#everyone wants me so bad but no one is capable of approaching me

[p3rson27]

I love the way wine hits it's like

I'm fine :) (I'm so sexy and powerful and this alcohol isn't affecting me at all)

*stands up*

Uh oh

[fragmentofmemories]

while i was drawing characters for [REDACTED] i was thinking "hey i should probably draw a maid with short, purple hair and have her be the innkeeper."

then i remembered eou did that and i've never sulked so hard before...

[mellowwillowy]

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

Yan! Sugar Daddy who fell in love with you at first sight in the cafe he often visited for his daily to-go coffee. He had seen lots of beauties but you were the first to catch his breath.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who tried to woo you, he tried his best to not scare you and subtly flirt with you. It took him a huge courage to approach you and ask for your number.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who found out you were still just a college student who was most likely to be struggling with financial issues, or so he assumed from how most of the students there were.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who took his time bonding with you before subtly offering an arrangement with you, a mutual arrangement of a sugar relationship. Instead of sex, fancy dates, or a plus one to those higher-ups events, he wanted your company all the time if he could.

You were wary and hesitant but his silver-tongued nature convinced you that this would change your life for the better.

While you were inexperienced in most of it, Yulian made sure to make you feel comfortable about it and him. The weekly allowance and PPM were enough to make you never lift a single finger to work anymore.

The more you spent time with him, the less it felt like an arrangement. It felt like a man treating you with utmost respect while spoiling you with luxuries you would never imagine to have.

But with such great benefits came a great price. You noticed that you had been seeing your friends less because of the attention you had on him.

You noticed the higher-ups never stopped sneering at you for being a commoner or his pet whenever you attended the fancy events with him as his plus one.

You noticed how you had almost less to none freedom, always heavily guarded by what seemed to be his bodyguards. Who was he and why did you even need this sort of protection?

One day you decided to trick his bodyguards with your flat-out white lies so that they'd leave you alone. They did not expect someone like you to ever lie and put them at risk so they left you alone.

All you did was wander around in awe, checking the grand balcony to go to the washroom as normal people would.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who was seething in rage when the bodyguards came to him, tricked by your childish lie. But there was no way something bad would happen with this slight mistake right? You were not his spouse by any means.

But oh did everyone know you were someone he fancied for the first time in his whole life. Part of his brain just tried to look at this mistake in a bright light and it backfired.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who had to be endlessly teased by his great-for-nothing cartel friend. He had to endure the stress of losing you and the risk of not being able to take you back.

It's not like the Drug Lord couldn't help him, it was simply humiliating for him to endanger you by not keeping a close eye on you.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who could track you down in less than a week and ordered a mass slaughter on the faction that imprisoned you. You were not wounded terribly but a wound was still a wound.

Yan! Sugar Daddy was just a confidant to the Drug Lord and an infamous lawyer. You only knew he was a lawyer but never the lurking threat of his other occupation. No wonder he was always wary of his surroundings.

How could someone from such a cold underground world have the heart to fall in love with you? That was what you thought when you woke up to his concerned face.

Weeks passed and it didn't take him so long to propose to you, for you to become his spouse.

"I truly love you, dear. I have never even once seen our arrangement as something strictly business instead." He showed you a velvety box with a diamond ring in it. "I admit, it was not the best approach but I thought I could work my way into your heart while profiting you with all the benefits and luxuries you could have from me."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, "I wanted you to see how capable I am."

Something told you that nothing good would come out of your refusal. And instead, logic swarm into your brain. You had been in an arrangement with him for almost a year already and had never even once felt any hardships.

He was nice to you, downright kind and loving even. He cared for you deeply and wouldn't hurt you in any way. It was your fault that you broke free from the barrier of protection he granted you.

With great fame and luxuries, came all sorts of threats. He wasn't disloyal like those higher-ups. He didn't belittle you like others would. He loved you.

Even if you didn't love him, you knew how great it felt to be loved by him. There was not a single loss from this arrangement which was a marriage, right?

[dearaceofhearts]

you walk out after an argument

characters: husk, alastor, angel dust, vox, lucifer word count: 2.9k genre: angst to fluff summary: after an argument with them, you walk out and don't come back for a few days. how do they react? author's note: hello yes this is my first time actually posting something. erm, i think i wrote too much (sorry) but hey we roll with it!! also dude i accidentally posted this before it was ready twice and i had a heart attack oh my god. anyways i don't think vox's is really fluff (oops) but everyone else's is

♡ husk

when you slam the door shut on your way out, husk lets out a low grumble, setting down the glass he was cleaning onto the bar counter with a quiet sigh. it was one of the first arguments you'd had in a long time. although he wasn't usually one to get riled up so easily, the two of you knew each other well enough to know just what buttons to push to get under the other's skin. that, alongside him already having a bad day, had been a recipe for disaster.

in the few days that pass by, it's hard to tell just how affected he is by your absence since he does a pretty good job of keeping a cool facade. to anyone looking, he wouldn't appear any different than usual, just idly cleaning bottles as he always does.

but it's the small things that give away just how much husk cares and worries for you, like how his eyes flicker towards the door whenever someone comes in, his ears perking up slightly. he hates the twinge of disappointment that follows when it's not you, a slight scowl curling at his lips as he takes a swig of alcohol from one of the many bottles on the shelves of the bar. he misses talking to you. you're his favourite drinking buddy, after all.

his gaze always seems to wander back to the front door of the hotel, lingering for just a little too long before he eventually turns back to the bar, expression settling back into its usual grouchiness. but underneath that lies a hint of worry that gnaws at him in the back of his mind, even though he knows you're more than capable of handling yourself. at the end of the day, you can never be too careful in hell.

husk won't force you to come back, but he just wants to know that you're safe and sound. he trusts that you'll come back when you're ready so that the two of you can talk it over and hopefully resolve things. he doesn't want to leave it like this, and he's sure you don't either. you mean a lot more to him than he'd like to admit.

when you decide to finally return to the hotel, he pauses upon catching sight of you stepping through the doorway. he can't help the small wave of relief that washes over him, though you wouldn't be able to tell by the way he smoothly resumes restocking the bar. when you approach the counter, he looks up, giving you a short nod. "hey." he greets you, tone surprisingly softer than you're used to, "you're back."

husk's not really the type to beat around the bush, so he'd likely address the argument pretty quickly. he's also not particularly one for verbal apologies, so he'd probably be more willing to show it through his actions. you see it in the way he lets you cling to him a little longer than he normally does, leaning into him as he wordlessly holds you, his tail loosely curling around your leg. if you listen closely, you can hear some faint purring, too. it makes you smile slightly.

"alright, 'nuff of this sappy stuff." husk grumbles after a few more moments, patting your back gently before pulling back. "i'd kill for a drink right now. care to join me?" he raises a brow, a familiar glint in his eyes as he slides back behind the counter, already moving to make what he knows is your favourite drink.

you grin as you meet his eyes, expression softening. "of course. i'd love nothing more."

♡ alastor

"you're not listening, al." you murmur, exhaling quietly. this makes him pause for a moment, head tilted. your voice sounds different to what he's used to — you're not even angry, no — you just sound... tired. the argument had been going on for a while, and neither of you were getting through to the other.

when you move to leave, he makes no move to stop you, simply watching you with an intent gaze. his voice rings out clear as day in the empty silence. "where do you think you're going, my dear?"

he falters ever so slightly when you turn back to face him with a sturdy, stern gaze, responding with a flatly spoken "out", leaving no room for anything more to be said before closing the door behind you with a quiet click.

alastor won't chase after you, because he expects that you'll come back to him of your own accord. to him, it's basically guaranteed how this'll play out. he's used to demons falling right into his hands without having to exert much effort on his end, and believes that this would be no different.

so when a few days pass by with you not approaching him at all, he finds himself slightly irritated and mildly perplexed, eyes narrowed as his clawed finger taps against his cane with idle impatience. why haven't you sought him out yet?

he's seen you around the hotel, but you've never once acknowledged his presence even if the two of you were in the same room, breezing past him while he's left staring, watching you converse with everyone except him. his eye twitches in irritation, the perpetual smile on his lips strained.

...eventually, after playing a long waiting game to no avail, he decides that perhaps rosie would be able to offer some helpful advice on how to approach this situation, since he's not used to actually handling delicate emotional matters without the— well, the manipulation and deal-making.

one of the main issues is his massive ego. it's that unfaltering pride that gets in the way of him apologising. he may be the radio demon, but all that power can't help him here. and he'd never openly admit to such, but he truly is at somewhat of a loss here. he's already tried most things that he's sure would usually make you forgive him, though for a reason unbeknownst to him, it's not working this time.

"oh alastor," rosie shakes her head with a small huff, "a lady's heart is to be treated with care." she lends some further words of wisdom and encouragement that he listens to with great attentiveness, since he does (begrudgingly) enjoy your company, and it would be a shame if it was lost over such a, in his eyes, trivial matter.

upon his return to the hotel, he manages to get you to sit down with him (after much polite pestering and insistence) to have a chat over some tea. when all is said and done, the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. you sip your tea, watching the blazing fires of hell from the balcony.

"refill?" alastor offers, glancing at you briefly through a sip of his own tea.

"much appreciated." you hum, legs crossed as you throw him a small, slack smile.

♡ angel dust

his frustration slowly fizzles out as the door closes behind you, and the guilt slowly starts to creep in. he knows he shouldn't have said what he did, and he wants nothing more than to apologise and make it up to you — but he understands that it's probably better to give you some time to cool off before trying to approach you again.

despite the argument and the harsh words exchanged between you, the fact that he cares for you with his whole heart will never change, and he hopes you know that too.

while you're away, angel always finds his thoughts drifting to you, wondering how you're doing. are you eating okay? are you drinking enough? sleeping enough? with a shake of his head and a small sigh, he tries his best to return his focus back to the task at hand, whatever it may be.

he knows you can take care of yourself perfectly fine, but he just... misses you. the guilt eats away at him when he's reminded of the look on your face when you left, the brief glimmer of hurt in your eyes before you masked it with anger and tore your gaze away.

one particular night, angel heads over to your room in the hotel out of habit, not really thinking about it when he raises a fist to knock on the door. he had been hoping to spend some time with you, since today had been a particularly rough day for him. he's also been craving for one of your sleepover nights for a while, those nights where you two would stay up to talk about anything and everything until dawn rises. those times were comforting for him — a rare moment of respite in his life.

but then he stops abruptly, remembering that you're not there. he lets his hand fall back to his side, expression quietly downcast. he stands alone in the silent, empty hallway. has it always been this cold?

after a few days, he's just about damn ready to go looking for you, making his way down the stairs as he prepares to head out. he's so focused that he almost misses the sight of you seemingly casually sitting at the bar, nursing a drink in your hands whilst exchanging low murmurs with husk.

he freezes momentarily, taking a deep breath. while he mentally debates with himself whether to approach you or not, husk notices him hesitating on the staircase. he catches angel's gaze, giving him a subtle nod. that's all the affirmation angel needs.

he slides on his usual relaxed demeanour, though it's a little weaker than normal, as he approaches you. he's admittedly a little nervous, but he's determined to work things out with you. he puts a gentle hand on your shoulder to catch your attention. "hey, darlin'. can i talk to you for a minute?"

the two of you head back to your room, where heartfelt apologies are exchanged and a long overdue conversation takes place. at some point during the talk, his hand had found its way on top of yours, thumb brushing over your skin gently. at the end of it all, he gives you a small, content smile. "...baby, you have no idea just how much i adore you." he whispers into the quiet, running his fingers through your hair comfortingly as your head rests on his shoulder.

it was an unspoken agreement that tonight was going to be a sleepover night. prepare for lots of cuddling and gentle, soft kisses.

♡ vox

he's the type to go "ha, see if i care!" when you leave, but he'll still check on you occasionally through the various cameras and electronics around the city — he swears it's just because he's making sure the new limited edition voxtek product he had given to you isn't damaged.

(...it's totally because he's looking out for you, by the way. even if it's only a little. you are his darling, after all. and uh, you'll never know what happened to that guy who tried to hit on you that one time).

(vox made sure not even a trace of that bastard remained).

his obnoxious pride makes him reluctant to reach out first. that, and he's a petty little shit. so everyone around him, whether that be the other vees or his employees, is stuck dealing with his foul mood. he's become even more irritable and susceptible to lashing out than usual since you left.

he'd rather die than admit it, but you were a calming presence in his life that he hadn't realised he needed until you were gone. he hates just how much power you have over him, though you may or may not realise it. he's supposed to be the one in charge. when did you manage to sneak into his heart? his mind is occupied with thoughts of you.

and it only frustrates him more, because you're not here.

all his employees are left on edge, even more so when he takes his anger out on some poor soul who had gotten the numbers wrong on the report they handed in. "clean this mess up." vox snaps, glowering as he fixes the cuffs of his sleeves. the demon at the door hurriedly moves to do as he says, not wanting to risk meeting the same fate.

"what? what are you looking at?" he turns, eyes narrowing at the rest of the employees who flinch, hastily turning their eyes back to the screens in front of them. "get back to work." he mutters sharply, an unspoken threat in his words.

his volatile temperament goes on for a while, until velvette decides she's finally had enough and sends you a (not so) polite text to resolve your little lover's spat before she takes matters into her own hands.

meanwhile, vox is in his office. nothing seems to be going his way, and he's just about to blow another fuse when you nonchalantly throw open the doors, inviting yourself in. he freezes, staring at you for a few moments. you raise a brow. "...so. i heard you were throwing another hissy fit."

vox scowls at that, grumbling under his breath. "oh yeah? and what'd you come back for, you prissy little princess?" he sneers, clawed fingers digging into the desk with a quiet screech. "couldn't go without me for long, huh?"

"ha. you wish that was the case." you scoff, rolling your eyes with a half-amused, irked smile curling at your lips. things escalate into another argument pretty quickly, with the two of you at each other's throats. he towers over you, eyes narrowing as his grin widens in mild irritation.

it's a back and forth for quite some time, until you get sick of it and grab him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer until you're glaring at one another face to face. "what the fuck do you think you're—" he starts, but he's quickly cut off when your lips crash into his. vox is stunned for a few moments but soon snaps out of it, swiftly returning your kiss with equal, if not more, ferocity and intensity.

"finally got you to shut up." you murmur, grinning as you part to catch your breath and release his shirt from your grasp. before you can pull back completely, however, his hand reaches up to rest against the back of your neck, the other firmly on your waist. it takes another long, drawn-out kiss for him to finally let you go — though not really, since he's still holding you close in his arms.

"...that was hot." he whispers breathlessly, staring down at you with a somewhat satisfied glint in his eyes. but you both know that there's more to come.

suffice to say, the two of you sorted things out.

♡ lucifer

he would regret everything almost instantly. lucifer realises just how badly he fucked up when you leave without looking back. he's not even quite sure what happened as he stands alone in the room, blinking as he's left to process everything on his own. his mind is a jumbled mess, and he can't think clearly.

all he can feel is a suffocating rush of fear as he snaps out of his daze and hurries after you, desperate to find you before you're gone. he doesn't want to take his chances. what if you don't come back? what if—

he had said things that he didn't mean, and now the weight of it all feels crushing on his shoulders. he's torn between wanting to reach out to apologise and giving you time to cool down. he doesn't want to be a bother, but also really wants to make things up to you.

most of all, he just wants reassurance that you'll come back to him and that he hasn't messed things up for good. he doesn't want to lose you. you're too precious to him for that, and he's mentally kicking himself for ever making you question your importance to him for even a second.

thankfully, you haven't gone too far so he's able to catch up to you, taking a hold of your wrist firmly. however, when you turn to look at him, he falters, the words dying in his throat. he swallows, softly clearing his throat as he scrambles to say something, anything to stop you from leaving. to reaffirm his love for you.

"...sweetheart, i'm so sorry," he whispers, expression twisted and heart heavy with remorse and sorrow as he brings you close, grip subconsciously tightening because he's afraid to let you go. "i'll do anything, i'll make it up to you, i—" he trails off, burying his face into your shoulder, "just, please... don't leave. i'm sorry."

you really can't stay mad at him for too long after seeing his genuine sincerity. he acknowledges his wrongs, wanting nothing more than to make up for his mistakes and make you feel as appreciated and cared for as you've made him feel over the course of you two knowing each other. you sigh gently, thumb lightly brushing over his cheek. "...alright, silly. let's go home."

his eyes light up at that, and he's reminded of just how grateful he is to have you here by his side as you guys make your way home together. he holds your hand the entire time.

after the two of you make up, you find that he'll leave little gifts and cute trinkets around for you despite your gentle assurances that he doesn't have to. he also gives you lots of forehead kisses. he just wants to make sure you never forget how much he loves you, and that you mean the world to him.

© dearaceofhearts ー all rights reserved. please do not steal, use or modify my works!

[nrdmssgs]

Reacting to the reader, accidentally falling asleep on them. (Soap, Alex, König)

Masterlist

Part 2 (Price, Ghost, Gaz)

This is pure fluff. Platonic and romantic. Please, try to sleep enough, guys.

Johnny Soap MacTavish

Platonic

Let's just hope, every inch of your skin is securely covered with cloth. You've just asked why? Oh, you aren't prepared, are you, poor thing?

Too bad. Because Johnny can be infinitely proud of the fact that only next to him, you relax so much that you allow yourself to fall asleep on his lap. But he'll never turn down an opportunity to prank you.

