance before he collapsed at their feet.

What should have been a victorious high-five was but a dreadful beat of anticipation. Hajime could only stare down at the beaten villain, “did I kill him...?” His murmur was rather hushed, as monsters were not the same as modified humans.

For the sake of the boy’s anxiety, the detective brought the tip of his shoe to budge the dealer. The somnolent twitch of his countenance wrought a sense of relief to weigh into the boy’s sigh.

The private investigator offered a high-five for the boy to make. The gesture was slow, as if cautious, but the kid genius managed to reciprocate it. “You did good,” he didn’t know it then, but it was a compliment that Hajime would hold to his heart later.

On taking the transit back to City-Y, the detective opted to intervene the silence. An odd thing for him to do, but it was just them and a few others coming home late.

“So, your parents—” it might have been too sensitive of a subject, but he opted to continue, “—did they uh...” it would have been easy to assume they did die. After all, it was how every hero was sculpted.

Hajime only shook his head, “no,” he said before he retrieved a little Rubik’s cube from his backpack. His fingers fidgeted the slots as his hazel gaze lingered toward the trinket, “I mean, they’re overseas. They send me birthday cards sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” The private investigator couldn’t help but raise a brow at that.

“When they remember.”

Had the private investigator known about Hajime’s profession outside of being a teacher then, he would have been more than happy to demand what the hell was more important than their own kid. Did they know he was handled by suits who depended on currency than their own workers? Even if one of them—two if he counted Badd later—was a child?

Even if he didn’t know it, his furor was quiet enough to make him try to huff out a sigh. His jaw clenched along the curses he would have hissed under his breath when no one was around. Fortunately, Hajime was a quick study.

“What about you?” He must have thought it was a witty comeback, considering how his nose wrinkled a bit, “where’d your parents go?”

“Can’t say I remember,” he knew he had them, but he didn’t know what he did with them. Were they around when he died the first time? Longer? All he could afford to do was wander aimlessly as a phantom without a shell. “Been around since the A.D’s.”

“The A.D.’s??”

As it turned out, Hajime was fascinated with history. The boy’s queries seemed to be rapid fire initially, such as whether or not Shakespeare was a real person (he was), how far has technology gone (far enough), or if the crusades were as brutal as written (it was, but he never had the pleasure in fighting in the wars). The boy’s excitement seemed to tucker him out quickly unfortunately.

Just as the private investigator began to describe what Feudal Japan was like, Hajime nodded off and slumped against the detective’s shoulder. Their stop only prompted him to gingerly scoop the boy up into one arm and carry his—surprisingly dense—backpack with the other. Fortune came in technological wonders, as the lab seemed to unlock its hinges at the presence of their creator’s facial recognition.

The time was late when he finally tucked the boy into bed. Hajime’s backpack slumped against the masonry. There was a strange and phantasmic ache at the base of the detective’s chest, something he hadn’t really felt since he last died.

Prior, he often wondered if it was better to be alone or to try and have a family. He was told he was good with kids by their parents who would hire him to find them. To imagine himself as a father was frightening nowadays, as he could envision that bastard trying to pick up his kids for experimentation.

With Hajime safely in bed, the detective’s thoughts drifted to the newspaper that detailed the triumphs of S-Class Hero Child Emperor against the dreadful turnip monster that interrupted his robotics cla—

...They seriously named the kid “Child Emperor” huh?

The detective contemplated on the transit home just as hard as he was contemplating it back home. His glare lingered toward the shredded up business card. It took every increment of his pride to collect the pieces, but the heroes association weren’t exactly child-friendly.

Did that mean he couldn’t try to do better? For the first time, he felt a sense of balance when handling the dealer. His agency was going to go nowhere and he needed the money, that wasn’t including the fact that Hajime would have ended up, perhaps, the only sensible person there.

he hated being right at times.

He needed to do better, not for the sake of spiting Genus, but to be better for himself.

After he called the intern’s number, he waited until there was a ‘hello?” At the other end of the line.

“Hi,” he says, “I’d like to file a hero application. Do you mind walking me through the process?”

#one punch man #opm #what kendall writes.#Zombieman #child emperor #It took me awhile to write P H E W #sorry about that!#origins headcanon #It’s probably my longest post #hope everyone enjoys though!

