#hint: he can barely walk and is coughing up blood right after

[t-u-i-t-c]

if he says he can do it, he’ll do it

[cultofdixon]

It Takes a Village

Daryl Dixon [HINTS] / Rick Grimes [PLATONIC] • She/Her Pronouns • Everyone upon meeting you has seen you as “the little sister” even if you’re only blood related to the Rick Grimes. No one hates you, you do your part and even go beyond. So when this new change in your life started to grow…everyone was going to pitch in • ANGST/SFW/NSFW • TW: Pregnancy & Birth / One-Night Stand / Anxiety Attacks / Illness / PTSD / Canon Violence Mentioned • Re-Writing Canon [literally ignoring 90% of the Savior arc deaths]

Requested by: Anon

NEXT

The walk of shame feels even worse during the apocalypse Y/N thought as she tried to be quiet when walking through the courtyard of the Kingdom.

“Maybe yea shouldn’t have drank so much tonight”

The familiar voice caused Y/N to freeze in her tracks before turning toward the sound finding Carol in her new spot at the kingdom, holding herself a glass of whiskey that Abraham gifted her as she was comfortable in her spot.

“I barely drank tonight…I’m just. Leaving the scene before the guy gets the wrong idea…”

“Not a long term gal? Isn’t your brother thinking of marrying Michonne?”

“Oh god. Rick…Don’t bring this up to Rick” Y/N begged Carol as she approaches the woman who scooted to the side on her bench. Letting the younger Grimes sibling sit beside her.

“I won’t. But if this guy does try anythin’ yea don’t like…you let me know.”

“It was just a one-time thing. I think he got that idea loud and clear” Y/N leans back into the bench looking up at the starry night. “But I will…I’ll let you know”

“You go back tomorrow?” Carol asks watching Y/N nod. She was only visiting the Kingdom to deliver some seeds for them to rebuild their gardens and to bring medicine back to Alexandria. “You know I could use company here”

“What do you mean? Your boyfriend is company”

“Yeah yeah. But I’m taking someone I could go hunting with. Or sneak off with just for a breather.” Carol sighs. “I’m not a relationship person either, but I’m bending”

“Ezekiel is a lucky guy, and everyone knows he’ll treat you right” Y/N shot her a smile while tightening the laces on her boots. “Part of me wants that one day…but I don’t know if I even want that”

“That’s normal, hun” Carol pats her thigh when she leaned back in a reassuring way. “Wanna stay with us tonight or stick in the theater like you usually do?”

“Can I stay with you?”

“Can I stay with you—-Bitch, I wouldn’t have asked” Carol laughs rising to her feet and holding her hand out for Y/N who instantly took it, letting her lead the way.

A few weeks went by and Y/N suddenly stopped going on runs, visiting her family scattered in other communities, and the worse of all…being too tired to spend time with her niece and nephew…

“Yea think it’s what Glenn had back at the prison?” Daryl frowns watching Rick shrug for the most part. “We have the medicine now unlike when we were stuck in the prison”

“But she ain’t coughing, or coughing up anything really. She’s throwing up and is extremely tired, that’s about it” Michonne chimes in helping Judith down after she finished her breakfast at the kitchen island. “If Siddiq was back home then he could check—-“

“Which I brought back the second Carl radio’d Hilltop” Glenn interrupts the group by entering the Grimes’ residence with the Alexandria doc that Carl saved during the “down period” of the Savior War.

Both Rick and Michonne have Carl a confused look as he came downstairs after giving Y/N another glass of water. He noticed Siddiq’s return and knew that’s what they were staring at him about.

“I lost my mom, I’m not about to lose my aunt too” And that triggered all kinds of thoughts to everyone in the room.

“Lead the way, Carl” Siddiq states in an instant not waiting another moment as the Grimes kid lead the way to where Y/N was staying in their home. They live in one of the town houses on the other side of Alexandria, but the second she got sick, Rick didn’t want her too far from him.

“Could be worse than the prison”

“Or a savior poisoned her”

“I knew we shouldn’t have trusted those fucks. Just cuz they killed one of their own that night, doesn’t make it alright to just jail the son of a bitch and let fear course through everybody”

“We get your stance on that. But let’s not to side tracked.” Glenn interrupts once again. “I know we moved a lot of the equipment from the Sanctuary into each of the communities because of what they have taken. But with that knowledge we could look more into it. We don’t have to work blindly”

“I agree with Glenn. Ain’t taking any chances” Rick states only for Carl to sprint down the steps and out the house, on a mission for Siddiq. But the action caused the archer to chase after the damn kid.