Soap doesn't mind that he only has one arm free - you use the other as an extra pillow. He opens the marker with his teeth.

Following Johnny's gaze, Ghost hides his hands behind his back.

"Lieutenant, please! I need my references!" "I'm not taking part in this nonsense, MacTavish." "But she loves your sleeve! Why not let her wear the same one for a few days?" "A few days? Don't tell me, you're using a permanent one! And since when I have a dead rat as a part of my sleeve?" "It's not a rat, this is a skull. Ever heard of an artistic interpretation?"

Romantic

His hand embraces you the very next second, he notices, you're asleep.

Doesn't give a damn, if anyone sees you two like that. In fact, he would very much appreciate, if everyone seen, how safe and happy he makes you feel.

He will quietly murmur you lullabies that he heard as a child. If you ardently wake up and ask him, what are they about, he would apologize and confess that they are in Gaelic, and he barely speaks it.

"Oh, that's ok, don't be sorry. Could you, maybe, sing a bit more to me?" "Aye, bonnie. Now close your eyes."

Will bury his face in your hair and rub his cheek against the top of your head, while humming quietly, slowly losing himself in your heavenly scent.

Alex Keller

Platonic

Surprisingly calm about it. He will not wake you up or whisk you away from his shoulder. He won't even think about commenting on what happened when you wake up.

Alex knows perfectly well what it's like to carve out every free minute on deployment to have a little rest between missions.

He is grateful, that you were on the same team - he could not wish for a better partner than you. Therefore, he is ready to help you not only on the battlefield. If you are tired and want to take a nap, he will lend a shoulder.

If this happened in transport, Alex will cradle you so that you do not hit the back of your head against the wall at a sharp turn.

May once make you 'return the favor' passing out on your shoulder. He does not lean on you completely, plus he has the fluffiest, softest hair out there, so don't worry, it will feel nice.

Romantic

Have you ever seen a light bulb the size of a grown man turning on in a room? Because that's what Alex looks like when you don't answer his question because you accidentally fell asleep on his shoulder.

He dreamt to be your safe place, to make you feel protected, taken care of. And you've just convinced him, that he actually succeeded.

Can't help but smile, hugging you with all care and fondness, he is capable of.

If someone approaches him with a question, while you are still sleeping, he will put his finger to his lips, making it clear to this person, that now is not the best moment.

If you wake up and ask him, how long did you nap, Alex will always answer, 'oh, you've just closed your eyes a few minutes ago'. Even if you fell asleep more than an hour before.

Please, just let him stay like that with you for a little longer. These are the moments, he lives for: you in his hands, in peace, loved and loving.

König

Platonic

Oh no, this poor soul, he is completely lost. He doesn't feel, if his verbal interactions are graceful enough, and you've just accidentally initiated a prolonged touch.

His pulse is higher than Austrian mountains, as he tries to sit still and mimic the wall or couch under your head.

He hides his eyes when someone passes by you, tries to pretend that this is how it should be, thanks all the gods for not taking off his veil immediately after returning from the mission so no one sees the blush stretching from his cheeks to his neck.

"Horangi... Pssst, Horangi! W-what should I do?" "Ehm, enjoy a peaceful moment with fellow soldier? You guys look cute like that." "Wait, don't leave me here! This whole situation might be inappropriate... You must help me now! Do something!!" "You want me to wake her up?" "Yes! Wait, no! What if waking her up is actually inappropriate?"

König will sincerely want to apologize to you. He does not yet know what exactly, but he certainly did something wrong. He will suffer and spin in bed half the night, formulating a socially acceptable apology, and finally fall asleep, satisfied with the phrase he composed.

He'll come up to you in the morning, only to realize with horror that he forgot the exact wording of the apology. Therefore, he will honor you with a short nod, turn around and go in the opposite direction.

Romantic

König pretends he's asleep too. It is ok to not move, since he is asleep, yes? It is enough of an excuse to hold you in a tight embrace, since he's doing it unconsciously, is it?

It doesn't even matter, if everybody around knows what exactly is happening between you two - he still believes, he needs an excuse to touch you, even to be around you.

Due to his size, König can simply hide you in his arms. Can and will. You are after all his treasure.

He discreetly lifts his veil up just to take your hand and press a quick kiss against your knuckles. He enjoys the opportunity to touch you like that from time to time when others are not looking.

But if someone decides to interrupt this heaven - they better be prepared for the coldest, most menacing death glare. Because König won't let anyone disturb his Schatzis` moment of peace.

[respectthepetty]

Give me merch, BoC!

Before I freak out about colors in episode three of 4 Minutes, just know that if this was a time-traveling show on GMMTV, the cats in the claw machine would've been merch yesterday!

BoC, why don't you want our money?!

But even without making them merch, these cats made my day!

And it's all because Great gave Tyme the white one.

Tyme is color-coded black and Great is color-coded white.

So each cat represents them in this time-shifting story, and Great gave himself to Tyme by giving him the white cat.

And strangely enough, these color-coded boys won several cats which is a successful date, but also something something about several versions of themselves existing within the story . . .

But what really makes me happy is each cat has a heart in the other color on its side, so when held together, those heart patches form a dual-colored heart!

And although I think Tyme approached Great because he wanted information on Great's family, the boys got hit with a tiny blinding light of love right before they were supposed to kiss.

And Tyme did expose himself to Great instead of fighting him even though he could have easily overpowered Great, which is something we saw when Tyme fought Title.

Because this story is really about the gray area everyone is existing in.

When Win showed up the first time, Tonkla was guarded with a boundary firmly planted between them and Win was light.

But this episode, Tonkla removed his barrier, and let Win in, but Win, in his dark colors, definitely crossed a line he shouldn't have.

Win is a good guy.

And so is Korn.

But circumstances and choices change people.

And even the best people are capable of doing bad.

So it's interesting that Tyme has been positioned in black from the beginning even though he is a doctor.

And Great is positioned as white even though we have seen him run away from doing what's right several times.

Yet when Tyme went to ask Great out and Great confessed to seeing the future, Tyme was in gray as he shifts between the two colors.

Great's interactions with Tyme advance the clock a minute closer to 11:04 from 11:00, but the number four is special, as many people have pointed out because it represents death.

And Great keeps getting closer and closer.

So him throwing down his phone causing the number four ball to roll into the pocket was perhaps telling that it's not all Tyme moving the clock, but just like Win and Korn and their colors, Great's choices are moving the clock and impacting his life.

Doctors save lives, but we have been shown through the woman who tried to die by suicide and the patient this episode in Bed #4, that doctors also need to know when to listen and end a patient's suffering.

(Spare Me Your Mercy, I'm so ready for you and your color-coded boys in love to give us a story about these specific ethics! I'm going to watch you so hard!)

Tyme continues to say he isn't a doctor but a surgeon. Tyme doesn't listen to his patients, which is why Den is upset at him. And Tyme isn't listening to Great because if he was he'd hear exactly what is being said - "these symptoms happened when [the] heart stopped"

Tyme needs Great to remind him, that regardless of the past, it's important to listen and care, and Great needs Tyme to listen to his sad rich boy stories. They need each other to save each other. Triage, is that you homie in a trench coat and mustache glasses?!

But more importantly, they need each other to save each other's hearts! Great needs Tyme to literally save his life by saving his heart, but Tyme was hardening his heart. He had stated several times that he is in his career for the money, but Great reminded Tyme that money was irrelevant if the love was missing with his story of a 1,000 baht toy. They have both good and bad in them, but they need the other color-coded person to be complete. They need the other person to live.

Since I still believe Tyme is the one having cardiac arrest in the first episode, if one of them actually gives up his heart to save the other, I'm gonna be unwell about it.

Random Thoughts:

The friend calling Tyme a "pale guy, very handsome, and kinda brooding" hit me personally because I call characters who are black color-coded Black Brooders and Tyme is the Black Brooder in this story.

Great seeing the message on the tea cup change from "Don't forget to get your wound checked at the hospital" to "Can you forgive me, Great?" has me thinking this won't just be about Tyme trying to get dirt on Great's family and Great being upset about. That question feels heavier. That question feels like both their lives are changed by Tyme.

The female patient who experiences the same symptoms as Great was wearing white and black when she was being interviewed, but when Great envisioned a woman on the bed, red lights were flashing, like they were meeting while coding.

The way the red reflects on Great's shirt in the car makes it look like a heart on his sleeve when he looks at Tyme.

MY BOY MIO!

[misscammiedawn]

Legitimacy vs Selection Bias in Hypnosis

This has been on our mind a lot recently. It's mostly been sparked by the recent Mindless Banter podcast run by @theleeallure @enscenic and @hypno-sandwich where the three hosts spoke about how they dislike academic models of hypnosis and a recent post by @h-sleepingirl discussing why they herald hypnotic education.

One thing that is always going to be true about the advocates of our kink who have been involved with the community for a long time is that we are going to be experienced and capable hypnotists and/or hypnotees.

Likewise those who join and find themselves brought in to the fold tend to self-select; if a person is not able to find any success or joy in hypnosis because it's not working or they do not gel with the styles taught and practiced then they will not hang around.

This means that we have a functioning ecosystem of people who know the lingo, who are primed to react as they should and tend to have things work for them.

Which is great! It makes it so much easier to work out when everyone is on the same page.

But it also creates an insular community.

I've written before on why the insular nature of our community worries me.

One of the lines I wrote in that post was this

One of the big differences between the online erotic hypnosis community and the NGH (National Guild of Hypnotists) who rue our existence is that we do not require legitimacy to function when they themselves exist in a half-truth state where when receiving both of my certifications it was impressed that we needed to perform an uneasy dance of providing services without practicing medicine because hypnotherapy is not licensed psychology in the same was that chiropractors are not performing medicine.

Legitimacy is the idea of taking what we do, what we are, what we believe and what we practice and trying to make it valid to those outside of the community. It's performing studies, it's building a framework of hard rules, it's about pretending that we understand how the brain works beyond the anecdotal evidence that we witness it every day within our corners and communities.

Fact is, hypnosis is a malleable and belief-based practice that rests right in the middle between faith and science. As mentioned in the above linked post, trance can be detected on an EEG:

Source

Our last post on this topic just spoke about accepting that we exist in a soft science where what we believe, how we approach our beliefs and what ideas we allow to take root in our minds will have a firm impact on how the minds of the hypnotists and hypnotees we interact with.

Today I want to talk about why keeping the education and the science involved in the conversation is important.

Because, like the Mindless Banter crew, I have reached the point of my career in hypnoplay where should Dawn wish to induce a trance she need only find a partner, lay out what will happen and perform. The rest of it just happens.

Once you reach a level of confidence and community, it pretty much takes care of itself. The interaction between a hypnotist and a person who has never experienced trance before and the interaction between a hypnotist and an enthusiast will play out differently.

What I mean by this is if Dawn is approached in DM by someone who wants a session she will be able to pick up a number of tells without even noticing it on their confidence and experience. Someone shy, unsure and untrained will not dive straight in. Which makes the encounter less likely and even if it does happen it comes from the power dynamic of a teacher and student rather than two enthusiasts going to town.

This is normal and it's not a bad thing. It just means that the typical educator in the hypnokink community is typically aware of the "weight class" of their hypnotees which paints their expectations of how things will go and allows for a line between the way hypnosis is taught in 101 and how it is practiced in enthusiast circles.

It's why Progressive Muscle Relaxation is something which gets scoffed at a lot in our circles. The typical enthusiast does not need to spend 20 minutes on an induction when their typical partner is someone they can hold the shoulders of, stare at with intent and give permission for the hypnotee to drop.

That isn't to say that experienced hypnotists only play with experienced hypnotees. It just means that the majority of the play from those who educate does not match the material that we teach to beginners. Not a bad thing.

But it does breed this divide I mentioned. Between the experience of those who do this all the time and what is "academic".

So, besides helping new people into the community or playing in pure theoretical space, why must we keep the academic approach involved?

Well, first... the science does inform what we do. Yes, a lot of this is based on belief but there is a large amount of the science which is just fact no matter what we do. The neuroplasticity of traumatized brains is a topic we type about a lot given our dissociative disorder. I mentioned in my Dissociative Disorders and Hypnosis post that there are multiple studies that there's a higher hypnotic suggestibility in those with conditions that include dissociation as a symptom. The fact that this was being taught in a 101 class was why I made that post to begin with.

From my Mind Makes It Real post I mentioned that we need to be aware of the truths to keep ourselves in check. We should always be wondering "am I wrong?" about everything and the moment one lets go of the academic framework and commits to the loose ethos of "it just works" you lose a little bit of that footing and external perspective. We're an insular community and there's an element of "the popular ideas win out", not to stress a point too much but the whole hatred of the progressive muscle relaxation induction is a good example of this. I know a few community leaders who reflexively rant any time they hear it. These people have the ability to control the con schedule. They teach classes and part of their lesson is their personal disdain for that approach. This goes into the minds of those who were taught by that person and becomes part of the internal dogma. Suddenly you have a situation where a minority of people in the community need to defend the PMR.

I do not actually care too much about PMR but it really is one of the most accessible entry level trances and the disdain for it is a little gatekeepy, if I am being honest. I don't think any individual means for it to be something they keep out of the community but enough individuals following a trend creates a community concept, a widely held belief.

And hypnosis is entirely about widely held beliefs. Thus it is now a fact that PMR is boring and ineffective and there's more fun ways to do trance. That is an example, hopefully one that is understandable to an audience who are also into hypnokink (apologies to my non-hypnosis Tumblr followers, I hope if you're reading this you enjoy this peak into a little internet sub-culture).

Which brings me to legitimacy.

Do we really need it?

Hypnosis is both science and fantasy. A person attending a hypnokink convention could treat hypnosis with the technical skill and care that one would approach as ropeplay, learning all of the different terms and all of the safety procedures and treating it as a psychological version of what can be physically observed.

But you may also have someone who treats hypnosis as roleplay and improv with a framework not too dissimilar from a tabletop sourcebook for D/s shenanigans that they can learn and play within much the same as a D&D player can switch to World of Darkness. I guarantee there are a large number of people in the hypnosis community who do this and they're not wrong for doing it.

But as I mentioned above. Hypnosis is a scientifically observable phenomenon and it is dangerous if abused. Heaven knows I know that more than most. One must not believe in the dangers for them to be real. An immature hypnotist is a danger to a hypnotee regardless of if they think they are roleplaying or performing edgeplay. And the same is true for a hypnotee, too. If one believes it's all roleplay then their limits and safety will be at a different level than someone who is aware of the risks.

One need only look to the dark corners of our community where covert hypnosis is practiced eagerly, recruitment is a game and personality erasure is an aesthetic to know that there are uncomfortably large swaths who are practicing hypnosis from the perspective of fantasy. I do not want to pull out the news articles about how Disney Deer brainwashing ruined people's lives again.

The good news is that within the educator/convention going portion of the community we do teach this stuff. We do make everything clear. We're not currently in a community where academic approaches are shrugged off.

But it makes me uncomfortable when experienced educators in the community forget how far their words reach and dismiss the academic for the sake of "what works".

We do not need to seek legitimacy for the eyes of those outside of the community. We do not Demand To Be Taken Seriously. We have a community where people are welcome to join or not join. We do not need external legitimacy.

But we need internal legitimacy.

We need the people who practice within our care to know that they're practicing with dangerous tools that can and will mess a person up if treated without proper care.

Safety and education require we keep room for the academic and seek to legitimize what we do or those who look at hypnosis as pure fantasy will not be able to recognize the risk.

At least, that's my opinion.

-

For more of our ramblings on hypnosis and the hypnosis community, please check out our Hypnokink Writing tag for other bits of education and commentary like this <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Almost to the holiday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

“Well,” Ransom stops in the doorway as you stand on the tile, Ernie at your heels, “grab a bowl for the damn dog.”

You look at him but say nothing. Ernie isn’t mean without reason so you hardly feel bad for him. He must’ve done something really bad to make the giant sweetheart into such a beast.

You go to the counter and reach to the cupboard. He doesn’t offer any direction as you find only glasses and mugs inside. You move to the next; dry goods and cans. You shift back the other way and pop open another door; there’s a stack of bowls inside. A bit small but it’ll have to do.

As you clasp the edge of the bowl, you feel a sudden presence behind you. Before you can react, Ransom is against you, his arms hooking under yours as he cups your tits in his hands. He rocks with you as Ernie snarls.

“Get the dog to shut up,” he squeezes. “Or I’ll feed it bleach.”

You call Ernie’s name. He gives one last rumble but quiets. You set the bowl on the counter as Ransom leans into you, nuzzling your head as he fondles you. You hope he can’t feel your heart pounding.

“Mmm, they feel just as nice as they look. Why don’t you slip that sweater off so I can get a taste,” he pushes you against the counter, “you give that fuzzy-lipped bastard the good stuff–”

“Goddamnit,” Andy’s hiss cuts through the tension. Ransom sighs onto your hair, giving a tweak through the wool before reluctantly parting, “keep your hands to yourself.”

“Oh, come on,” Ransom spins and stomps his foot, “what are we even waiting for? We do all this–” He gestures with his hand, “and you’re bossing me around like a child.”

“You are,” Andy accuses as he approaches and puts down the bag of kibble on the counter, “I salvaged what I can,” he says to you directly.

“Um, thank you,” you swallow. He smiles before he faces the other man again, “we haven’t even opened our presents.”

Ransom narrows his eyes as his cheek ticks. He arches a brow and shrugs, “fine. So why don’t we get it over with?”