37 notes · View notes

wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

Hi Evoe, can I ask for you to write this MCxVinca fic? The request is where mc made deal with demons by giving up ability to feel touch to obtain darkness and light powers so she can keep up with Vinca and her friends. However, demon magic corrupt mc’s soul. Mc went dark and betray her lover by using Vinca’s knife to kill her so she can become Pride and take her mind reading power. Mc made it looks like it’s from Vuzgamad’s ambush and claimed that Vinca made her a successor before her death

Part 4

Warnings:

Mental Health Insane Levels of denial Body Phobia? Strong Language Blood and Gore Assisted Suicide Forced Murder? Self Sacrifice Major Character Death A majorly self indulgent, arrogant ghost writer.

Written by: @evoedbd Part One, Part Two, Part Three ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Rae had always heard of happy endings. The hero made a great sacrifice, endured the trials of their mistakes and rose above. The hero swooped in, got the girl, the Hollywood kiss and crescendo music of life… But everyone knew Hollywood was full of shit. It was a series of cucked up hopes and dreams, of self-denials wrapped up into comical tales to avoid the pain, or forgiveness where life would have kicked the shit out of them. As Rae contemplated her existence as it was, she finally understood. There was no happy ending for the characters who never made it. In life, mistakes weren’t undone by an overlay of laughter, or a kiss between hero and leading lady. There was no black and white, no Superman and Lex Luthor. No Batman and Joker. In life, mistakes led to pain, and sometimes there was no resolution. Sometimes, there was no happy ending. Sometimes, there was just darkness. Just a simple question.

How?

Rae damn well understood that question right now. She felt it to the core, to the bone in her mental scape. This was her own mind, the place she was meant to be strongest. The place every war was won, before she even took a step onto a battlefield in the “real” world. But how? How was she going to even win this war when even the act of trying to lift a finger of a single part of her mind was harder than declaring world war three. When she’d fragmented herself so far, broken herself into so many little pieces trying to protect those she loved. For all the window dressings, for all the add ons of experience and DLCS of happy memories, this was all that she had left. All she amounted to. A crumpled figure in a dark room; a world of black with a solitary beam of light baring down on her broken body. How could there be a happy ending when she was so powerless? So broken?

She’d thought she understood torture, understood disconnection. She’d lived without touch for over a year now, slowly forgetting the warmth of Vinca’s hug, the taste of a kiss. How it felt to have another break so willingly into her hands, only to reconstruct them in the afterglow. Her life had been exhaustion. A visual game of when to pretend she felt, and when to ignore. How long a hug should be held before someone got awkward. If a handshake was too hard. Or too fish wristed. Touch had become sight, visuals and sounds. Life, nothing more than a movie.

How? How had the script gotten so fucked up?

She was meant to be the hero. She’d done the heroic thing. When things were hopeless, she’d sold her soul. She’d agreed to sacrifice the ability to touch another when she’d shaken Vuzgamad’s hand. She’d sacrificed to save those she loved. She’d SAVED them. Vinca. Onyx. Yvette. She’d SAVED them. She’d struggled, for so long, she’d pretended everything was fine. She’d bitten back her tears until Vinca stilled beside her. She’d laughed and apologised when a hug for Onyx was too tight, too painful. She’d done the heroic thing. The hero was meant to get the girl, meant to swoop her up into a cinematic kiss, not beat them into a bloody pulp. Not make them cry, make them plead. She was meant to be the hero. She wanted to be. Just once, Rae had wanted to be more than the side chick. More than the love interest. No, fuck that. Rae had never subscribed to the stupid roles and rules. All she’d wanted was to save those she loved, be strong enough for them. She’d been stupid enough to take the deal, to shake hands with the Devil. To sell human touch for the power over Light and Shadow, over all they encompassed… at the time, it had seemed worthwhile. The only way to overcome the odds as a human amongst heroes. For once, she’d been able to fight alongside them, instead of being the one tending the wounds. But the cost had drained her, spiralled out of her control. She couldn’t even identify when she’d lost control. Was it the first time she’d recognised the schemes building within her? The first time she’d answered Vuzgamad’s call? Taken the credit for victories when it had only been the Demon’s words that allowed them? Was it when her mind had snapped, fighting itself until what she identified as herself was imprisoned within her own mind as darkness paraded around, scheming to destroy everything she cared for as she was forced to watch?