Sometimes the Grimes can be dramatic

As Carl rummages through the infirmary with the mental list fresh in his mind, Daryl storms in and grabbed his shoulder so that he could look at him.

“What did Siddiq find?”

“She’s dehydrated? That’s about it” even if he is almost 18, he will never learn how to lie. Especially to Daryl.

“I’ll yell at yea if you don’t tell—-“

“Daryl what even is your relationship with my aunt?!” He snaps back. “Whatever. Siddiq thinks she’s pregnant and since I told yea that. You gotta tell me—-“

“I ain’t sleeping with your aunt” Daryl snaps back and at least the two had their possible answer. But the pressing question in both of their minds…who the fuck is the mystery father if she is? “What does Siddiq need”

“I can’t find the makeshift IV bag. I’ve got a few tests but they all read different things…” Carl shows the boxes to Daryl as he took two away from him tossing them back since they weren’t pregnancy tests but the rest were. Then he reached into the cabinet to get the IV line and the bag along with it.

The two came back and when Carl headed back upstairs, Daryl grabbed his crossbow and headed back out with an even more confused Rick following behind.

“What are yea doing?”

“Going to Carol”

“You can’t—-“

“I ain’t sayin’ shit to her. I gotta ask her something” Daryl didn’t wait for him to say anything more as he went to get on his bike and head out right away.

The second he reached the Kingdom he went looking for Carol to ask about the party they held a few weeks ago. It was one of those parties that Deanna used to hold for new people since the Kingdom took in new folk from the Sanctuary that wanted to get away from that place. He knew Y/N was at it but couldn’t be there himself because he was asked to watch the Sanctuary, which felt more like a punishment.

“Daryl! What are you doing here?!” Ezekiel cheers in his usual excitement but given the archer’s serious expression that he always bears, he knew to tone it down instantly. “You looking for someone?”

“Carol have yea—-“

“She’s in the gardens. Or at least that’s the last I saw her. She could also be with Henry who started teaching some of the younger kids how to fight in what he calls “Morgan’s way” it’s really sweet—-“

“Thanks”

Ezekiel watched him leave and was left even more confused on why he was there. At least Daryl didn’t have to go searching for their kid and found Carol in the first place he told him.

“This is a surprise. How are you pookie?”

“Did yea see who Y/N went to the party with a few weeks back?”

“Where the fuck is this coming from?” Carol set the sharpening block beside her along with her knife to give her best friend her whole attention. “I didn’t even go to the party”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like those kind of things. You know this”

“You were supposed to watch her. We agreed—-“

“Daryl. Everyone agreed on that. For everyone. Not just Y/N. What’s gotten into you?” Carol frowns gesturing for Daryl to sit but instead he started pacing to try and calm himself down.

“I need to know who she left the goddamn party with. Who took her away—“

“No one took her. She wanted it just as much as the guy did. I don’t know who the guy is but she did tell me about the much needed stress relief”

“Yeah well that son of a fucking bitch didn’t wear protection and I need to bash his goddamn teeth in”

The words sunk in almost immediately as Carol rises from where she sat and quickly took Daryl’s arm heading back toward his bike.

“You’re taking me to her, now”

What Daryl didn’t know was the conversation between her and Y/N. And how much more personal it got to be

________

“You look like there’s more on your mind” Carol frowns for a moment as the two were walking to her place in the Kingdom.

“What if the unthinkable happens?”

“I’m sorry?”

Y/N didn’t know how to put the words together as she stops walking only for Carol to grab her shoulders.

“What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything. But what if it happens? I don’t fucking know the guy, and honestly it was just stress relief. I could do perfectly fine without him in my life but the fuck am I supposed to do…if I’m pregnant…”

“Y/N. Didn’t he wear protection?”

“He swore he did! But when does anybody believe a man when they say that?”

“I mean. Ezekiel is—-“

“The most perfect man. But this isn’t about him! You and I both saw what happened when a baby came into this world…I lost my sister in law who was my best friend before my family grew in the new world. But I’m de-railing…what if—-“

“No” Carol shushed her immediately. “If shit happens and you do end up pregnant, we’ll do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen. And you don’t need a partner to raise a baby. You have a family. A village or whatever the cheesy saying is. But it’s true. You have a village and you’ll never be alone. And I know for sure that everyone who loves you, would reassure you every day if they have to”

________

Well. It was positive and Daryl wasn’t the only one angry at the guy about it.

“You motherfucker—-“

“Daryl. Stop it” Y/N shoves the archer back as the man cowered a bit behind her. “This isn’t going to erase what happened”

“Yeah man. Besides it was just uh. A one time deal. She’s the one keeping the damn thing” He shrugs.