“Breakfast first,” Andy insists. “It’s tradition.”

“Who’s fucking tradition?”

“They have to start somewhere, don’t they?” Andy challenges. 

You frown. Tradition. You really hope you don’t have time to build any of those.

“Honey, you stay, help me with breakfast,” Andy turns his back on Ransom, “the other two can get the table ready…” he pauses and looks over his shoulder, “you can handle that, can’t you?”

Ransom’s nostrils flare and he bares his teeth. He kind of reminds you of Ernie when he does that. The dog tilts his head curiously as he watches the scene, ignorant of the words but sensing the vibes.

“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of,” Ransom growls. “Have fun playing fucking house.”

He storms off, his shoulder hitting the door frame in his anger and drawing a grunt from him. You flinch and bring your hands up to wring. Andy tuts and faces the counter, glancing over at you.

“Are you alright, honey?” He asks, letting his hand fingers flutter to the edge of your cuff.

“Yeah,” you answer smally. That’s what he wants. For you to be helpless, to need him. And you do, just not the way he intends. “He… he isn’t nice like you.”

The corners of his lips curve just a little as his eyes search you, “you think so?”

You nod and slide the bowl off the counter, “I’m going to feed Ernie.”

“Alright,” he relents and takes a step back, “uh, yeah, he’s probably starving.”

You move around Andy and dip the bowl into the bag of kibble. He clears his throat and goes to work, pulling down ingredients. Nothing fancy. He sets a box of pancake batter as he pulls the waffle maker away from the wall. Your stomach growls loudly and Andy grins in your direction.

“You too, huh?”

You smile over the bowl of kibble in your hands, “a little, yeah.” You turn to Ernie as he sniffs the air and drools. You go to him and bend your knees to put the bowl on the floor. You know he’s watching. Good, he’s just as simple as the others.

🎀

You’re the only one who seems interested in the meal. Only because it gives you something to focus on to keep your imagination from straying too far. Of course, you’re not as stupid as these men think. You know all too well their intent. Yet there efforts continue to confound you.

You offer to clean up. Another excuse to keep yourself busy. Away from them. Andy insists that he does that task and sends you off the other two to the front room. You’re less than eager to walk between them as they get closer and closer, nearly squishing you as you reach your destination.

You flit away from them and claim a spot in the lone armchair. Ernie follows and sits at your feet. He keeps his head up, panting as he watches the men and you avoid looking at them altogether. Lloyd strolls along the mantle and sucks his teeth as Ransom sits on the extension of the sectional.

“Fucking lame…” Lloyd mutters.

“Tell me about it,” Ransom agrees, the clink of dishes sounding from the kitchen.

You hate to admit it so you won’t, but they’re right. 

Your eyes drift along and settle on the tree. There are a slew of wrapped gifts underneath. They weren’t there the day before.

The awkward silence doesn’t last long as Andy emerges. He looks around, tucking his hands in his pockets as he takes in the room. He’s not in his typical suit. You didn’t take time to notice before but he looks cozy. He wears a blue sweater and a pair of jeans a shade darker. It makes him look softer than usual.

You check the other men. They’re not very festive. They wear what you can only assume is their usual look. Lloyd in a tight black tee which does little to conceal the buds of his nipples. Your gaze wants to fixate there but you resist that odd temptation. He’s paired the dark top with a pair of pine striped ankle pants and velvet loafers. You call it douche formal. The customers who dress like that usually don’t even understand how to check the website.

Then Ransom. Not too dissimilar to Andy but still himself. An ivory sweater with brown pants, a locket peeking out below his collar from the slim gold chain around his neck. It screams rich prick trying too hard to look like he’s not trying.

The one thing these men have in common is their ignorance. They don’t know, they never considered that you can read them. You spent years in retail, you know people. A little more than you like. They took your demeanour as innocent and naive, they don’t consider it as defensive.

“Alright, finally, let’s open some presents,” Andy claps his hands together.

“Before we start,” Lloyd leans beside the mantle, “I have a question?”

Andy looks at him, waiting.

“Shouldn't you be doing this with your family–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Andy snaps but stops himself, showing his palm, “that’s not for you to worry about.”

“I’m looking out for you–”

“I know what you’re doing,” Andy points at him.

Lloyd snickers.

“I’d like to make a suggestion,” Ransom stands, Ernie tense as he does. They look at each other. “Can we put the dog away?

All three men look at Ernie. You look back at them as you reach to pet the dog’s broad head.

“He’s not hurting anyone,” you plead.

“Not yet,” Ransom scoffs.

“Look, pussy cat, you’re lucky that thing’s even here.”

You want to scowl and bite back. They knew you had a dog when they took you. You mentioned him several times. It’s not exactly your fault they didn’t factor him into the equation.

“We don’t want him to get worked up,” Andy assuages, “why don’t you take him to your room for now? We wouldn’t want him to ruin any of your gifts.”

“He won’t,” you argue, not quick enough to stop yourself. “He’s trained.

“I know, honey, but just for a little. He can come back out later.”

“Yeah, or I can drive him out to the highway,” Lloyd snorts.

You furrow your brow at him. He snickers as your anger amuses him. You quickly wipe it away. You can’t lose your cool yet. You slowly get up, stepping over Ernie and exposing a bit too much thigh. You call the dog’s name but he doesn’t move. He knows something’s wrong.

You bend and grab his collar, “come on, buddy, please.”

At first he doesn’t budge but relents as you coax him with quiet whispers. He lets you lead him out, dragging his large paws with your less than urgent pace. You get to the open bedroom and look inside.

“Sorry, Ern,” you say as you nudge him ahead, “it’ll be okay, I promise. Mama take care of you.”

He goes into the room and turns to stare back at you with his doe eyes. You want to melt into a puddle. He’s so cute and sweet. He doesn’t deserve all this. If it was just you, you’d fight, but you have to worry about him. 

You shut the door and go back to the living room. The men seem anxious as you enter. Ransom pinches the locket around his neck between his fingers, Andy smooths the front of his sweater with his large hand, and Lloyd digs his heel into the floor as he picks his fingernail.

“Alright,” Andy exhales as he faces you, “so, honey, you start.”

You blink at him and cross your arms. You don’t know what he means. You glance around, between each of them.

“Open a gift,” Andy steps back and gestures to the tree, “they’re all for you.”

Your stomach churns and your heart flips. Something about this is off. Not just that you’ve been abducted or this weird house with locks on the doors and deafening walls. More than these men and their incessant leers. There’s more than a dozen presents, for you alone, but why?

“Me?” You pull your arms apart and force them down to your sides, clutching the weave of the sweater dress.

“Go on,” Lloyd encourages with a wink.

You restrain yourself as best you can. Fear courses through you as you try to unravel their riddle. What are they up to? They’re watching you like wolves, prowling, ready to pounce, so why don’t they?

You tiptoe forward and as you near Andy, he stays exactly where he is. You brush against him and feel his breath fan over you. You pass Ransom as he once more sits on the foot of the sectional. 

You stop before the tree and consider the array of gifts; boxes, bags, and wrapped bundles. It’s the sort of haul any child dreams of. You remember the Christmas Eves you lay awake sleepless hoping for just this. Waking to only a new pair of socks and a couple toiletries from the group home. You didn’t often get what you wanted, but you could get by with what you needed.

You bend your knees, the hem of the sweater rising up your thighs as you reach for a small box. You stand and turn to the men, staring down at the red box with a gold bow on top. You gulp and peek up at them. They all just watch. 

You wiggle the lid until it pops off. You reveal a pair of dangling pearl earrings. They’re pretty. Probably real but you don’t have the eye to tell. You peer up again, confused. It’s actually a very nice gift.

“Who’s it from?” Andy asks.

You flinch and check the tag. You should’ve done that first. You pull it straight as it hides under the tail of the bow, “Ransom,” you read.

“Ha!” He claps his hands, together then on his knees, “fuck yeah.”

“Huh?” You utter dumbly.

“Shit,” Lloyd mutters and Andy lets his disappointment flow out heavily.

“What…” you can’t finish the question.

“Pretty nice gift, huh?” Ransom taunts, “so, uh, what’s my gift, sweetheart?”

You grimace and examine the wall behind him, “I don’t… have anything…”

“Actually,” he interjects, “I think you do. Why don’t you pop those on, then pop your tits out?”

You gape at him. He bites his lip as you stand dumbfounded and humiliated. Lloyd chuckles and Andy growls as he paces, sitting in the armchair.

“I don’t…”

“It’s an exchange, not free for all, you got yours. I get mine,” he tilts his head, “so put those on and let me fuck your tits.”

You close your mouth. You’re not surprised but you’re not ready either. You didn’t expect them to hold out forever but you need more time. The problem is they’re not playing by your schedule, you have to adjust to yours. That means, you’ll be working from behind.

“I’m waiting,” Ransom huffs, “you know, you’re being pretty ungrateful there, sweetheart.”

Andy plants his elbow on the armrest as you look at him, “do it.”

“But…” you pout, “you said…”

“He gave you a gift,” Andy said. “He won’t hurt you. I’m here.”

You nearly drop the box. What does he mean he won’t hurt you? You don’t want to do that.

Well…

You don’t have a choice. As rotten as it is, it will only be worse if you refuse. You lower your chin and nod. You turn to set the box down on the small table just beside the couch, too close to Ransom. He snickers as you hear his zipper whisper down. Oh god.

You pull out your plain gold hoops and replace them with the teardrop pearls. You feel them dangle between your fingertips and raise your head. Worse than what you’re about to do is the audience. This isn’t just you being violated, this is that violation being witnessed.

You walk along the sectional and Ransom catches your wrist, pulling you forward impatiently. He turns you to face him. Your eyes widen as you try not to look lower than you need to. His cock bobs at the edge of your vision.

“Take this off,” he touches the hem of the dress.

You spread your sweaty palms over the wool. Slowly, you tug it upwards. Your skin speckles with goosebumps as you reveal your nakedness to the room. You stand only in the knee highs and panties.

“Damn,” Lloyd clucks, “an ass on this one.”

Andy doesn’t comment, he only hums as the chair creaks under his weight.

“Get down,” he orders.

You hold your breath and obey. You get to your knees as Ransom plays with himself. You can’t look him in the face and you definitely don’t want to look down. You stare instead at his sweater.

“Push your tits together,” he demands.

Again, you listen. It’s like you’re in a trance. The room is fuzzy and your body is hollow. He laughs again and taps his tip against your tits.

“Fuck, those are some nice tits,” he remarks, grabbing your shoulder to urge your closer.

He slips his dick between your cleavage. His throbbing head pokes up above the swell of flesh. He dips down and back up, rocking you by your shoulder as he guides you. You move with him, fighting back the tide of repulsion.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, “come on and give it a kiss, sweetheart.”

You flinch. He squeezes your shoulder. A warning. You bend your head and kiss his tip as it once more pokes above your cleavage. He groans and his hand moves to cover one of yours, making you grope yourself tighter.

“Fuck,” he rasp, “you know what…” he turns to Andy, reminding you of the others, of them watching you, “I think I get it now.” He winks at you as you fuck his length with your tits, “good fucking choice, Barber.”

[wintersoldiersoul]

Bucky x reader- super angsty but fluff ending

In a relationship, bucky doesn't want reader going on mission because it's a hydra Misson, they argue and don't talk to each other, bucky hears reader get hurt and he hears her say "im sorry buck, i love you" and then her comms go out and he can't do anything to help because he's pinned down and by the time he gets to her she's bleeding out and passed out and bucky is breaking down apologising and saying he didn't mean anything of what he said etc and I dunno how you would wanna end it

A/N: So sorry it took me so long to get to this request!! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, throwing up, lots of angst and fluff

“Bucky, stop it!” You shouted. “I’m going on this mission, okay? I can handle myself.” You had been having this fight all morning. The mission you were going on was extremely dangerous. You were basically marching right into the center of Hydra. 

“I am begging you,” Bucky pleaded. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“You do realize I’m a superhero in my own right? I don’t need you to protect me!” You snapped back. You knew he just wanted to protect you, but the fact that he acted like you weren’t capable of this made you angry. You had spent years fighting with the Avengers back when he was still the Winter Soldier. You had fought aliens and bionic humans and monsters. You didn’t need him to help you.

“I know but you don’t understand. They know we’re together. That means you have a target on your back. They’d do anything to hurt you because it would hurt me!” You almost felt bad but you had to stand up for yourself. You weren’t some helpless little girl.

“You’re being stupid! I thought you were smarter than this, Y/N. You’re acting like a child!” Bucky said, matching the stern tone of your voice.

“I don’t care! Let me be stupid then!” You left your room, slamming the door on your way out to go meet everyone at the jet. Bucky followed shortly after and the team got ready to leave. 

The two of you didn’t say a word to each other on the flight across the world to Europe. The tension between the two of you hung heavy in the air, casting a fog over the entire jet. Everyone could tell something was going on, but no one dared to ask. Your relationship was incredibly passionate - full of love that could burn the world down. But the same principle applied when you fought.

You were paired up with Natasha, splitting off from Bucky, Steve, and Tony when you arrived. You subtly snuck around the Hydra base, using your spy skills to remain hidden. You had been trained by the Red Room like Natasha, turning you into a silent killer full of stealth and surprises.

“Status?” Bucky spoke through the com device in your ear.

When you didn’t immediately make a move to respond, Natasha filled him in. “There’s agents everywhere. We’re hidden right now but we gotta make a move soon.”

“Same here,” Bucky answered.

An agent passed by but didn’t spot the two of you. All at once, you and Natasha passed, jumping onto the man's shoulders from behind and snapping his neck. “One down, a hundred to go,” you smirked at Nat. You could do this. You could prove to Bucky that you didn’t need his help.

Steve updated everyone, panting through the coms that they were deep into battle now. You and Natasha took a more subtle approach, trying to remain as hidden as possible before sneaking up and stealthily taking out agents as you could. Everything was going well. It was all under control.

Until you felt the gun against your head.

“Don’t move a damn muscle,” a low russian accent purred in your ear. “I’ve got you right where I want you,” he said, dragging the gun from your temple around to the base of your neck. Your arms were pinned behind you. You couldn’t move.

Natasha was too far away, locked into her own battle with an agent. A battle that she was winning but one that could easily go wrong if she turned her focus. You wanted to scream out but you were terrified that if you did, the man would shoot.

In the blink of an eye, the man who was holding you pulled out a knife and sliced your thigh deeply. You couldn’t help the cry that escaped your mouth as he did it, grabbing Natasha’s attention just as she finished off her victim.

“Y/N!” She ran over to you but was sidetracked by another agent stepping in her path.

“What’s going on?” Bucky’s voice rang out in your ears. “Y/N? Natasha?” Panic was evident in his voice. “Someone talk to me!”

“Bucky!” You cried out, hoping he would show up any second to save you. “Help me!”

The Hydra agent laughed, hearing your calls for the man. “You’re Barnes’ girl, aren’t you?” He laughed, coldly. “Oh, we’re gonna have fun.” His voice sent chills down your spine.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Where are you?” His voice came through your ear.

“I-I don’t know!” You answered. “He-has me!”

“I’m coming, baby, I’m coming. Are you hurt?”

You were still terrified each time you answered, expecting that the man would pull the trigger every time you opened your mouth. But if these were your last moments, you wanted to spend them talking to the love of your life.

“Y-yes,” you choked out.

“Alright, I think I’ve been nice enough to let this go on for so long,” the russian accent spoke before ripping the comms out of your ear and smashing it on the ground.

“No!” You cried out. The blood you were losing from your leg was already making you feel dizzy. A puddle of crimson from your body began to pool on the ground. 

“I was gonna shoot you in the head,” the man behind you whispered in your ear, making you feel sick. “But it would be such a shame to mess up this pretty face.”

Before you could even register what was going on, the gun was pressed to your back and a bullet was fired into your body. He shot you two more times. The man laughed as he walked away, leaving you to bleed out alone on the floor. Natasha had left, you had no idea where she had gone. She didn’t mean to abandon you, she really thought you’d be able to get out of your situation on your own while she completed the mission.

Across the building, Bucky was frantic. “Y/N? Talk to me! Where are you, baby?” He was panicking. One minute you were talking to him and then you were just…gone. His worst fear was coming true.

He sprinted as far as he could, dodging Hydra agents left and right, taking them out with the metal arm that they had put on his body.  He swore he had never run faster in his entire life. He knew back at their post, Steve and Tony were still fighting, yelling at him as he sprinted away. He knew he’d be in trouble later. But he didn’t care. He only cared about you.

But he was intercepted by more agents. Suddenly, he was pinned down, completely unable to move. “Y/N!” He yelled out again while he thrashed. He didn’t even care that these men would probably kidnap him again. Turn him back into the Winter Soldier. All he cared about was reaching you.

He tried as hard as he could, thrashing and squirming. Time was running out. He didn't know exactly what had happened to you, but he knew you didn't have long. Especially with the nature of the enemy you were dealing with.

After minutes of trying to escape the agent's grasp, he was able to free his metal arm, punching hard and knocking down the agent who had his legs. He was then able to use more strength to fight, taking down each person who had tried to separate him from the love of his life.

He was sick when he saw you, bending over to throw up at the sight in front of him. You were laying on the ground, still as a rock. Blood stained the concrete below you. He swore he had never seen so much blood come from one person at once. 