How could she save Vinca when she couldn’t even make her body behave?

The horror movie continued, reaching the crescendo as Rae watched her own hand close around one of Vinca’s blades. No! This wasn’t how the movie ended, it couldn’t be! She screamed, kicked and clawed at the bars of her cage, as if her mind was some video game. Maybe if she jumped down the right tube, she might be able to reach the button. To shut herself down. If she smashed the spacebar, she could leap across the chasm, stitch herself together enough to redirect the blade… but she was so tired. Drowning. The water was pushing her into the bars of her cage, the landslide was swallowing the light. Only those solo screens were clear, the screens which showed her baring down upon Vinca… but hands were slushing through the water, digging her out. There were keys in the door, but she was too tired to turn the lock. Too tired to kick. To move her arms. Limp. So close and yet so far… dragged. A solid hand around her wrist dragged her to the door, was pulling her to the surface.

Then it was lips upon her own that finally granted her the air her lungs had screamed for.

How? After so long, how could she feel the warmth against her? The puffs of agonised breath against her cheek through fine nostrils, the unseemly clunk of teeth against her own. It didn’t matter. She could feel… after so long, she could FEEL those lips against hers. An addiction, a benediction. She gasped, lifting her own hands to a familiar blond pixie cut, pulling those lips into her own. Crushing herself to them. Taking. Everything and anything… This was everything. The breath of life, warm and spreading down her own chest… why weren’t both hands in Vinca’s hair? She’d raised both of them, she swore… but pressure? Firm, warm, gentle. Hands surrounding one of hers. Her right. The hand which had been almost melted around the hilt of Vinca’s blade. The answer was there, just beneath the shadows in her mind, a mind clearer than it had been since she’d shaken Vuzgamad’s hand. A demon… She’d made a deal with a demon! A demon who was laughing as if they’d just watched a comedy. Not just a single demon. All of them, disbelief and malicious glee echoing through the air. As if the unexpected was delicious. As if they’d won.

“Vinca?” Trepidation flooded Rae’s voice as her eyes opened, expecting to find fury reflected in the skies. Instead, she found agony. She found reluctant acceptance, found a lone tear flowing down a beautiful cheek, catching between parted, bloodied lips. There was too much blood. It stained pristine white teeth into a sickly, blotchy pink. It trickled from the corner of a heartbroken smile, the face of courage in darkness. Sunlight after forty days of rain… Bittersweet. Her warmth left Rae’s hands, coming to gently cradle the former mechanic’s trembling jaw. A lone thumb brushed fine lips, urging her to be silent, leaving metallic warmth behind.

“Rae…” Vinca’s voice was a whisper on the wind, a smile given vocal form, relief. A whisper from the heart, exposing everything. Her eyelids fluttered, the weakened wings of a bird… a bird who’d been shot, was bleeding, an arrow buried within its heart. An arrow that looked just a little too much like Vinca’s blade. The Pride assassin let out an overly wet, weak laugh, one punctuated by a glob of red spilling between her parted lips. From her laden tongue. For one bright moment, her eyes shone, reflecting the stars hanging in the stillest night sky. Rae should have known that meant that beauty was already dead, inevitably gone, with only an echo remaining. Just like said stars, Vinca fell, legs giving out, leaving Rae falling under her weight. Fighting to hold the larger body upright as confusion erupted across her expression. It only lasted a few moments before her gaze drifted to Vinca’s chest. Red. So much red. Layers and shades, from brown-tinged to red tinging black. Just like med school. Just like the cadavers, Rae hadn’t cut cleanly, so they’d begun to bleed over her. Just like a self-saucing chocolate pudding, with the insides bubbling out of a cut crust. A volcano bleeding lava. Red. Insides leaking. Flowing. Cut. Bleeding… the length of the blade rattling within a fleshy sheath.

“Fuck… that… hurt.”

“VINCA!” Rae felt herself shriek, her body erupting into action. A single blink had everything rushing back. The way she’d fought, tried to stop the blade. Vinca’s hands pulling the blade in, forcing Rae to commit to the blow. To the….