“Oh so yea blaming her?” Daryl snaps almost pushing Y/N over as she stumbles which made him quick to change his attention. He caught her and before anymore could be exchanged between those two, Rick cut in shoving Daryl away along with Y/N.

“Listen. She doesn’t need yea. Won’t ever need yea” Rick directs the guy away from his family. “But if I ever hear rumors…that are offensive toward my sister?” He suddenly grabs the man’s collar forcing him to look directly in his eyes. “There’s plenty of us that’ll put yea six feet under”

As Rick stepped away and Daryl gave one last glare before following his brother, Y/N gave the man a what the fuck just happened sort of look before quickly following the two out of the kingdom.

The pregnancy was smooth. Felt like it went by so fast because Y/N was taken care of. Granted there were moments where she snapped at her brother for getting too close after returning from a run involving taking out a few walkers. Same went for Daryl but his was more, he had to shower the second he came back to Alexandria after doing who knows what. Carol visited her every other week and that time gave her some space to come to the decision of marrying Ezekiel which she knew would make Y/N cry the second she told her. The start and finish of the bridge happened around her second trimester and during that time it gave her the excuse to step out of Alexandria to spend time with an overly excited Maggie who would stay with her the entire time they were at the makeshift camp for the communities. Giving her some tips about newborns given she wakes up the most compared to Glenn when it comes to Hershel Jr. Which unintentionally brought the anxiety back of being a single mother and the fear of doing this all alone.

But she was never alone. After getting everything settled in the Sanctuary and Carol taking over for sometime, Daryl moved into the basement living of her place. Carl also found himself spending the night at his aunts during the nights he’d find Y/N taking midnight walks. At least when he’s at Alexandria and not visiting Enid in Hilltop. Other times Rosita and Sasha would spend time with Y/N gossiping about Rosita’s relationship with Siddiq and how Abraham keeps testing Sasha’s patience with their watchtower shifts.

When the date got closer that was when everyone in Alexandria hovered whenever they saw her. Especially the rest of the Grimes family. The only hero was Michonne. She would shoo Rick out whenever his questions toward how Y/N’s feeling got a bit too extreme. He was just worried given what happened to Lori and what else could happen without the help of a fully stocked hospital.

All was fine, when Shepherd Grimes came into this crazy world perfectly fine.

Causing his own kind of chaos.

As the little light comes through to the basement apartment, Daryl didn’t wake to it at first given it was his day off. But Dog wasn’t the one either…the soft tug on his blanket alerted him and the sniffing of his Mal came after. He sat up in his bed seeing the two year old boy smiling up at him.

“Shep. It’s early”

“I’m thirsty Uncle Daryl…” Shepherd rubs his eyes as Dog investigated his action by sniffing, making the little one tiredly giggle.

Daryl sighs tossing the blanket off of him before moving to the edge of the bed to get up. Next picking up Shepherd like it was nothing and making his way to his small kitchen.

“Mama sleepin’?”

“Yeah”

“Why didn’t yea get yer mom?”

“She sleepin’ and Jude says you don’t sleep” The stupid goofy smile the kid had when saying that, Daryl couldn’t get mad at that assumption as he had a few sippy cups down in his kitchen since this isn’t the first time Shepherd came down there. He went on a run with Glenn and Rick to get a lot of baby/kid items from abandoned neighborhoods and stores for not only Shepherd, Hershel, Judith, and Gracie but also the newest addition RJ. Rick Jr. Grimes, son of Rick and Michonne.

“Mama is scary when yea wake her too early anyway” Daryl finishes getting the cap on and handing the cup filled with water to the little one in his arm. “But she’ll scream like a banshee if yea ain’t upstairs”

“What’s a…ba…ban…bunsha”

“Close enough, just a screamin’ creature” Daryl made his way upstairs with the mini Y/N Grimes as he gripped onto his sweater to keep him steady enough to take a sip from his cup. “Yea tired?” He asks the child watching him shake his head which lead to him being set down on the couch in the main house before sitting beside him. “I’ll stick with yea until Y/N wakes up”

Daryl couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest when the small child scooted over to sit beside him and lay against him while drinking his water.

When it got about an hour or two later making it still an early morning but enough for Y/N to wake. She came down from her bedroom still in her pajamas finding both Daryl and Shepherd asleep on the couch. Y/N quietly went to grab her Polaroid camera from her pack and took a quick picture of the two. The flash woke Daryl slightly but he didn’t fully stir until Y/N carefully picked up the sleeping child.

“Go back to sleep” Y/N mouths to the archer before smiling and carrying Shepherd upstairs.

As the day continued on, Rick found himself with his baby strapped to his chest and carrying Shepherd by the back of his overalls. Like luggage if you will. He agreed to watch his nephew while Y/N went to visit Maggie for Hershel hand-me-downs and to go hunting with Carol.