“Y/N!” He screamed out, running over to you. Your eyes were closed. “Y/N, wake up! Wake up, please!” He cried. “Oh my god, please!” He chanted over and over, trying to get you to open your eyes while putting pressure on you to stop the bleeding as much as possible. 

Suddenly there was a gasp from your frame. “B-bucky!” You called out weakly using every ounce of strength you could. “I love you.” 

“I love you, angel. So much. I didn’t mean a word I said! Please just hang on! Please! I can’t watch you die right now.” Tears streamed down his face as he spoke.

"So...tired," you said weakly, your eyes fluttering between opened and closed.

"I know, baby, I know," he stroked your hair. "But you gotta stay awake, okay? You gotta fight."

"What's going on, Buck?" Steve spoke in his ear.

"It's bad, Steve. I gotta get her to a hospital. Now," he said, through tears.

"Alright. It's clear now. You can take her."

Bucky swore time moved in slow motion as you waited for an ambulance. He held your hand the entire time, terrified every time your eyes closed for more than a second. You kept drifting in and out of consciousness even as the paramedics began to work on you in the vehicle. He couldn't believe this was really happening. If he lost you, his entire world would stop.

9 hours and an emergency surgery later, you were still unconscious but stable. He sat by your hospital bed, eyes red from crying, still holding your hand.

"Baby, I don't know if you can hear me right now," he said to your unconscious body. "But I need you to wake up. I need you to come back to me. I can't do this without you, I-" he paused as his voice broke. "I never thought I'd have any good in my life again. And then I found you. And I can't lose you. I don't know what I'll do. I don't know who I am without you." Tears wet his face as he spoke. "Please, baby. My darling. Please, come back to me."

He didn't leave your side all night. He waited and waited for hours, not sleeping or eating. He was terrified to not be watching you even for a second.

The sun was rising the next morning and he was exhausted and scared and he just wanted you. His head was in his metal hand as he cried, still holding yours with his flesh one, when he felt it. It was small, but he felt it. The subtle squeeze from your hand. "Y/N?" he said, immediately lifting his head.

You groaned softly, eyes still closed. "Am I dead?" You asked as you very slowly opened your eyes, trying to adjust to the light.

"No, baby," he sniffed, getting up and kissing your forehead. "You're not dead. You're alive. Oh my god, you're alive."

[imagineteamfreewill]

Powerful Magic

Title: Powerful Magic

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff

Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, they’re forced into an impossible situation with no way out. 

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You aren’t expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but life’s been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been years since you’ve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someone’s way, which is often because he’s always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.

Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. There’s no sign of Sam or Dean.

Damnit.

“So, how’ve you been?” Jason asks. “You look good, Y/N.”

You nod. “Good, fine. How about you? Are you still…?” You don’t dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.

“Still in pest control. It keeps me busy.” He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, it’s not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you don’t remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, he’d done it at some point… Right? Or maybe you’d just gotten used to the stench.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. “I was looking for you.” He pauses. “Who’s this?”

You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesn’t smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that you’re always grateful for, even if it’s being wasted. You know that he’s amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. He’s always a little more protective when he thinks you’re getting hit on by some creep. You can’t count the number of times he’s pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that he’s stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t think you’re capable. Sam does it because you shouldn’t have to fend them off on your own. You shouldn’t have to be in that position, but because you are, he’s not going to let you be there alone.

“This is Jason. He’s an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is my…”

You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldn’t. You and Sam are just friends. It doesn’t matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesn’t matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesn’t matter what Sam said the one time you’ve seen him really, truly drunk. You’re just friends.

“—friend,” Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell it’s fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. “Sam.”

Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. “Sam. And… Dean?” He glances between you and Sam. “As in…?”

You cut him off with a quick, “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we’re really cutting it close on time.” His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.

“She’s right. Dean’s waiting on us, and we’ve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,” Sam adds. “Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.

With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you won’t, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?

Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards he’ll need to ditch soon.

You’re going to make this worse if you don’t relax.

You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you won’t run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks.

Before you can answer, Sam nods. “Yeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.”

Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and you’re careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?” Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags you’ve put onto the trunk’s false bottom. Though there’s plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam won’t be able to hear it through the backseat. 

You don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, that’s all.”

“Partner?” You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.

“Not like that,” you huff. “We were just… partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. He’s only got two bags in hand, but there’s a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.

“If that’s him, I can see why.”

“Be nice,” you tell him.

“Was he at least a good guy?” 

You shrug. “He wasn’t bad. Just kinda gross, that’s all.”

Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and he’s watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Did he say something to you in there?”

“No. That’s not why it was weird.”

“I gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If I’m gonna ride in the car with the two of you—”

“I hesitated, okay?” you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and it’s not the sun. It’s still cloudy from last night’s storm. “I went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.”

Dean is staring at you like you’ve just broken into song. “You hesitated?”

Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal. 

“Yes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, ‘This is Sam, my….’” You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

His face twists. “Oh. Rookie move, Y/N.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what did you end up saying?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t. Sam finished and said he was my friend.”

“And you want to be more than friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. I’m going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.”

You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Dean’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesn’t say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but that’s all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book he’s loaned you. It isn’t one you’re particularly interested in, but you’ve traded books for the trip. You’re fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you don’t take his.

The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself. 

Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, you’ll most likely end up at the morgue. You’re not really in the mood for a dead body. You’ll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look up from the patron log you’ve been carefully sorting through.

“Yeah, why?” You try not to seem surprised that he’s asking, considering he hasn’t said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.

“You’ve been quiet since we ran into Jason.”

You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. “I’ve been reading the book you loaned me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This is your ‘I made a mistake’ quiet.”

Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.

“I don’t want to press—”

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” you finally say, still not looking up. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.”

He’s quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.

“What?” you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s not it,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not offended, Y/N. I don’t think you could ever offend me.”

The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. “Oh yeah? Not ever?”

He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where he’s sitting. “Well, maybe if you—”

“No, you can’t take it back now!” you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.

You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.

“So, you and Jason,” he starts, and you close the logbook. There’s nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books you’ve finished.

“What about me and Jason?”

“Were you ever… together?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Like, dating?” Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, “Yeah, for a little while, right before we split.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hmm.” You open the book, silently hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. It’s a sore subject for Sam, so you’ve respected the territory, even though you’ve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually don’t mind, considering you’d have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if you’re lying.

“You said he almost got you killed,” Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.

You look up from the book and he’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and you’re in public. It’s not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.

After a second, you nod. “Yeah. He… He used me as bait, and I didn’t know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.”

You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes. 

“I promise to never do that to you,” he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. “I know.”

“I will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. He’s not smiling back at you. Instead, he’s staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.

“I know,” you gently reply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath your feet. 

What was that all about?

You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but it’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and he’s never asked about your past love life. Sam’s a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.

“Dean’s got a lead,” Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way they’d come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You don’t mind.

As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you won’t be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.

“Ready?” Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.

You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the “potions” you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. It’s one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels. 

There’s another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadn’t heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, you’re lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.

“What are you doing?” Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.

“She okay?” Sam whispers. 

“I have to…” You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that it’s dangerous and that you’re being affected by whatever spell she’s performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way. 

Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but it’s as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. They’re useless against the effects of the witch’s magic.

Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. It’s an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.

She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. You’re in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screaming—every hunter’s instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead. 

Chanting louder, the witch’s eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight. 

This is wrong!

She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step. 

“Y/N!”

Dean’s voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.

“That’s it,” the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. “It’s alright, dear one.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. You’re almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and you’ll be within her reach.

Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoever’s holding you. You’re torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witch’s eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.

“Dean,” you croak. You can’t see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if you’ve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. “Dean!” 

There’s a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witch’s shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then there’s a heavy thud.

“Sammy!” Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees. 

You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that you’ve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You should’ve been able to resist the witch’s magic.

Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.

“Y/N!”

Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, who’s laid out on his side. Sam’s eyes are closed and your chest tightens.

“Sam!” you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witch’s sigil.

Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.

“Sam? Sam, wake up,” you plead.

“He’s still breathing,” Dean tells you. “She knocked him out with whatever that was.”

“Please, Sam. Please, open your eyes.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding, and you’re crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.

“Thank God,” you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Sam’s hand comes up to pat at your back.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. “I think so,” he says after a second. “Did you get her?”

You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, “She got away, but she hit you with something. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,” he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Just give me a minute.”

After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but you’re on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything that’s even slightly out of character.

“We’ll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I definitely have a headache,” Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you don’t blame him. You’ve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.

“I’ll take first shift,” you tell Dean. “Clean up and get some rest.”

He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends,” Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Huh?” Your heart skips a beat. What’s he talking about?

“It would really suck staying up with me,” he clarifies. “If we weren’t friends, that is.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile a little before plugging in your phone. “You want some water?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. You’ve got your back to him, so he can’t see the way you close your eyes, but he’s caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.

“I’m fine,” you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. “Just tired. I’m gonna go get some ice.”

Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“You already took your shoes off.”

“What’s a little tetanus between friends?” He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. He’s fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.

Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. You’re already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.

“What happened back at the hotel?” Sam asks.

You know he won’t judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You don’t want to see his expression.

When you haven’t replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, “Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You’re glad you kept it on. There’s a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, “Whatever spell she was doing… It’s like it was directed at me. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I was just—”

You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. You’re blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel. 

“It’s not your fault,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. “She was more powerful than we anticipated.”

Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. “I know.”

“You’re still you,” Sam says.

“What?”

“You’re still you,” he repeats. “No matter how her magic affected you, you’re still you. You’re not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.”

Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. “How is it that you know exactly what to say?” You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.

When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, “Because I know you better than anyone else, and because I’ve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap I’ve been through?”

You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation you’d had months ago after he’d had a particularly awful nightmare. “That you’re still you,” you repeat. “And that we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.

You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that he’s had so many that a few hours in front of a screen won’t kill him at this point.

Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if you’re going to find the witch sooner rather than later.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.”

You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he teases, stepping into your line of vision.

You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Sam asks.

Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.

“We’re heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Except back to bed.”

You sit up a little more, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick?” you ask Sam. “I mean, I’ve seen you when you’re tired, but you look…”

“Like he’s been hit with a spell,” finishes Dean. “I’ve already told him that, but he says that the witch didn’t say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. You’re on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should stay here,” you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.

“I’ll be in the car,” Dean tells you, and you nod. 

You and Sam stand in silence until Dean’s gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.

“Be honest.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sam.”

He sighs.

“Sam.”

“I’m… exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but I’m scared,” he admits.

Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. “Why are you scared?”

“The witch didn’t say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,” Sam says. “If she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.”

You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. “What if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if there’s any kind of lingering effect we haven’t seen yet?”

Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. “We already owe her.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You’re my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Because I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.

Nodding, Sam replies, “Okay. Okay. I’ll… I’ll give her a call.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should rest. I’ll keep an eye on you,” you assure him. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Sam.”

He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell it’s only for your sake. “You always do.”

You get up to grab your phone from where you’d left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadn’t said something, or if you’ve just forgotten it.

“I’m gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Sam? Did you hear—”

Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that he’s dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.

He’s okay, you reassure yourself. He’s going to be just fine.

You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as you’re done. She’s nearby. 

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats don’t seem to help him at all. It’s hard to tell since he’s been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner. 

Dean’s pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and you’re in even worse condition. You’re pretty sure that if she’d shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.

Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Sam’s chest. He’s awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.

“Well?” Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. “Is he alright?”

She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days. You’ve seen him look like this before, but it’s never been this concerning. He’s never managed to look this ragged so quickly.

“It’s a siphoning curse,” she explains, adjusting the jacket she’s wearing over her black jumpsuit. 

“Siphoning?” Dean questions. “Siphoning what?”

“Life.”

You suck in a breath. It’s cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. There’s recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.

“Life?” you ask her. “But… Then…”

“I’ll die,” Sam finishes.

You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No. There’s got to be a way.”

Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.

“Tell us,” you demand. “Tell us!”

You don’t mean to scream—you really don’t—but it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesn’t react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Dean’s tells you that he’s awake and listening.

Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. “How long?” you croak. 

“A week, at most,” Rowena adds. “It’s likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.”

Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. “No. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?”

Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.”

You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.

“Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. It’s the first show of genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, and it’s not enough. “But this is beyond even me.”

“And if we killed her?” Dean asks.

“It won’t have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once it’s taken hold.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Go home,” Sam finally says. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. “We go home.”

“Bullshit. I’m not taking you home just so you can die!”

“Dean. Enough. You heard what she said.”

Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, “I need a moment alone with Samuel here.”

Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and you’re not even on the receiving end of his glare.

“I might be able to give him some more time,” she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Dean’s arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.

“One of us stays,” Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction. 

Rowena nods, agreeing, “Y/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.”

“I need to know what you’re doing before you do it. No funny business,” he adds.

She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.

You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and you’re able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Sam’s been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since you’ve been away from the bunker more and more often.

As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. He’s watching you.

“What?” you ask after a second.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadn’t initially registered. “I probably look a mess right now.”

“Not any more than me, I’m sure,” he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, “You’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“What?” Your voice cracks. You hate it.

“Without me.”

You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. “Don’t— Don’t talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. We’ll find something, Sam. You’re not going to die.”

“I was going to die eventually. Everyone does.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” he asks.

You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but it’s not enough to steady yourself.

“I don’t want to live without you,” you finally say, your voice trembling.

Sam doesn’t answer, and when you look down at him, he’s wiping tears from his own face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.

Maybe it’s just finally settling in, you think.

His chest shudders as he takes a breath and it’s enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than he’s shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesn’t ask you to stop, and for that, you’re grateful.

Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You can’t bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Sam’s life. It’s a complex spell, one you’ve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where he’ll become comatose, but it’s more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.

“You’ll have to move for the spell, dear,” Rowena gently instructs.

Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Sam’s lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl they’ve retrieved from the Impala.

She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.

Stay strong, you urge yourself. He can’t help it.

The glow of Rowena’s eyes grows so bright it’s blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.

You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.

“Sam?” 

“Sam!” Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. “Your precious brother will be fine,” she soothes, a small smile on her face. “The spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. He’ll look better when he’s awake again.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you? Just like that?” Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.

Rowena scoffs. “Don’t forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.”

You’re gentle as you check to make sure Sam’s still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.

“She’s right,” you say. “He’s still breathing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands. 

“Now,” she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. “I believe some payment is in order.”

Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. That’s when you know that he’s fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Sam’s life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.

“Go,” you quietly urge. “I’ve got him.” You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.

You carefully move Sam’s hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever he’s giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You don’t interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you can’t save Sam. Dean’s jaw is still clenched, and you know he’s doing the same.

“We—” He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. “Y/N, we have to find something.” His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Dean’s eyes.

You nod. “I know.”

“We’ll— I’ll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe they’ll know of another witch that can help us.”

You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna take him home,” you tell Dean, not looking up.

“What?”

“He said he wanted to go home. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Like hell you are!”

Finally, you look up and meet Dean’s eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. You’ve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but he’s never looked this afraid. He’s a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.

“We have to try, Y/N,” Dean says, and he’s staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. “I can’t just let him die. Not like this.”

You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isn’t one to prolong the inevitable. It doesn’t matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If he’s made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.

Even if it kills me too, you think.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.”

Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. “I’ll start calling. See what I can find.” He’s just looking for a reason to leave the room so you can’t see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you don’t argue. 

You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where he’d been standing, as he starts to leave. He’s made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone needs to be in the bunker. It’s better if he goes with me than with you.” Before he can argue, you continue, “What if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we don’t keep in the car? What’s your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and he’ll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Then you two should get going. The sooner you’re there, the better.”

You’d driven together in the Impala, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. You’re lucky that it’s getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.

Dean loads your backpack and Sam’s duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, “Drive safe,” and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but you’re not opposed. It’s nice to know that you’re not alone in this.

The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowena’s spell, he’s lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as he’s in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, you’re thankful.

You, on the other hand, don’t sleep much. You probably should, considering you haven’t slept in 24 hours, but your brain won’t turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.

He’s getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. You’ve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just don’t have the energy.

It’s not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You don’t have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when he’s grieving. You’re not sure if he’ll go off on his own or if you’ll be able to stick together.

When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Sam’s eyes. His face, which you’ve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowena’s spell seem to have been short-lived.

“Good morning.” He’s leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and he’s managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt. 

You try not to let your bad mood show. “Morning. How’re you feeling?” you ask.

Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much you’ve slept. You’re lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.

“Same as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?” asks Sam.

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension. 

“Ohio,” you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the time—it’s after eight, and you’ve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. “We’ve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. It’s about twelve hours.”

“We can take shifts.”

You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesn’t react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.

“I’m not letting you drive, Sam.”

“I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not risking it,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you don’t look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching. 

“Does it matter?” you finally ask.

He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you can’t look away.

“If I only have a week—”

“You don’t know that, Rowena cast that spell—”

“—then I want to spend it with you,” Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know it’s not worth it, not if Sam’s made up his mind.

He continues, “I want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesn’t see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. You’ve never felt this helpless before, not even when you’d been held captive for a week. In that situation, you’d known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.

“I want…” Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed. 

I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.

“What are you thinking?” Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.

“This is all my fault,” you reply. You can’t tell him what you’re really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. It’s really not that much better, if you’re being honest.

“Don’t say that,” he says. He squeezes you once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Sam—”

“No, I love you, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he does—he’s your best friend, of course he loves you—but it hurts to know that he’ll never love you the way that you love him. He doesn’t have time to love you that way.