“H-haven’t heard you that l-loud for a while, Squirt.” Vinca’s voice was so quiet. So feeble. Weakening. Strength draining with each pulse of her blood.

“Don’t you fucking joke, Wren! I stabbed you! I am so fucking…. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Just stay still, Vinc, I can fix this. I can fix this. I can you, I just have to… I can fix this, I swear. Just stay with me, please! Please… I can fix this, PLEASE? Let me fix it…” Rae pleaded, her voice rising in octaves as her hands desperately pressed down on Vinca’s chest, on the wound. This. It was her thing. Fixing people. Helping people. She had to do this, had to save Vinca. Had to fix it. That’s what she did. Fixed things. Fixed people. Repaired bikes and flesh. This was HER thing. She had to fix it. She could fix it. She SHOULD be able to fix it. But she couldn’t, she knew that even as she stubbornly denied the looming inevitability. Vinca had lost blood. So much blood. Too much blood. She needed blood! Now! Frantic, Rae began to scoop at Vinca’s blood, dragging it back towards the gaping hole in her chest. Trying to shove it back through the wound, like a child trying to restuff a teddy bear the dog had chewed. Paddling in the kiddie pool… but that pool was Vinca. Fading with every splash. The sheer amount of blood was so slippery, so gritty, leaving Rae’s palms sliding across Vinca’s skin with desperate, frustrated cries. She threw her everything into it, all of her measly body weight. If only she was fatter. Worthy of the biggest loser even. Over three hundred pounds. That she’d stopped exchanging the chocolate bars for apples. That she hadn’t been so dedicated to her fitness. Maybe if she was just a kilo heavier. Her hands larger, more meat and less lean tendons. If she was more flab and less ab…

“Rae…” Vinca implored, fighting until she managed to lift her befouled hands to Rae’s jaw. She trembled, barely managing a brush of her fingertips across Rae’s flesh, leaving strokes of her life as wet paint across Rae’s jawbone. There was something so gentle in her voice, pity and sorrow mixed with that unmistakable fondness she held for Rae and Rae alone. How had Rae missed that? The little tones amongst tones that Vinca held for everyone in her life. Tones which told tales far wilder than even the most drunken buffoon standing on the most rickety table in a dingey, run-down bar. Tales more touching than Shakespeare’s finest tragedy. More moving. Rae couldn’t believe she’d missed it, like a ship in the night whilst she was the Titanic sinking into the blues of Vinca’s eyes. She was once again bewitched by the depth of blue. Why had she not appreciated this? How had she not seen? They weren’t just blue, not just a flat shade. They were almost a braiding of blues forming a beautiful whole. Little circles and patterns Rae wished she could have spent forever memorising. They were the sky, she always knew this, but they weren’t just any sky. They were… she couldn’t even process. Never, in all her life, had she seen eyes so blue. Not just their colour, but their spirit. The essence of colour and emotion. Blue. Blue to counteract the red. No… No. Rae Lang couldn’t accept this, not now. Religious Parents denied their kids were gay for years, surely Rae could master the same level of world-altering denial. Maybe Mrs “something smells” down the road could offer her lessons on the haughty head tilt… But Rae knew, deep down, couldn’t ignore this. No amount of denial was going to pump the blood back into Vinca’s veins. Was going to undo the very lethal damage. Vinca Wren was dying in her arms, and all she could do was think how to keep the world turning even as it disintegrated. By the look of understanding in Vinca’s eyes, she saw every torment, every fight Rae was facing. She pitied. Afterall, Vinca knew she was no longer going to be there to save her fiery little Chinese Mechanic. But… just like the ocean, just like Vinca’s eyes, the pain seemed to run deeper. An undercurrent of guilt, until all Rae could do was stare, was let herself fall closer once she noticed the tremble of Vinca’s lip. The Pride assassin growled, a sound more akin to a wet mewl from a half-dead kitten in an alleyway, yet the sound seemed to be enough. She threw her body into the movement, lifting her hands, tangling her long fingers into Rae’s hair in an effort to hold her closer. She pulled, letting her dying weight bring Rae’s forehead to her own, bring them as close as the physical world could allow. Never close enough.