“I love you too,” you say after a moment. “I don’t…”

I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as he’s not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people you’ve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.

I can’t do this. He’ll just feel guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sam asks, and you look away.

“Never mind. I should get dressed,” you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach. 

Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sam…”

“Please. I don’t want you to hide things from me because you think it’ll make me feel even worse. Trust me”—he lets out a wry laugh—“dying is the least of my worries right now.”

You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.

“That really doesn’t make this situation better,” you scoff. “I mean, come on, Sam! I’m about to lose the love of my life and he says that he’s not even worried about it? How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, ‘Oh, okay! Let me tell you all about how I’ve had a massive crush on you—”

You stop talking the second you realize what you’re saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists. 

Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m gonna shower,” you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, you’re locking the bathroom door behind yourself. 

Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret you’ve been holding so closely for years, but instead it’s only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Sam’s feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that you’re the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think you’re in? A hunter’s life doesn’t allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.

“Um..” Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a rat’s nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt you’ve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.

“You can say no,” Sam adds. “I can wait out here for you.”

Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when you’d been by the bed just a minute before.

It’s probably just the lighting. He can’t be dying that quickly, right?

He doesn’t speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I reacted to that poorly.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that,” you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You don’t dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since it’s too late.”

He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You don’t.

“Who says it’s too late? I know it’s not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.

“This is my worst nightmare,” you tell him. “I didn’t even know it was, but it is.”

“What? Spending time with me?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, and you look back at him. 

The bathroom is tiny. It’s barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. He’s taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.

“Finish what?” you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? He’s not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunter’s life. You don’t deserve that kind of happy ending.

Then again, it’s not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.

He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too. And it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way. You don’t have to pretend to try and make me feel better. I’m not offended.”

Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. “I love you, Y/N. I—” He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping it’s enough to let him know that you’re there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, there’s blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.

“I’ve always loved you,” Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.

“What?”

“I’ve—”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I heard you. I just don’t understand.”

He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that you’re making this difficult for him. He’s balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.

“You should sit,” you urge, and he shakes his head again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sam. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m not going to fall over. There’s no place to fall in here.”

“You could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,” you argue. “You could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldn’t have the chance to catch—”

You’re cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than you’ve seen him move in since the curse, and you’re so shocked that it takes you a second to process what’s happening.

Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you. 

When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.

“Sam,” you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. It’s shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.

“You kissed me,” you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss. 

“Sam,” you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.

Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You’ve always loved the way Sam looks—you’d be crazy not to—but it’s the first time you’ve felt it’s okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but he’s also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, or maybe he’s just that beautiful. 

Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. It’s definitely both.

“What?” Sam asks, impatience clear, though he’s not angry. “What’s so important that I had to stop kissing you?”

“You kissed me!”

“I know,” he answers. He leans into your space a little more. “I’d like to do it again.”

There’s heat in your cheeks now. It’s hard to tell if it’s from how he’s making you feel or if it’s from his proximity, but you’re not complaining about either of those things.

“Why?”

He gives you a look, one that asks if you’re serious, but you don’t rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

You gape at him. “So when you said that you’ve always loved me…”

“I meant it.”

Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.

“So you…” You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. “You like-like me?”

Sam’s eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. It’s almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like you’re a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.

“Like-like you?” he asks. “Definitely.”

He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. It’s something you’ve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but you’re grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if he’s not. 

Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if he’s just asleep.

“Sam?” you ask. He doesn’t respond, and panic replaces the giddiness you’d felt only moments before. “Sam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.”

You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm that’s still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isn’t any.

Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, you’re sweating.

“Please wake up,” you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but he’s just as comatose as he was before.

After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Dean’s number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Sam’s still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something happened, we were just—” You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what you’d been doing, but Dean beats you to it.

“You were what, Y/N? What happened?” He’s shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did,” you choke out. “This is all my fault.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!”

Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. You’re on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm you’d felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.

“He’s still breathing normally and I made sure he didn’t bump his head or anything—”

“You’re supposed to be taking care of him!” Dean shouts. “Where are you?”

“Ohio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.”

“I remember. I’m on my way.”

You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, he’s pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.

“How far away are you?” you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Sam’s breathing while at the same time listening for his response.

Dean answers, but you don’t hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like he’s been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. You’re flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.

“Easy,” you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. There’s no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes. 

Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” you question.

He rolls backwards until he’s flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Y/N! Damnit, what’s going on over there?” Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that you’ve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.

“He’s awake,” you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. “He’s okay. He’s alright.”

“He’s— He’s okay okay, or just okay?” Dean asks.

You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, and he listens for a second before answering, “I’m fine. I think it’s gone.” He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. “No, I’m not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and I’ll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?”

“Tell him I’ll text him the address,” you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.

“Jerk,” he says. He smiles wider at Dean’s response. You don’t have to hear it to know what he says.

Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.

“Are you really feeling okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I don’t feel tired, and I’m not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?”

You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when you’d made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.

“You look a lot better,” you tell him, beginning to smile. “Like nothing even happened.”

Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “I know I said it before, but I mean it.”

Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. “I know. I love you too.”

He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath. “Okay?”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay.”

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Sam’s shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one he’d been using to prop himself up.

The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.

“I hear that Samuel’s on the mend,” Rowena says in lieu of greeting.

“I’m cured,” Sam answers. “Or at least we think I am.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but I’m not a mind reader.”

You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, “He was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.”

“Did you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?”

Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No. We were just talking and then—” He stops.

“And then you what?” Rowena prompts.

Sam’s eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s smiling again, and you smile back. It’s contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why he’s smiling.

“We kissed,” Sam tells her, not looking away. 

“I see.” Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. “When it’s reciprocated by both, true love’s kiss is a very powerful form of magic. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.”

You grin. “We will.”

She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again. 

“We definitely will,” he says.

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[midastouch013]

Nice To Meet You

Natasha Romanoff x Reader (Pronouns not specified)

Summary : You're new to the avengers, and meet the infamous Black Widow for the first time. Do you interest her, or are you just another person?

Warnings: Just sarcasm and overall cute.

P.S I had previously posted this, but had all my fic deleted, so I'm having it posted again

________

The Avengers Tower was alive with activity as Natasha Romanoff entered the common area. The team had been informed about a new member joining them, and Natasha, known for her somewhat reserved demeanor, was intrigued to meet the person who had caught Nick Fury's attention.

As she entered the room, her gaze landed on you, standing a few inches taller than her and engaged in a lively conversation with Wanda Maximoff. Your slight British accent and outgoing demeanor immediately caught Natasha's attention, but she maintained her usual cool exterior.

Wanda noticed Natasha approaching and grinned, waving you over. "Nat, this is Y/N. Y/N, meet Natasha Romanoff," she introduced with a playful smirk.

You turned towards Natasha, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you, Natasha. Wanda here has been telling me all about the infamous Black Widow. I'm hoping her stories are true."

Natasha assessed you with a raised eyebrow before finally shaking your hand. "We'll see."

Over the next few days, you proved your worth to the team with your medical expertise and combat skills. Natasha observed your interactions with a measured curiosity, not easily swayed by the outgoing nature that seemed to be second nature to you.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, you and Natasha found yourselves alone in the gym. Natasha was honing her skills, and you were diligently working on perfecting your moves. There was a palpable tension between the two of you, a silent acknowledgment of each other's capabilities.

As Natasha executed a precise series of kicks, you couldn't resist a sarcastic comment. "Impressive, Nat. I almost forgot you're not just the resident ice queen."

Natasha shot you a sidelong glance, her expression giving away nothing. "Almost. You're not too bad yourself, for someone who talks as much as Stark during a press conference."

You grinned, reveling in the banter. "Well, talking is an art, Natasha. Not everyone can appreciate it."

Without missing a beat, you mimicked her moves, injecting a bit of humor into the routine. Natasha didn't react overtly, but a subtle quirk of her lips suggested a hint of amusement.

In the following days, your interactions with Natasha became a delicate dance of sarcasm and skill. You found ways to break through her stoic facade, and she responded with a dry wit that matched your own. One day, during a mission briefing, Tony , leaning against the Quinjet with a smirk, quipped during the mission briefing, "I've upgraded the Quinjet, folks. Now it's not just state-of-the-art; it's Stark-of-the-art. I know, I'm a genius, thank me later."

You couldn't let Tony's comment slide without a retort. Smirking, you raised an eyebrow and replied, "Well, Stark, if your upgrades are as functional as your relationships, we might want to consider taking the stairs next time." The room burst into laughter, including Natasha, who couldn't help but crack a smile. Tony, momentarily taken aback, playfully rolled his eyes. "Oh, someone call the burn unit. We've got a comedian on the team."

"Looks like even the ice queen can appreciate a good dose of sarcasm," you remarked afterwards when you had sat yourself next to the redhead, earning a subtle smirk from her.

As time passed, Natasha Romanoff found herself acknowledging the camaraderie that had formed between you two. The Avengers Tower became witness to the unlikely friendship and something more that blossomed between the thought to be frigid assassin and the outgoing doctor, proving that even in the high-stakes world of superheroes, a well-timed quip and a shared smirk could go a long way.

—----------

[lou-struck]

Operation: Stay Away Cupid

Obey Me Brothers and Datables x reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

With Valentines Day Approaching in the Devildom, Solomon decides to play a little prank on others, with an oblivious you in the middle of it.

a/n: I wanted to do a little background before posting the little blurbs.

Introduction:

Solomon knows that all eyes are on him right now; 

"What is it, Solomon?" Diavolo asks, the friendly smile on his face making him feel almost bad enough to not go through with this little prank of his.

Using the poker face it had taken him, hundreds of years to perfect, he glances slowly around the room and takes a deep breath for suspense. "Valentine's day is fast approaching, so I need to warn you all about the danger Mc is in." At the mention of you being in any sort of danger, everyone sits up a bit straighter and stares at the Sorcerer intently.

"Oi, what do you mean MC is in danger?" Mammon yells, springing from his seat.

"Sit down, Mammon," his elder brother practically growls, yanking him into his seat by the hem of his jacket.

The crowd is silent and waiting expectantly for Solomon to continue. 

He grabs the back end of a podium tightly; if his little prank of his is to work, he needs to make sure that no one in this room has ever heard of the little tale he has spun. 

"In the human world, there is a creature that appears on Valentine's Day. Its sole purpose is to go around and shoot people with magic arrows to make them fall in love. But this creature is mischievous and likes to make people fall in love with the wrong sort of people."

"What exactly do you mean by the wrong sort of people?" the Demon Lord asks. 

Solomon lets his features fall as he meets the Prince's eye. "Someone who would mistreat them, Cupid thinks it's funny to see how humans come crawling back to someone who isn't worthy of their love.

Barbados furrows his brow, "A Cupid? I don't think I have ever seen one before."

Ignoring the butler's statement, he continues his lesson. "They also do not like it when someone has too many suitors to choose from." He adds, giving the group a once-over. With a wave of his hand, stacks of research materials magically appear in the laps of his audience of growingly angry angels and demons, who stare at the piles of cheesy Valentine's Day cards and short stories.

Fire blazes in Satan's green eyes as he speaks, "And that would be us, wouldn't it? "

'This little prank is going well.' Solomon thinks to himself as everyone is beginning to understand why their sweet human is being targeted.

"It would," he says solemnly, shaking his head. "Sometimes Cupid can get a bit jealous; I believe the reason why they are being targeted is that the creature wants Mc to be forced to fall in love with it instead."

"That kind of magic exists?" Simeon mumbles, staring at the image of the white-winged baby intently. "I never thought something that looks as innocent as this could be capable of such unthinkable deeds."

"So, if Mc gets hit with one of these Arrows, they won't love me anymore?" Asmodeus asks, his peach-colored eyes turning glassy at the thought.

"Should we tell them?" Beel asks softly; the snack he has been munching on now sits discarded next to him.

Before the Sorcerer can even open his mouth to object, he is cut off by Lucifer. "Absolutely not; if we tell them, they could get scared. Let's focus on keeping this beast away from them."

"Well, what are we supposed to do about this, huh?" Mammon says, staring at the other human exactly.

"Obviously, we are going to protect them," Levi mumbles finally.

The Sorcerer snaps his fingers, "That. Is exactly what we are going to do. So if any of us are out with them later, they'll have to protect them.

"Won't we be affected if we get hit by the arrows?" The youngest brother asks, clutching his large pillow with a vice-like grip.

Being prepared for this question, the Sorcerer shakes his head. "No, none of us are human enough to be affected by the magic."

He gives them each a conversation heart from the box he picked up at a Human world grocery store. "Take this; It will help you see through its magic and spot the signs that it's near; I wrote down a few other things to look out for," Solomon says, eating one of the candied hearts as everyone else does the same.

"So what now?" Mammon asks, swallowing the candy whole.

Solomon grins and clasps his hands together. "Now that that's settled let Operation Stay Away Cupid Commence."

~ How will everyone handle protecting you from Cupid's Nonexistent Arrows? Parts 2-4 to come!

[smallpeniscollective]

First Time

Daryl Dixon x Reader (18+)

Summary: (takes place in season 2 on the farm, Daryl and the reader are out on a hunt, and they stumble across an empty cabin, and then they seize an opportunity)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: walkers, sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex

*~*~*

It was rare for Daryl to be accompanied on a hunt. He usually moved quickly and worked alone, but this time, she had asked him to take her as well. She had flattered her way into the position with, “You’re just so good at hunting,” and “I want you to teach me, so I can help the group.” She knew exactly what to say to get him to agree to take her out, but what she didn’t know was that he wanted to be alone with her.

It’s not like alone time didn’t exist at the farm, but he was a very private man, and couldn’t ask her to sit with him in front of everyone, or just anyone. But when he came back from the woods yesterday after searching tirelessly for Sophia with a rope of dead squirrels across is back, she approached him.

She was no hunter. She had this insistent natural belief that every single little living creature could have had a family or could feel extreme pain and suffering. She decided it was time to get over this and try to return to her human nature as an animal of the food chain. The squirrels were smaller than her, and the group needed to eat.

She was quiet and graceful in the forest, barely making a sound as she tiptoed over twigs and crunchy leaves. But she still felt a hollow guilt in her chest every time she managed to catch a squirrel. She couldn’t kill it, not after she had looked into its panicked little eyes.

“You do it, Daryl,” she said, giving him the tiny creature who was desperately scratching to get out of her hands. “I can’t kill him, I looked into his eyes.”

“Ya mean kill it. These ain’t people like us, they’re the food that we need to eat. They’re our survival,” he said with his agitated southern drawl.

“Hey, at least I caught it. I may be a bad hunter, but you can’t say I can’t catch,” she retorted, as he took the squirming squirrel from her hand. He quickly snapped its neck, causing her to wince and look away. He scoffed at this.

“Do not call me a pussy right now, Daryl, or I swear to god,” she joked, not even finishing her sentence to let his mind wander about what her meek little self would be capable of doing to him.

They snaked through the woods until they stumbled upon a small cabin with a tin green roof. The little building was eerily quiet, although no quiet was comfortable these days. Daryl went in first, holding up his crossbow to take out any immediate threat and slowly opening the front door in an attempt to be quiet and discreet, but the old door creaked loudly. She followed him closely through every room, almost clipping his heels several times. If it was anyone else, he would have made an annoyed remark about them breathing down his neck, but he didn’t feel annoyed at having her so close. He felt better, like he was keeping her safer.

Once the small space was searched, he sighed, placing his bow gently on the dingy, unstable table in the kitchen. She crouched down to check cabinets for any canned or preserved goods, and he searched the pantry and fridge for any dried goods or bottled beverages. “Y’know,” she said mindlessly, as she rifled through extremely expired or already-opened items, “back in the good days, I would’ve used an abandoned cabin like this to do a lotta devious things.”

“What kinda things?” he asked with a reserved tone that indicated he was much more curious about her statement than he was letting on.

“Well, I was a chronic stoner, abandoned building seshes hit the best, but only when you’re with someone,” she said, smiling to herself as she looked back on the fun she had in her youth. “No fun being by yourself in one of these things.”

He looked at her with a slightly quizzical gaze, as he abandoned his pantry search to stand closer to her. “Didn’t take ya as a druggie,” he huffed in a defensive tone.

He told her very little about Merle, but she remembered how he told her about Merle’s drug habits. Suddenly, she felt guilty about recalling her drug experiences with joy when he had only known it as a destructive force. She closed the cabinet, turning around and standing up to meet his gaze. “It wasn’t like that,” she said quietly with a timid demeanor. “I never did anything hard, I was just a kid with nothing to do.”

“Yeah,” he said curtly, dropping his stare to the dirty floor, clearly getting more defensive about the topic.

Not wanting to drop the conversation, she threw out a last-ditch effort to keep him talking to her. She crossed her arms, rubbing the sides of her upper arms as she expressed, “Hey, thanks for taking me with you on your run... I know we don’t talk a lot, but I enjoy it when we do.”

The tension building in his shoulders dropped and he looked back at her. “I, uh, enjoy it too,” he admitted. For a moment it felt like there was a spark, a hint of something more to come between them. She softly smiled, looking down bashfully before locking eyes with him again. He could see the sparkle in her eyes, but he was never as bold as Merle was when it came to making moves. Hell, Merle would harass women like he got paid to do it. Daryl was forever stuck as the little brother, being put down so much as a kid making him now too shy as an adult to be as confident as his older brother.

She, on the other hand, was always so relaxed around him. She almost never seemed too shy to say what was on her mind. He didn’t know if this came from a new lifestyle of expecting life to end short, or if she had always been this way, but he appreciated her talking to him even when he couldn’t find words to say.

Suddenly, the sight of a walker passed by the kitchen window. The rotting man with a half-gouged face stumbled by the window, oblivious to what was just past the glass shield.

She was facing away from the window, but he saw and reacted immediately, pulling her to him and covering her mouth and with his large hand before she let out a muffled gasp from the unexpected grabbing. He pulled her down the ground with him, below the line of sight through the window. Her panicked eyes locked with his, and he put a finger to his lips, nonverbally queuing her to make no sounds. He gestured towards the window, and she understood that he must’ve seen something that caused him to react.

After a few minutes to make sure the walker was gone, he took his hand off of her mouth, and she realized his body was closer to hers than anyone’s body has ever been. She began to blush, feeling her body growing hotter and adrenaline-induced arousal blooming in her. Being a virgin was something she never talked about; it just never came up in a world where survival was what mattered. And even though survival mattered now, all she could focus on was the pressure of his body weight on top of hers, and his abdomen pressing into her hips.

Daryl knew the walker passed without noticing them or being drawn to the cabin, but he found that he couldn’t lift himself off of her just yet. He could sense her demeanor had shifted and that she wasn’t just nervous now, but flustered. She swallowed the saliva that gathered in her mouth anxiously, giving the most awkward, breathy chuckle before whispering, “I’ve, uh... never been this close to anyone before,” thinking it would be humorous.

He gave an obvious up-and-down before whispering in return, “A pretty thing like you’s never been touched before?”

She went stiff, her mouth forming a flat line before shaking her head to signify that, no, she had never been touched and confirming that, yes, she was a virgin.

He paused for a moment, teetering the border of being respectful and staying silent or offering some sort of fix for her, to help her experience her first time before either of their lives could possibly be cut short by the new rough world’s circumstances. “Y’know...” he quietly stammered, “we could—”

“Yes,” she whispered, cutting him off before he could finish his question. Normally, she would have been painfully shy, but his body already against hers, the rush of the sudden hiding, and how much she undeniably enjoyed his hand over her mouth all lined up to have her needing more. This was the first time she had ever had this rush, and she trusted Daryl with her life.

Truthfully, this wasn’t the first time he had thought about this. One of the only single, pretty girls in their camp? Of course he had thought about this. He never thought he was particularly her type, or that she’d even look his way like that, but in this moment, he was able to put all of those thoughts to the side.

He looked into her eyes deeply, scanning her face for anything that would let him know that he should not take her right here, right now. He found nothing. In fact, the glimmer in her eyes pleaded with him to make a move. He dipped his head down to her, placing his lips on hers with that masculine force that intensified the kiss tenfold.

She gasped from the suddenness of his move, but quickly melted into his touch, creeping her fingers up his sides. As their kiss deepened, his body moved up against hers, and a small whine caught in her throat from the pressure changes. She spread her legs, allowing his body to dip in closer and his hips to meet hers. He could just feel the heat radiating from her clothed loins, causing him to harden in his pants. Feeling the stiffness press against her sent electricity flying all throughout her body and sent anticipatory shivers down her spine. In her pheremone-induced confidence, she removed the first article of clothing, letting go of his hair to reach down and pull her shirt up over her head, momentarily breaking their kiss and revealing her bra. He took his opportunity to latch his lips onto her neck, rubbing his hands all over her exposed torso while sucking hard on the soft skin of her neck. There were definitely going to be marks left, but she didn’t mind.

He grabbed a hold of her hips, grinding his covered erection against the inner seam of her jeans, causing her to gasp from the sensation of her seam being pushed into her. She reached down to unbutton her pants, needing less layers between the grinding, but he stopped her hands. He pulled her pants down the length of her legs for her in a gentlemanly manner, making her feel more confident that he was the right man to do this with for the first time. He couldn’t help but stare at her panties, becoming painfully hard at the sight of the desperate wet patch that was already there.

And there she was, half-naked in all her glory on a dirty kitchen floor in an old abandoned cabin, him still fully dressed. But he wasn’t ready to indulge himself in the pleasure of taking her just yet. She watched in nervous awe as he reached a hand down, grazing his knuckles against her covered slit, the ridges of his knuckles making her hips buck up and eliciting a soft whimper form her. The noise from her reminded him of where they were and what had just happened. With a cautious tone, he whispered, “I’m gon’ need you to keep real quiet for me, darlin’. Wouldn’ wanna attract any walkers.”

She nodded softly, her eyes big and round in a plea for him to continue. His goal was to give her the best first time he could, so he gingerly pulled her panties down her legs, tossing them to the side next to her jeans, scooting himself back so that he could fully see her soaked heat.

He dipped his head below her line of sight, using his tongue to lick a sloppy stripe up the center of her folds, ending with a flick at her sensitive bud. This elicited a moan from her, after which she threw her arm over her mouth to muffle any more noise. He admittedly was not the best at eating pussy, but he did what felt natural in an effort to warm her up for him. He placed his large calloused hands on her thighs, spreading them farther as he softly lapped at her, spreading the wetness from her hole. He could hear her muffled whines as she attempted to remain quiet, which encouraged him to slide his tongue up, hooking onto the little bud, causing her hips to buck. Realizing this was a sensitive spot, he deftly latched his lips around the bud of nerves, sucking softly while occasionally adding a prodding lick up from her entrance. This must have been the right thing to do because it had her grinding her hips up onto his face and gripping his hair with the hand that wasn’t muffling her moans. He moved a hand from her thigh to touch her, feeling her sopping wetness on his fingers. He then slowly and carefully dipped a thick finger into her, making her moan the loudest she had yet.

He lifted his head to say, “Shh, baby, we gotta keep quiet,” before returning his mouth to her heat.

“It just feels so good,” she whispered in the most desperate voice he had ever heard from her. This turned him on more, but his attention returned to her loins, as he began to pump his finger in and out while he resumed his tongue on her sensitive bud. When he added a second finger to help stretch her out before his length did, he could just see what it did to her. She held her legs up, thighs squeezing him with intensity as she felt an unfamiliar tightening in her core. The sensation made her a whining mess, moving her hips in rhythm against his face.

He pulled back, removing his fingers from her warmth, making her whine like a spoiled child in response. “Why’d you stop?” she whispered, and he gave a light chuckle.

“Don’ tell me I’ve spoiled ya, sweetheart,” he joked, leaning back to pull his shirt off. She watched him do this, eyeing his muscular abdomen and letting it excite her further. He unzipped his pants, pushing down his pants and boxers below his hips, finally revealing his throbbing erection. She stared at it like an animal in the zoo that she had never seen before, instinctively reaching out a inquisitive hand to grab hold of it, pulling a grunt from deep in his throat. She ran the tips of her fingers up the length, lightly dancing her fingertips on the head, the sensation causing a drip of pre-cum to leak out, and she swiped it with her thumb, her eyes studying it with intrigue.

He took his length in his hand, and lined it up with her entrance, stroking it up and down her slit a couple of times to gather her wetness on it. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until he pushed in, releasing her breath with a sigh. Thank god he had warmed her up first, but even still it hurt a little bit as he pushed all the way in. He stopped moving when he was all the way in, pausing to look in her eyes with a look that conveyed a message of, ‘You ready for this?’

She nodded, rolling her eyes back as he started with a slow pace. His thick arms surrounded her as he held himself above her, watching her face as it changed from slight pain to pleasure. She had never felt such a deep pleasure in her before, her eyes welling with tears of joy as she struggled to keep herself from moaning loudly. The push and pull of his member in her felt like the push and pull of an ocean wave of pleasant tingles, that tightness in her core beginning to return.

When he picked up his pace, letting out his own small grunts, she couldn’t hold her moans back anymore. The sounds of her pleasure sounded like beautiful music to his ears, but then he remembered why she had to stifle them in the first place. He moved a hand to cover her mouth, gripping her jaw a tightly as he continued to thrust. The hand on her mouth turned her on more, letting herself make all of her noises into his hand.

“Baby, yer gonna bring in some walkers if ya keep makin’ those pretty sounds,” he cooed, sounding more gentle than she had ever heard his voice. She nodded, breathing deeply with her nose and hearing the whistle from her nostrils against his hand. The tightening in her body had shifted to a building sensation, as the gliding of his length through her and the danger of being so vulnerable mixed together to create an excitement that she had never been close to feeling before. Every time he thrusted into her, it felt like he was hitting a button that sent sparks all throughout her body, and she could feel all of her pleasure gather in one place as he bent his head down to lay more sloppy wet kisses on her neck.

He kept his rhythm steady, not wanting to hurt or overwhelm her for her first time, but he could feel himself becoming needier, needing more of her enveloped around him, so he pressed harder, deeper. The deeper he hit that spot in her, the closer she was to reaching that peak of pleasure, and soon her nails were digging into his sides. Her moans morphed into high pitched squeals buried beneath his hand, letting him know that she was close.

And she was so close. She felt as her walls uncontrollably tightened around him as her inched towards the edge of her orgasm, and he began thrusting fast and hard, overstimulating her senses and sending her body into a pleasurable shock. She began moving her hips up into his as her body craved more.

And then it happened. Her body hit its peak of stimulation, a surge of indescribable pleasure billowed through her, making her walls clench down so tightly on him that he had to hiss through his teeth to not finish then and there. Hot tears rolled down the sides of her face and she shakily moaned with an open, drooling mouth into his hand. As he continued his hard pounding, the audacious sounds of the wet slapping sent him into a frenzy of desire, speeding up his pace as he neared his own climax. The continuing pleasure had her writhing underneath him, wrapping her arms and legs around him tightly and pulling him closer. His hand squeezed her jaw hard, sure to leave some bruising on the edges of her cheeks, yet she still let out gleeful moans as he rode out her orgasm for her. He reached a hard finish, letting out a guttural grunt as his hips stuttered, releasing a hot load into her and tiredly dropping his head into her neck and finally letting go of her mouth.

In a foggy haze of her first time being cock-drunk, she still managed a tiny giggle. He perked his head up, looking at her half-lidded eyes and a slight curl up of his lips. He spoke with a low gravelly tone as he quietly asked, “Not bad for a first time?”

“Not bad? How are people not doing this all the time?” she whispered over-excitedly, evoking a sheepish smile from him.

“C’mon now, we gotta head back,” he reminded her, getting up off of her and extending out a hand to help her up. She shyly took his hand, surprised at how easily he yanked her up off the ground. She would have felt embarrassed about being so undressed, but it turned into a humorous bubble popping up in her when she noticed his square little man-butt before he pulled his boxers and pants back up. But the bubble burst when she saw the old, large scars on his back. Saving that conversation for when they weren’t in a post-coital glow, she looked away and got dressed quietly as he pulled his shirt back on over his head.

They snuck out of the cabin, after only finding an unopened box of saltine crackers and an old warm six-pack of beer to bring back to the group.

“So,” she started, nervously kicking the dirt as she trailed behind Daryl, “did you want this to just be a one time thing, or...?”

“Darlin’, I hope we get to do that all the time,” he teased, throwing her own words back at her.

She smiled to herself as she followed him back to the farm.

[mayumml]

Midori is not a good lover

The REAL Sou Hiyori relationship headcanons <3

first off, you don’t know if he genuinely likes you or not and most likely will never be sure 

Maybe you’re a piece of pawn in his stupid chess game but what can you do?

Midori manipulates and gaslights you just like with anyone else, you’re the primary victim that receives most of it though

He seems like a man that didn’t have a heart, and he literally doesn’t 

Feels like he doesn’t know how to act in a relationship or more like he doesn’t care enough to

You think he’d choose his work over you anytime 

He’s so on and off with his affection

He treats you like everyone else, particularly more strict with you sometimes and scolds you more often than the other participants

This fucker is adamant about “being fair to all participants and not letting a personal relation change that” and yet you feel like he’s being the most unfair to you

Even more passive aggressive when it comes to you, he loves to bring up the past and laugh when you get pissed

But then sometimes, he would appear out of nowhere and gives you a quick peck

You’d expect him to be open to PDA, and yet he only ever initiates (and allows) any affection when it’s just the two of you 

You’re conflicted, though, at certain times he’ll choose a timing where most of everyone is gathered in one place and approach you with the most affection you’ll ever receive from him

He makes sure everyone is looking, maybe it’s his way of showing his twisted sense of superiority?

Midori very quickly reverts back to ignoring you if he is satisfied 

You learn that he is extremely possessive

Yes, you get fed up with his shit many times and he knows it well

Does he ever apologize? Never. 

Like ever. 

You could confront him, but he’ll give you the same saccharine smile and feigns innocence

“What’s wrong with me showing my lover off to everyone? Does that upset you?” 

When you try to explain that’s not why you’re upset, he convinces you that you’re overreacting and somehow makes you seem like the bad guy for “not wanting to be seen with him.” (bitchass) 

Weirdly loves small talk 

Midori would interrogate you whenever he pleases and ask about your favorite color to wear on a rainy day 

You cant tell if he really cares about your responses at all because he just stands there and blinks with his smile and throws follow up questions at you

Kind of feels like he wants to know everything about you but also nothing at the same time 

Remembers small, itty bitty details about you

It’s endearing but also freaks you out because he remembers which angle you prefer to wear your collar

Very touchy when he wants to be, but acts like a jerk when he decides he doesn’t feel like it 

Limited use of pet names because he prefers calling you by your name 

Will call you sweetheart (mockingly most of the time), “my favorite participant,” or a shortened version of your name

Likes to receive but doesn’t give, unless he needs something

You don’t know why you’re still with him 

Midori is very good at making you feel special but also worthless

Will give you overly expensive presents that you don’t need and stare at your reaction as you open them 

(does he think this makes up for his neglect as a partner?)

Very likely to give you jewelry with his initials, he might have one with your initials but won’t wear it 

Sucks at comforting

He actually just doesn’t comfort at all

He makes things worse when you’re upset 

“You’re crying? Humans really are sentimental beings, after all. I guess crying is all that you’re capable of.” 

Let you play and style with his hair in private 

Gets defensive and change the subject when you mention Shin’s history with him

Avoids personal questions like the plague 

Actively tries to poke into every corner of your life. Boundaries? What’s that?

Not a very good partner, he’s just not a good person in general

Midori rarely mentions your relationship in front of the other participants, but when he does, he refers to you as his lover

Will pair you with him with the red light, he knows you don’t have the guts to kill him 

Urges you on to kill him way too often 

He gives you a smug knowing grin and a kiss when you can’t do it

Don’t try to physically hurt him, it turns him on (he won’t hesitate to break your arm)

Remember when I said he’s very possessive? 

Fucker treats you like an object

no one takes what belongs to him

Won’t be the type to defend you and won’t fight if someone hits on you

He would direct the conversation elsewhere and weird out whoever it is somehow (always works) 

Shows up a few days later with news that the attacker mysteriously jumped of a building (willingly?) 

His romantic side is very unconventional

“Would you love me even if I was a worm?” 

“Worms are rather dirty and invasive, are they not? I’d rather not deal with a pest, thanks.” 

[hellish-sunsets]

Curses and Blessings - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9

Summary:

In this part of the city, close to the outskirts, anyone and everyone could see the large building towering over the rest. It was in… not good condition, but better than the rest of the falling apart buildings, all bricks and old-fashioned architecture, with bright spotlights on the light up sign spelling out Hazbin Hotel. Obnoxious and pointless. 

Word Count: 1,554

Read on AO3

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In the chaos of Pentagram City, where sinners ran amuck and you couldn’t go anywhere without running into some fucker doing the things that got them stuck here in the first place, no one gave a second glance when some random woman was thrown out of a rundown building into the alleyway. She slammed against the far brick wall with a grunt, but made sure not to fall to the ground. A large beast of a man followed with a glower, but kept himself firmly rooted in the doorway. 

“Get going, bitch! Unless you want to get yourself fucked up for real.”

She glared at him, taking a shaky step forward, one arm clutching at her bruised side.

“The fuck is your problem, man? I paid my rent!”

The man just shrugged, a cruel smirk twisting at his lips. “Yeah, but I found a pretty bitch willing to pay just as much, and she’ll fuck me too.” He said with a bark of laughter. “Looks like you’re out of luck. Now get out of here!.”

With that he slammed the door shut, shaking the doorframe, leaving her on the street. Again.

He didn’t even let her get her stuff, the jackass. Not that there was much. Everything important was in the bag slung over her shoulders. 

She leaned heavily against the brick wall, wincing in pain slightly as she opened the bag to double check everything was there. With a nod to herself, she pushed herself off the wall and trudged through the streets of hell, unconsciously tugging her left sleeve down to cover the mark on her wrist.

Alright, first thing first, get a place to stay for the night. That was easier said than done, of course. It was hell, filled with the worst of humanity. There wasn’t going to be any well wishers or good samaritans to help and plenty of greedy or perverted men. Probably both. She would have to be careful.

God, she was so tired of being careful.

Of course, the big issue was her lack of money. She already gave that jackass everything she had for rent. He most definitely wasn’t giving her that back. 

She sighed, glancing up. In this part of the city, close to the outskirts, anyone and everyone could see the large building towering over the rest. It was in… not good condition, but better than the rest of the falling apart buildings, all bricks and old-fashioned architecture, with bright spotlights on the light up sign spelling out Hazbin Hotel. Obnoxious and pointless. 