“It’s you. By my sacrifice, it is you. By the power of us all, we choose you. B- by our decree, it’s you.” Vinca’s voice was so fragile, precious breath given to form such a simple sentence. Her words skimmed across Rae’s lips, hot, laden with magic. The taste of smoke, destruction and sugary sweet. The tang of metal, but beyond the blood of Vinca’s lips brushing her own. No, it was as if she’d swallowed Vinca’s blades, as if they were running molten down her throat.

“Please don’t leave me.” It was weak, a pathetic plea half sobbed, half-whispered. The strongest words Rae could summon, the closest to truth she could give. Everything hurt. How her knees felt against the cold floor. How every gash had begun to scab over, only to break again when she moved too suddenly. How Vinca, normally larger than life, was brought so low… the knives within her body, that creeping, molten sense that sought out every pain and bolstered it. Vinca’s sad smile, an expression she felt tickle her own along with the bump of a sharp nose.

“I’m sorry… My soul to repair yours, Rae. My sacrifice.” Vinca gurgled, one hand sliding from Rae’s hair. The Chinese woman sobbed, a broken, bitter sob as one of her hands chased that hand, clutched just above the hilt of the dagger. The strength of Vinca’s grasp was surprising, holding Rae’s hand even when the Chinese woman tried to withdraw. There was something immobile between them, a texture too similar to the hilt of Vinca’s blades, yet so impossibly soft. Nothing she could identify. Nothing she cared to. Not now.

Suddenly, communication was clear, as if she’d gone through life staring at water droplets across the surface of a mirror, diluting the image, and finally, someone had come and wiped them away. Vinca had wiped them away, taken those naturally formed zig zags and streaks away and finally let Rae see everything. She could hear it, a thousand gripes and thoughts flickering around her, all laid out like candy behind the glass. All she had to do was reach for what she desired, and it was hers. No payment. No cashier to tell her no. She could delve into anything, into anybody, shove her grubby fingers into any pie and nothing could stop her. Nothing would ever be the same again. She was strong, unending power, a pillar of the human world and yet removed from it by her very existence. Only the most special would see anything beyond this, beyond the mantle she’d had thrust upon her. People like Vinca. Like Onyx… like herself. Just as she had the moment she’d accidentally said gay instead of Rae. Just like she had when she’d asked Vinca who she was, and meant it. When she’d not taken everything for granted, even though thinking like a mirror was so much easier than acknowledging the droplets she could never have erased… the moment she’d unintentionally stepped up and dropped her name into the hat. The only name Vinca had seen worthy, and the only name she’d never wanted to burden with her pride.

“No. No! You don’t get to do this! You fucking… you just, GAH! Stop sacrificing for other people! Stop it! Take it back, Vinc! T-Take it back!” Rae screamed; grief forgotten in her wrath. Fuck this. Fuck everything! Why was it always Vinca? What kind of world would do this to someone so generous? The world, fate, humanity… All of it was a cancer, devouring from the inside out, turning Vinca into a husk with air in her lungs. Rae refused. She couldn’t be another statistic on who’d taken from Vinca… but she was, wasn’t she? A kiss more metallic than blood has passed more than emotions. It’d been Vinca’s gift. Her everything, the transfer of her mantle. Of her soul… Rae didn’t want it. Not when the cost was so high. Yet, greedily, she cradled it to her chest, gathered the power internally even as she physically tried to gather Vinca closer, as if she might ward off death.

“Oh thank fuck. Thinking is so much easier than talking.” Even in their minds, Vinca sounded pained, a fading note Rae had just caught on the wind. The pulsing of beats across a chasm Rae could never cross. A beat she couldn’t tune out, couldn’t fully hear. Limbo. Imperfect nothingness, thus becoming something. Something which would soon be nothing more than the fading note in time, as all life truly was.

“Don’t you fucking DARE! Vinc, take it back! Y-you can’t!” Rae spoke out loud, refusing to accept, refusing to play. Could Vinca even read her mind anymore? Was she even..? There was a difference between them, a difference to Vinca. A difference to Rae. Suddenly, Vinca was no longer larger than life, no longer a sin incarnate. She was so… human. Completely. Rae knew, just as she knew she would take her next breath. Just as she knew another tear would fall, that even superhuman, she could never shed enough tears. Perhaps that was why she bled, her body letting her grief flow freely. A droplet of blood offered for a thousand tears. Her entire body sobbing, staining her hoodie, her shirt, her jeans. Was this why Vinca had always worn red? To hide the tears. To hide the blood she shed?