Everyone in hell knew about the Hazbin Hotel, the little pet project of one Charlie Morningstar, the daughter of Lucifer himself. If it was brought up in conversation, it was with stifled laughter and condescension. As if anyone in hell was capable of something like redemption. Did she agree with them? She wasn’t entirely sure herself. If people didn’t want to change, then obviously they wouldn’t stand a chance. Maybe if they got a few people who actually gave a shit it might work out, but that was a big maybe.

Not of that really mattered right now. What did matter was that anyone could get in for free, and it was a hell of a lot better than a night on the streets. She didn’t want to think too hard about what commitment she was making by even approaching the front steps, but it couldn’t be anything too bad, right? From what she’s seen on TV, this Charlie girl seemed nice enough. The worst she could expect was what, some lame exercises? She could handle that. And it wasn’t like she was a shit person herself. She’d only been in hell for, what, three months? It would take more than that to drag her depressed ass down to these people’s level. She could manage this. She could do this, she could do this! She was already debating joining anyways, just to get out of her last building. 

She was dragged out of her thoughts by the sound of the doorbell, loud and very noticeable even from this side of the large double doors. She almost didn’t even realize she rang it. She took a few steps back, tugging her sleeve down again, anxiety clawing at her throat suddenly. After a few moments, she could make out the sound of hurried footsteps and voices. They hushed suddenly before the door was yanked open and she was greeted by the bright, warmth-filled smile of Charlie Morningstar herself, recognizable from her time on TV. Next to her was another woman, with gray skin and long white hair, not nearly as bright and bubbly. 

“Hello! And welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! Come in, come in!” Charlie all but shouted, ushering her inside the well lit lobby. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re here. Wait, I mean, um, My name is Charlie! It’s nice to meet you!” 

Charlie happily extended her hand and she hesitantly shook it.

“Um, Y/N…” she mumbled. “I’m, uh, here for a room? And, uh, the whole… thing you do here, I guess…”

“Great! Of course! Come on, let’s pick a room out for you and I can introduce you to the others! Oh, we can do session tonight! And then-” Charlie happily babbled on about sessions and introductions as she turned to lead the way. She hesitantly gave the other woman a look. She gave a friendly enough smirk and motioned for her to follow. 

“It’s Vaggie, by the way.” She mumbled so as not to interrupt Charlie’s rambling. She nodded in acknowledgement, not voicing her first thought which was how unfortunate that name was, but that wasn’t her place. 

As it turned out, the rooms here were a decent size, about what you would expect from a typical hotel with an attached bathroom. It was certainly a hell of a lot nicer than her last place. And she really didn’t have to pay rent? It seemed too good to be true.

“It’s… nice. Thank you.” She offered with a smile, making Charlie beam. She looked like she was going to say something, but Vaggie stepped in, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“Why don’t you settle in, then you can join us at dinner.”

“Oh, yeah! We’re going to have dinner as a group today! Cook together and eat together, bring everyone together, it’s going to be great.” Charlie explained with her usual enthusiasm as Vaggie guided her towards the door. “Though, I guess you don’t have to help with the cooking today. You can join in next time! I’ll send somebody when it’s ready, okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good, sweetheart. Thank you again.” She replied politely, earning another beaming smile before Vaggie managed to get Charlie out of the room, closing the door behind them. She heard the girl’s excited voice as she was guided down the hallway. 

Y/N waited for it to be quiet before finally letting out the breath she was holding.

She could do this. 

She dropped her bag on the bed, then collapsed onto it face first with a thump. It smelled like fresh linen and laundry detergent, not even the faintest hint of mold or mildew. That, and the sheer softness of it forced a sigh out of her chest, her body melting into the comfort the blankets offered. Yeah, this would be okay. She just… had to keep herself in check, make sure she didn’t ruin this for herself, and make herself useful.

Just don’t be a burden.

She tensed up as the thought passed through her mind, and with it came the disdain of her fathers eyes. Don’t fuck this up, don’t be a buren. 

She dragged herself towards the pillow with a huff, burying her face in it and holding her breath, focusing on her heartbeat. She couldn’t let herself think like that, not now when she had to meet so many people before long. It would be fine, she was fine, it’s okay.

She didn’t even realize she had fallen asleep until the knocking at the door startled her awake. She immediately rushed for the door, yanking it open to the sight of a startled snake-like man. 

“Uh, hello! My name is Sir Pentious and Charlie has assigned me the job of escorting you to dinner.” He said, voice hissing with every syllable. She nodded.

“Of course, just, um, let me get myself ready.” She mumbled, leaving the door open as she headed towards the bathroom to look herself over, trying to tame her hair some and mentally prepare herself for what was to come. 

“We made a beef stew!” Sir Pentious offered from his spot at the doorway. “And that mark on your arm is very pretty! Mine isn’t nearly as appealing…” 

She froze at that, looking down at her wrist. Her sleeve must have gotten pulled up while she slept, revealing the array of gold and orange and pink. She cursed at herself and pulled her sleeve down. 

“I, uh, th-thank you!” she shouted back, wincing.

She had… complicated feelings about her mark and the whole… soulmate thing in general. It was just… better if she avoided the whole thing. She took a deep breath to steady herself and went out to Sir Pentious with a smile, at least pretending she was ready to meet everybody.

[hamsternella]

Have you seen that anime about the elusive samurai?? Could you write something with a reader who is a hashira and acts like the protagonist? +yandere pillars and muzan/other demons🤭

[PART 1] Yandere!Hashiras (+Muzan and demons) x Elusive!Reader

cw: yandere themes, stalking, blood, gore, violence, forced relationship, mdni

SO SORRY but it doesn't allow me to put more images, so here is the link to the second part where the demons + muzan are included: HEREEEE

TIP JAR

Ubuyashiki could be a man capable of predicting the future, and thus save himself a great deal of trouble that would jeopardize the safety of his family or his company of Pillars. But all people have a breaking point—and you were, without a doubt, that point.

No one really knew when you became a Pilar. Not even Ubuyashiki himself was sure. This was because of your elusive and confusing nature; the way you seemed to totally detach yourself from everything and everyone, all the time. You were not a bad person at all. You were just... misunderstood, let's say.

You accomplished all your missions on time, and you were undoubtedly a defender of your people with all your heart and pride on the edge of your sword. You were also known as the 'Elusive Pillar', due to your obvious nature. If anything, the real reason you were still alive was because of your enormous ability to dodge and escape from dangerous situations instead of attacking.

If a demon recognized you, the others knew there was no way to beat you: you were going to make them desperate, and eventually their hunger would turn to frustration. People loved you unconditionally for that reason. It was even funny.

To Ubuyashiki and the other Pillars, the reason for your loyalty to the cause was unknown. Why on earth had you become part of the team? No, indeed, how did you even manage it?

You could go against the evil of the world, the injustices and the demons; but not for a murderous hatred, and much less for money, because clearly your salary was the lowest. Your interest was nil. During fights you preferred to work alone, because you enjoyed the chase and the weight of death on your heels.

And you always laughed. Always. God help us, because at this point you even looked like a crazy person.

Otherwise, you were almost never with Ubuyashiki and the Pillars. Who knows where you would be fulfilling missions; eating or sleeping at night. It was difficult to contact you because even your crow had had enough of you—a peck on your head and never came back. Trusting someone lonely and who seemed to play between life and death was too much even for the natural course of the universe, if even a crow didn't want you around.

But as much fun as the idea of continuing to play blindly with death was, duty eventually came to your door, materialized in the form of Ubuyashiki's crow. The animal announced the arrival of new subjects and a demon that promised scientific advances; and the truth is that it was impossible for you to contain your curiosity.

Your approach to the team not only led you to reconnect with the Pillars, and thus take back the place that belonged to you, but also to meet special demons that promised another kind of glimpse of what was your good friend. The most loyal, honest and eternal companion.

Death. Or maybe something more—something terrible.

Gyomei

The Stone Pillar considers you a necessary member, but condemns your childish attitude. He does not believe that your uprooting will bring positive things, both for you and for them; and he fears, of course, for your safety when you fail to report your condition after many months away from home. Gyomei thinks you could do with some training to forge some character in you, and asks Ubuyashiki to allow him to be your teacher.

Needless to say, the decision doesn't seem like a good idea to you. For the first few days you disappear again; and if you return at all, it's to steal some food from the kitchens and to play with Nezuko, who turned out to be a pleasant companion with whom you can enjoy a moment's peace. Gyomei catches you in the act, but holds back and says nothing. He secretly begins to discover facets that he thought were alien to you—and he begins to like that. His perception of you eventually changes.

Gyomei would gradually become a silent stalker. That would lead him to take advantage of the information he gets from you in your vulnerable moments, in order to connect with you when he can catch you in the middle of your escapades. He uses his wits to avoid being discovered; and although guilt weighs on his conscience, a strange pleasure settles in his heart.

With the delicacy of a petal against the lips, Gyomei rests his against your ear on the coldest nights; sighing sensitive words of encouragement, finding morbid satisfaction in how you melt and surrender yourself before him. When you decide to give him a chance, finding in him a sensitive soul who understands you incredibly, you end up undressing your soul, and you share with him part of your past. Why you are like this.

The story of your family being slaughtered brings the Stone Pillar down completely. You tell him how a distant relative betrayed your parents, selling them with no shame. You survived by the grace of the Gods; while your siblings ended their own lives, terrified that the same demon might return for them. Over the years you found it impossible to end your life as they did. There was something inside you—a flame. It wasn't courage or honor; neither was it a thirst for revenge. You simply wanted to live.

Gyomei understands that you and he are somewhat alike, and if that alone doesn't fuel his craze for you, the fact that you are so fragile definitely does. Fragile for him, at least. A voracious hunger begins to take hold of his being; the need to contain and possess you, to never let you escape again. The idea that you still want to savor the brush of death and enjoy the chase burns within his heart. Gyomei can't believe you're going to go on living like it's nothing; even after that night he confided his past to you too.

Gyomei would be a soft yandere. He doesn't use brute force to keep you in line. He prefers to mold you emotionally and psychologically. He would know how to follow you silently; he would use all the information he gets from this to get you, to make you need him, and maybe make you more docile and to never escape from there. From him. He would use your past misfortunes to brainwash you, considering that he loves your dependence on him.

Gyomei doesn't mind if you remain a Pillar. Although if in the end you decide to give that up he wouldn't mind either…

Tengen

Tengen considers you a curious specimen. He finds it fascinating to meet a person as agile as he is, who seems to understand the techniques of a speed fight. Imagine the surprise that engulfs him when, challenging you to a race, he finds that there is no way to track you by sound—you are quick and delicate as a leaf in the wind.

Nevertheless, the Sound Pillar feels conflicted with other facts. For example, that your loyalty to Ubuyashiki is merely a matter of convenience, since for you none of this is part of honor or revenge directly as they are; and eventually, Tengen feels both distrustful and fascinated at the same time.

How are you supposed to relate to him if the guy is giving mixed signals all the time? As the weeks go by you decide it's best to ignore him—and Tengen, of course, hates that. The frustration of not being able to be with you, since you run away all the time, leads him to put aside prejudice in order to enjoy training and racing with you. On one of those days he finds Gyomei spying on you, and the Sound Pillar can't hide a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't annoyance; the truth is that he was also intrigued to know what you were doing in your free time (which was technically almost all the time).

Tengen would be slow to realize that he is falling on his knees before you. He thinks it's because he has found a good partner, with whom he can enjoy many fun times. But the truth is that it's hard to control his feelings when he discovers that Gyomei has managed to have you in the palm of his hand; not only getting honest about who you are, but also monopolizing your time by becoming your teacher. An accumulation of jealousy leads him to eventually accept that he has begun to like you. You know—more than a friend.

I said it would take him a while to figure it out, didn't I? I hope you know how to prepare yourself very well for when Tengen accepts the inevitable. There's no turning back when he decides there's no reason to hide or repress his feelings for you. The Sound Pillar does everything to hinder your encounters with Gyomei; and even proposes to help you in your training when he notices how close you are to the Stone Pillar. Although it pains him to accept that you appreciate his partner, Tengen understands that he can't simply force you to stop talking to him.

The truth is that I don't think Tengen is a violent or extremely jealous yandere. Of course, as his obsession with having you to himself increases, so does his jealousy or harmful thoughts if he finds you too close to Gyomei, for example. But like the Stone Pillar, he is incapable of laying a hand on you… at least in violent terms—because sexually speaking, the Sound Pillar is increasingly thirsty. Unlike Gyomei, who finds pleasure in the emotional control he has over you, Tengen prefers to be physically dominant and have your attention and devotion on him at all times.

The day he discovers something from your past is the day you can consider yourself lost. Tengen will try everything in his power to familiarize you with his wives —always imagining that you could be among them, as a partner, good friend and lover—, and thus bind you emotionally; taking advantage of the fact that Gyomei opened a past wound. Tengen wants to show you that he can help you forget the pain with his great qualities. Sex, money, fun... Anything you want, he can give you. Do you want to cheat death? He will help you with that! Of course, then you have to be good, and return the favors... And who are you to refuse a good friend?

As long as your attention and adoration are on him, Tengen has no problem with you remaining a Pillar and talking to others. But at the end of the day he must always be your priority! Because, when you have to leave your post, you have to know how to satisfy him to fulfill your role by being at home with everyone else.

Yep, he's made up his mind. He has to be fast if he wants to get you. Even faster than you.

Kyōjurō

Well, let's see. You didn't like this guy at first. What the hell with that smile? And that voice? God, if anything he can seem like someone so nice, but the first moment he meets you the only thing that comes out of his mouth is: 'I don't accept your ways! But I welcome you, Elusive Pillar!’ And that's not a bad thing—please don't be misunderstood. You didn't expect them to open their arms to you as soon as you arrived; you understood it was going to be difficult if they'd hardly ever seen you in their lives. But this guy was something else.

Although Kyōjurō is not entirely convinced of your participation in the cause, you two now have Tengen in common. He appreciates you both very much, and the Flame Pillar notices it; so he tries with minimal interest to relate to you in order to understand what it is that fascinates others so much. It doesn't take him long to become equally fascinated with your agility and wit. You're quite charming, too! Suddenly Kyōjurō's smile grows naturally—his heart vibrates with excitement as a new day begins with your face in front of his.

The Flame Pillar is a typical sunshine. You quickly grow fond of him, and deeply appreciate his company. At first it was hard to put up with his yelling, and let's not even get started on how hard it is to talk to him because of his poor hearing. But other than that, Kyōjurō is a real sweetheart of a person that you love spending time with; you play together, eat together, and he even supports you unconditionally in your training and everything you do... until these same goals begin to pull you away from him.

You can't wish for things so different from him! The Flame Pillar loves your way of dealing with society's problems —demons or crime in general—, but he knows that sooner or later your true goals are going to lead you to not concentrate all your energy on your training, and with that, to move away from him and the cause. Kyōjurō wants you to stay with them forever... Well, the truth is that he wants you to stay with him forever, rather.

The Flame Pillar knows how to use his charm on others to drag shame and guilt on you. How do you go against the ideas of someone as respected as him? Impossible! Imagine how hard it is to start missing training, meals or meetings when everyone is betting on your participation because of Kyōjurō; the way even Ubuyashiki eats the story that the Flame Pillar puts on the table for him. Gyomei himself proposed it, and Tengen fully supported it.

‘Master! This person is very valuable to us, but it is difficult for them to accept it… Their past haunts them—the pain of loss and distrust of themselves. They are afraid! Master, please propose Elusive Pillar's compulsory and absolute participation with us! We are their friends and we want them to take command of their territory and responsibilities as a Pillar.’

Kyōjurō is an extremely possessive yandere, but not jealous. He loves to imagine that it will be practically impossible for you to escape if everyone starts to get familiar with you. Maybe you'll find a better goal if you see that everyone loves you! Why wish for death, when there is a huge and powerful family that can bring you greater pleasure? Besides, it would be a shame to jeopardize your abilities for an unnecessary whim such as playing with fate; always between life and death, escaping from those who can appreciate and love you.

The Flame Pillar is a delusional man. It doesn't matter how much you show your discomfort; nor how much you fight or escape countless nights, when everyone is asleep. He really believes you do it because you're afraid of the truth: you need them, and especially him. You crave affection, protection and unconditional support. You long for someone like him—a person capable of providing for you in all the ways you lack in your own capacity. But don't be ashamed! Kyōjurō will do whatever it takes to make sure that your ideas —and your legs, which really would be a shame if something were to happen to them— don't get in the way of the dazzling future that awaits with your new family... and partners, too. The Flame Pillar has no intention of abandoning his own yearnings with you.

Giyū

Giyū doesn't give a shit about you. The truth is, he doesn't agree with your actions, and disinterest is his first response to anything to do with you. So what if you're agile? So what if you're resourceful? What good is it if others fight to get Ubuyashiki's word to keep you locked up and forced to work on other terms? Giyū knows you're not going to take it seriously one way or the other. You're not even here for money, food or shelter—you're here for fun!

The Water Pillar finds it offensive that you show your face every morning in the main yards. Your hand on your sword and your back straight; eyes attentive to everyone and everything. He doesn't quite understand your dynamic either. Why are you so good at EVERYTHING you do when you fight? What is your purpose? Giyū feels that the world becomes three times more confusing when he must leave on a mission with you, and until you have the demon stressed you don't give even one cut with your sword. NOT EVEN ONE.