“I… won’t leave you. T-they can’t h-have my girl.”

“Vinca! Please! I love you, I ca-” Rae swallowed, throat too thick to continue.

“Let me save you… one more time, just let ME save you. Not Pride.” Vinca’s internal plea was soft, a million answers to the questions shooting around Rae’s subconscious. Another blow to the heart. Why now? She’d fought so long, loved so long to get even a skerrick of an answer from Vinca. She’d practically had to get a doctorate in psychology to even begin to understand the complexities of the human in her arms. Now, after all this, she was just being given the answers? Just given EVERYTHING? She had NEVER wanted everything. Never wanted something to just be given to her for just existing. She’d never wanted to be among the stars, not when she could turn and watch Vinca shine brighter. Now though… the stars were forced into her hands, life smiling as it snuck Vinca away, looking at Rae as if she’d gotten the better deal… she hadn’t. The stars, the depths of the oceans, the arcane. None of it was worth Vinca Wren. It was a cold comfort, to hold such power, when the hole in her heart was growing between the slowing beats of Vinca’s.

“This wasn’t how it was meant to go…” Rae whispered, her eyes sliding closed, eyelids only fluttering to let out her tears. She rested her forehead to Vinca’s, breathing in every gasp escaping the former Pride assassin. Dirty, tainted air, more precious than the gems of the world, the stars in the skies, than the mysteries of the deep. Treasure was not simply all that glittered, not when compared to a dying heart. Life. That was the true treasure, the soul the gleam or soot concealing the prize. And Rae had taken it, taken both so selfishly. She could feel it, an inexplicable sense of Vinca filling her lungs, patching the damages the demons had inflicted. Weaving into her being, until where she ended and Vinca’s patchwork begun was almost seamless within. Almost. Rae knew where to look, where to find every gnarled scar, every torment. She would always know those scars.

“I was meant to save you.”

“Right… cause loving me, treating me like a human, reminding me of who I was doesn’t count as soul-saving. In every cliché sense of the concept, Rae, you did. If I could… I’d smack you. Just… stay with me.” Vinca’s internal snark was sharp, enough to earn a startled laugh out of Rae. A short burst of amusement and disbelief before it faded. Before Vinca let herself collapse, let her eyes drift closed, lips peeled into a tender smile.

“I don’t think I’m opening my eyes again, Rae… thank you, for a last laugh.”

“Vinc… No. No, no no, stay with me! Just a little longer, please. I can’t let go.” Rae sobbed, her voice shattering, catching in the back of her throat. That one frustrating area, just behind the roof of her mouth, just at the beginning of the throat. It ached in that one stupid place, where no water could reach. Where no pain could truly be soothed. She didn’t want it to be. If soothing was letting go, she wanted to burn. To suffer. She’d live her life in this limbo, these few seconds that stretched for minutes. A novel to explain a single minute. She’d forever be an uncompleted story if she didn’t have to endure this. Didn’t have to listen to Vinca’s final thoughts trickle away.

“I knew. The moment you screwed your own name up and announced you were Gay, I knew… I’m sorry I wasted time being… It’s so cold. Death is fucking freezing, Rae… Please don’t leave. Don’t make me be alone again. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Never.” Rae vowed, projecting everything into the way she held Vinca’s hand, holding with as much strength as was left in her body. Hard enough to crush the bones, bones Vinca wouldn’t feel anymore. Her short nails bit into Vinca’s flesh, leaving little crescent moons, drawing more blood. It wasn’t enough. Never could it be enough. Her hands were too weak to hold a life from the claws of death, even with every power flooding her veins. All she had was a moment, a breath taken, one which she feared would leave her words falling on unhearing ears. It didn’t matter if Vinca heard them or not, whether she spoke in time with Vinca’s final moment of consciousness. It buzzed within her, within them, the sentiment. The magic weaving them together, a final mockery to every deal made with every devil. To everything Pride had forced upon Vinca from the moment love had made her accept the mantle… just as it had led her to lay it down. Just as it moved Rae to accept it.

“You’ll never be alone again, Vinca Wren.”

17 notes · View notes