In spite of everything, he cannot deny that the Gods are on your side because of the way you dodge death with every step you take. Every leap is minutely calculated; every turn, every laugh, even. You dare not waste air—your breaths are precise and clean. Your technique is immaculate.

The Water Pillar swallows his prejudices when you end up saving his life. You decapitated the last demon with simplicity, smiling sweetly at him. Giyū didn't know the reason, or maybe he wanted to ignore it; but from that day on he had to give Kyōjurō the reason. To the things he and the others whispered about you on the sly. Because yes, just as you read it: Giyū might be as frustrated as he wanted to show, but he couldn't shake the charm of your smile and the impact of your presence around him.

Don't think this will make him want to spend time with you anyway. This guy is going to go on for a while ignoring you after he greets you in the morning. His eyes will roam over your figure, his hands will trace the fabric of your haori when you least expect it, and maybe he'll allow himself to take a walk to catch you sneaking around playing in the trees, wanting to hear your laughter... But nah, don't think it's because he's interested in you. Right?

Giyū is extremely weird. He doesn't understand that he likes you; and when Tengen makes a joke alluding to it, the Water Pillar can't help but feel deeply hurt that you don't even care about that. The feeling passes, but the disappointment there lingers. Giyū is embarrassed and confused. What is wrong with you? What is this unhealthy interest? The walks among the trees increase; and it's all about learning more about you and discovering what drives him so much to you. It's just that. It really is.

The thing with Giyū is this: the guy ends up coming to the conclusion that it's all due to pure and simple admiration for you. Nothing more. He talks it over with Kyōjurō —for he doesn't trust Tengen and his humor; neither does he trust Gyomei and his need to keep all information concerning you to himself—, and with a bit of manipulation here and there is where the real trouble begins. The Water Pillar is a new man.

Giyū would take a long time to demonstrate his yandere nature, but once he does, for you it's where hell on earth unleashes its first waves of heat. A warning. The Water Pillar is possessive and jealous, but he doesn't communicate it with words; he prefers to punish you physically with light activities, and humiliate you with a kind of ice law to make you feel lonely. Of course he'll join in with the others, and take advantage of this to gain your attention and affection, so that he can get inside your head and manage you as he pleases. And, hey, don't tell anyone, but... Giyū doesn't enjoy having to share you.

His darkest dream is that something terrible would happen to you, to those beautiful, fast legs, so that you would abandon your post and he could lock you away from the world. You would be just for him—to discover together other kinds of morbid pleasures that don't have to bring you so close to death, and thus away from him.

Sanemi

I'll keep it short and clear with this guy: it's going to hurt like hell, and where suffering is optional, with him it's inevitable and unstoppable. Your encounter with the Wind Pillar begins and ends with a fight, where he refuses to 'team up with someone as hopeless as you'. Just as you thought sensibly about Kyōjurō you did so with Sanemi, but of course you came to be offended by his violent behavior. The discomfort was such that you ended up running away for the whole day; terrified at the thought of having to share another space with him.

Sanemi doesn't exactly hate you, but he doesn't appreciate you either. It's a middle ground... that always ends with an explosion on his part. Screams, fists in the air; occasionally your terrified face. That's funny to him—your grimace of terror. You can be unstoppable to demons, and maybe charm others with your wit or shit whatever it is you hide up your sleeve, but he'd rather keep the charm of your fear to himself. You're so small and easy to take down with a scream. You are pathetic.

The Wind Pillar would be one of the most difficult to conquer/accompany. Relating to him means that you're going to have to put up with banging and yelling; although if you decide to walk away, he will eventually find out one way or another about your past. At first it's annoying mutterings, all coming from what he considers to be your 'pathetic followers'. Then the odd encounter with Kyōjurō, where Sanemi can't ignore honorific mentions of you and your achievements in battle; as well as your amazing personality and authenticity. To the Wind Pillar all this is pure garbage. Why should he be interested?

'They are pathetic. Are you telling me that they come to take part in a cause for the fun of it? So what if they fight and defend? It's the minimum and indispensable; I'm not going to applaud them. Nor do I find much merit in them being fast or agile... How else are they going to survive if they're not? Fuck them—with their ways of doing things, here and there. Whatever. I don't want to talk about this again, Rengoku.'

It gets to a point where Sanemi can't get over the frustration. His partner's voice keeps drilling into his head—his words about you; the way you 'so well' fight or handle yourself around, melting into the environment as you carry yourself with simplicity and divine graces... Needless to say, at night the Wind Pillar corners you after witnessing your training. The result? A 'let's fight, you piece of garbage', and a beating that leaves you stone dead for a week. It is humiliating for Sanemi to have to accept what others whispered in the shadows: you were charming. And not just charming, let's be honest; also fast and agile.

Like Tengen, the Wind Pillar would begin to let go of certain prejudices in order to spend quality time with you. In other words, simple training. Sometimes also because of how easy it was to be with you even in the silence, thanks to that way you have of being: so calm, but at the same time on par with the flow of life. It's as if you are aware of things that humans normally ignore. Sanemi didn't know how to explain it—it seemed complicated and therefore annoying. He preferred not to be annoyed with you; who knows if he would end up beating you to a pulp again.

Kyōjurō seizes the opportunity and leaves the rest of the work in the hands of Gyomei, whom Sanemi deeply respects. The latter gives him an account of nefarious events that end your family's story, and of the real reason behind Ubuyashiki's words regarding your new role in the cause. The Wind Pillar since then keeps seeing you with different eyes; his own heart spinning as he imagines your small figure —that of a creature; a child— facing such macabre scenarios. He understands on the one hand why you act the way you do. The image of his own brother dancing in his mind, with bitter memories tangling with yours. He's going crazy and the feeling is strange.

Sanemi will begin to silently admire you. With that comes other particular things, like his drastic mood swings; being bitter, maybe angry at something or someone, and then an appearance from you keeps him shy or silent. It's strange to you—but you don't question anything about it. You love being able to have a normal coexistence together with Wind Pillar, whom you admire greatly for his strength.

Sanemi, along with Iguro and Shinobu, would be the most dangerous once their yandere natures come out. The Wind Pillar is quick to understand that he wants and NEEDS to protect you. He is capable of anything for it, even hurting you enough to cripple you. He is a passionate lover; he wishes he could hold you in his arms, and can only bear to share you normally with Iguro; filling his head with ideas to set his eyes on you. So watch out, because Sanemi is going to do the impossible to make you understand (physical, psychological or sexual punishments. All of it). Maybe it's time for him to share more time with Tengen—something interesting could come out of it to try out with you.

Iguro

How come? Sanemi's on his knees for you? The Snake Pillar feels like the world is upside down when he finds his friend's lost eyes for you. And why is that, by any chance? He doesn't quite understand; but he's willing to find out. Of course it's not easy, considering that even with your reduced schedule due to training and meetings you're still on the run and doing your own thing. In dark times, in pain and illness, you are still you. He admires that very much.

Iguro is another dangerous yandere who accepts his own nature without shame. As soon as Sanemi fills his head with topics referring to you, he marches and includes himself in your routines to learn more about who you really are and the things that make you up. For you it's awkward, of course—the encounters are forced. Iguro judges you all the time, though he soon realizes that you're not at all like Giyū: someone haughty who passes over others. It's a relief to him. How could he have doubted his friend's judgment?

The Snake Pillar invites you to trainings, either alone with him or even when the Wind Pillar is available as well. It's hard for you to keep up when they attack you so eagerly. You can tell how much fun they have with you, fascinated by your movements and your charm when you get caught up in the moment; for Iguro it's a feast for the eyes and ears, with your laughter vibrating in his memory when you're not there. It doesn't take long for the Snake Pillar to feel repulsed by his feelings for you as they begin to emerge. He finds it bold on his part; considering himself unpleasant and unable to live up to you.

Just like Giyū and Gyomei, Iguro will start stalking you to satiate his need for you. In one of those many silent pursuits he'll end up hearing a couple of curious murmurs from the others, and as if his fascination for you wasn't enough, with whispers about your past and a couple of more private details he ends up accepting that he can't —nor wants to— tear you out of his head. From here the stalking increases, and you know he's there, but you don't say anything. You think it's halfway understandable; you weren't going to be marching with freedom so easily yet. Although the reason you had in mind was totally different from what they had.

Once the contempt stage passes and your words of encouragement reach the Snake Pillar's heart, considering that your friendship with him increases over time, Iguro will be more than willing to be faithful to you completely. He will attend to your needs whenever he can and you need him to; he will give you emotional support, as one would imagine a man devoted to his lover; and he will be defending the territory around you like an animal. He is a possessive yandere, and quite violent with the reason of his obsession if he doesn't get what he wants: your attention and reciprocation. Needless to say, just like Giyū, Iguro hates having to share you. When he learns that Tengen has plans to take you into his domain to fulfill alongside his wives, fury consumes him.

The Snake Pillar is not entirely okay with you continuing to take on your responsibility as a Pillar. What's more, with the Wind Pillar they had wicked conversations; full of plans on how to get you to retire forcibly. At first it's a soft thing—the sweetness falling from his lips like a whisper. As desperation takes over his mind, and with it bitter fantasies where he loses you completely, Iguro loses patience and accepts Sanemi's help to humiliate and break you mentally. Who knows... maybe even this will lead you to despair; and with it, to a terrible accident.

But you don't have to be afraid! Iguro has suffered for a long time from confinement. He understands that your charm comes from that beautiful freedom, with which you can walk around and sing for him. Iguro loves to hear your laughter. So when you retire, he will be more than willing to accompany you and keep an eye on you; always attentive to your needs, and then you can calmly return home, where you will lie for the rest of your life in a quiet and safe routine, far from death. The Snake Pillar trembles with excitement, unable to process how happy it feels to dream of that future where he has you tamed. Where you are docile and always by his side.

Muichiro (platonic)

Muichiro forgets you as soon as you introduce yourself after a meeting. The Mist Pillar, who is just a child at your side, not even acknowledges you from then on; passing you without greeting, losing his attention on the shapes of the clouds, and remaining silent, his eyes fixed somewhere when you speak to him. It's strange—but you don't question much else.

The only way I can see this boy ending up obsessing over you is after a messy fight. Not that he will be immediately attached to you; but he will certainly remember your face and voice clearly when you have saved his life. It's as if you've reached a weak spot inside his mind, in a dusty corner. The honorable way in which you risked your life to save a couple of children from several hungry demons, with a speech directed towards the Mist Pillar and his behavior, undoubtedly interfered with a barrier in his heart.

Muichiro is jealous, but only if he loses his priority for attention. If you put him at the top of your agenda, rest assured that you won't have to deal with his bad temper, which is pretty funny—but don't let his tenderness blind you. The Mist Pillar may do unpleasant things, never directed at you, in order to have you all to himself.

The loss of his family at such an early age, and in a traumatic way, leads Muichiro to cling to you in order to feel the normality he lost years ago. At the beginning it's something soft: glances, smiles, training sessions together, meals... By the time you realize it, you have the Mist Pillar inside your territory. It's like having a little brother. It's tender, but over time it becomes insistent.

Kyōjurō takes this opportunity to try to mimic Muichiro within your family picture—convince your brain that the wounded boy could be saved by you, just as you never could with your own siblings. It's cruel, but at the end of the day it works successfully. You may not see the Mist Pillar as normal at all; but he is patient, and he is willing to pull the strings to force you to like him if necessary.

Muichiro is a soft yandere, who enjoys being affectionate and receiving equal treatment. Like others of his peers, he doesn't quite agree with you being a Pillar; but he also can't imagine a future where he can't fight by your side. He loves to watch you dance among the leaves, moving your legs almost as if you were flying—never touching the ground enough, looking like a bird about to dart toward the enemy with the edge of your sword as its beak.

But as much as he adores you, Muichiro understands that he has to take care of you if he wants to continue to enjoy your presence and your affection. The way? By ruining your wings a little... just enough for you to flap them when he wants you to; but to make it impossible for you to fly away. You'd lose the charm if you have to be put in a cage, no matter how much others think it's optimal.

The Mist Pillar has dark ideas, but they are born out of the fear of losing you. From his affection for you. He is mostly someone tender and possessive, willing to mental manipulation rather than physical punishment. The latter would be the one he would never choose, unless you force him.

Shinobu

Sadistic and unstoppable. That's how Shinobu can be described. She would have been obsessed with you long ago, perhaps since you arrived with the other Pillars; but she would not be close to you completely until time passes, and with the arrival of Kyōjurō and his confirmation about the popular interest in you is when she decides she might join the plan.

The Insect Pillar is someone who enjoys good conversation, medicine and peace. She is too quiet and can barely care deeply about anything other than her job as a Pillar. Other than that, forget about it. So imagine her surprise when she learns of your arrival—Ubuyashiki's words echoing in her head as she prepares everything to inspect your health.

Suspicion blossoms first. Shinobu doesn't quite buy the reason you became a Pillar, but feigns understanding about your case and listens with sincere interest to your anecdotes. Discovering that you have traveled and fought around many new places, with demons of all kinds and a secret past, begins to sting deep inside her. At the beginning it is just that: curiosity and distrust. She refuses to so freely allow anyone who has been away for so long. I mean, you're the first Pillar in history to have been away from their post for so long! What's the point of that?

Because you have to attend often for the beatings Sanemi gives you, or for regular checkups for health issues that Ubuyashiki is concerned about, Shinobu finds herself starting varied conversations with you, because she finds you a good companion. You learn new things about medicine, and impart to her techniques you learned far away, having to meet doctors from hidden villages. The Insect Pillar considers you an interesting and powerful member.

The moment where Shinobu starts to like you is unclear. As if that wasn't enough, her signals are confusing, and she doesn't fully share her feelings with you or anyone else. To you, the Insect Pillar is terrifying with her empty eyes and inaccurate temperament. To her, you are charming and interesting; with a bright personality that helps her dispel anger and sadness.

You don't often see the Insect Pillar, but she is always one step behind you. There's no escaping when her obsession grows and is fed by Kyōjurō and the others. Just like Iguro and Giyū, Shinobu is a potential stalker, feeding her delusions with whatever she can gather from your daily routines. These same fantasies grow with the help of her companions, and it won't be long before she starts using her poisons to create new drugs to use on you.

Shinobu has no problem using physical punishment. What's more, her regular talks with Sanemi always end with a topic referring to you. She agrees with the Wind Pillar about leaving you immobilized so that you will never again endanger your life by being a Pillar. Needless to say, she is not easily moved; there would be no way for your tears or pleas to do anything in her heart.

The Insect Pillar has lost someone very special in a cruel way at the hands of a demon. Of course, you are much more agile and quicker, able to play with death without fear climbing up your back. But how long until your legs fail? How long until no one can ever hear your voice again?

Birds continue to sing even inside their cages.

Mitsuri

The Love Pillar is enchanted by you from the first moment she lays her eyes on you. She is fascinated by your ways: from the way you run, to the way you train, to the way you laugh or fight. Everything about you is incredibly cool and, of course, attractive. How could anyone hold back when they see your smile? Even your voice and shyness when Ubuyashiki introduces you to the whole team is charming.

Mitsuri is by far the Pillar you like the most besides Gyomei. Both are sweet and understanding; although just like Kyōjurō, the Love Pillar is delusional about what you want, and what she thinks is really what you should want. You don't pay enough attention to everything she says about it; you don't think there's anything you need to change. You are very clear about what you want and what you don't want.

Mitsuri doesn't agree with your escapades at all. She loves to see you being happy, and especially if it's because of her that you laugh so beautifully. But is it really necessary for you to seek such cruel things as death to give your life meaning? What is it that you are really looking for, deep down in your heart? The Love Pillar is worried that something terrible will happen to you and you will no longer be able to use your legs. It would be unfortunate if you could no longer dance and train together.

Unlike other Pillars, this girl wouldn't find satisfaction at all in having to hurt you to make you stay. Mitsuri prefers to use words... and well, let's be honest, maybe a LITTLE bit of force—but only to scare you. For her the best thing is to have you psychologically handled; the purest emotions, such as love, will keep you tied to her with honesty.

The Love Pillar has no problem sharing you—the more the merrier! There may be Pillars that she likes more than others, but in general she doesn't believe in having preferences when it comes to taking care of you and loving you. Mitsuri is not jealous; her security reaches to the skies, and her concern to have you satisfied is greater than any other negative feelings that could take place in her regarding your other partners (even if you don't think they are, but now you have them!).

The truth is, it would be hard to tell when she becomes obsessed with you. The Love Pillar may seem casual in showing her love for you, but it only takes a moment of desperation where it seems like you're going to vanish from her life to find her obsessive nature. Mitsuri is capable of crying, begging, and in one last —and terrible— instance even outright manipulating you, just so you won't leave her side.

The Love Pillar is very sweet and attentive, but also capricious. If it were up to her, she would do everything she could to be glued to your side so she could kiss you, hug you and live as your shadow. Her biggest dream? To have a family with you, of course! Imagine how beautiful the two of you would look together; a beautiful western style house in the background, with a traditional garden where you could sit and eat pancakes and watch Muichiro train, who of course is part of the family and Mitsuri already adopted —secretly— as your little brother.

But I would like to, you know, give you a little warning. Notice well how much Kyōjurō starts to impact on Mitsuri. Especially if you decide to reject her attempts; because then her obsession would become violent, and that means that maybe the impact on you would no longer be solely psychological. I tell you this in case you cherish your legs very much, for example. I don't think you would want to lose them.

Just as I don't think they would like to lose you.