“Uncle Rick?”

“Yeah?”

“Will mama be home before bedtime?”

“Yeah, she reassured me that she would” Rick smiles to the child setting him down on the steps of his place only to be greeted by Michonne.

“Hey buddy” Michonne smiles kneeling down to Shepherd’s level seeing that smile of Y/N reflect in her son’s. “Carl is about to leave to take Enid on a trip and made sandwiches. And I know he made an extra one just for you” she smiles poking his stomach to get a giggle out of him. “How about you go see him?”

The small child ran inside leaving the adults for a moment as Rick couldn’t help but watch his nephew and think about his sister.

“She was just as energetic. Hopefully he doesn’t get her attitude but, he’s perfect”

“She made a perfect child just like we did” Michonne smiles rubbing the small back of the baby that Rick held bounded to him.

•

“How’s Shepherd? I can’t wait to see him when Ezekiel, Henry, and I come over next week” Carol smiles walking beside her best friend.

“I think he prefers waking Daryl up over me. Found them on the couch again” Y/N knelt at their spot watching a rabbit approach one of the snares, making their conversation turn down its volume. “If he had nightmares he’d come to me…but he gets Daryl every other time”

“Your son knows you’re scary to wake up already” Carol couldn’t help the laugh but thankfully the trap caught its catch. “But that boy loves his uncles. Uncle Daryl especially.”

“Very true” Y/N says softly as she got up heading toward the trap to take out the rabbit only to turn around to a mischievous look on Carol’s face. “What?”

“I know he’s 2 and can’t remember where he put his shoes but has he ever asked about his biological father? Big words to him but you get my point”

“No, one of his books has a set of parents in it and he believes he was created with magic inside of me. I’ll take that over a one night stand any day” Y/N uses her foot to open the trap again and quickly retracted to avoid triggering it. “But I can see where this is going…He knows Rick and I are siblings…but uh”

Carol stepped closing with a go on look on her face watching Y/N’s complexion get redder. “Yeah?”

“He probably sees Daryl as a father figure…just doesn’t call him dad. And we…yeah. We. No…”

“Y/N. I know the first few months of having a baby there were emotions flying. But he’s two now and those hormone influenced feelings have simmered a little…but…”

“I don’t want to ruin what’s perfect” Y/N instantly knew what to say and Carol has always been right about Y/N’s feelings toward Daryl, that it makes it complicated in her mind not to tell Daryl given she knows how he feels.

But for the sake of the child, Carol wasn’t going to make things complicated and let Y/N do things her way.

Even if every fiber of her wanted to say something to Daryl about how she felt. But sitting on the picnic bench in the secluded corner of Alexandria watching Daryl play with her son and niece as careful as he could be. Those moments were enough.

[love-yourself-first-tfw]

Hard to Love - Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Prompt: Curing Dean isn’t easy but in the end, it’s worth it. 

Word Count: 3596 

Warnings: Violence, Swearing, Crying, soft!Dean.

Author’s Note: Last part, I feel like this ending way better than it started but let me know what you think!

Part One

Sitting outside the door to the dungeon, hearing Dean taunt his brother, listening to all the things Sam did to try and get Dean back. 

Using a drunk, weak man to summon a crossroad demon and then torture said demon for information. A scream comes from Dean before a clattering that makes you flinch into the walls, digging your nails into your thighs. 

“Let me ask you this, Sammy: If this doesn’t work, we both know what you got to do to me, right?” Dean roars at him, “you got the stomach for that, Sam?!” 

The door slams behind Sam as he walks into the hall, looking at you on the ground. He slides down next to you and gives you a sad smile, whispering into your hair when your head lands on his shoulder, “I hope I’m not doing this for nothing.”

“Me too.”

                                                                        Dean’s pain is evident in his yelling now, his voice weak after the shot. You’d gone into the room with Sam, standing against the wall near the door, keeping your eyes on the furious man in the middle. The last shot leaves his head hanging, his chin touching his chest as he tries to breathe. 

“Sam?” His panic-stricken face scares you. His hand lifts his phone to his ear, holding a finger up to you as he walks into the hallway. 

Dean looks worse than Crowley did, a whole lot worse. While his chest was moving when Sam left the room, it stopped in the last few seconds. Without thinking about the fear from before, you move toward Dean. 

“Dean?” His skin is cold to your touch, bringing your hands to his cheeks, and tapping lightly. “Hey, come on. Come back.” 

“No.” It’s only a whisper but it feels like a shout, his breath hitting your bare shoulder. It’s been almost a year since you’d been this close to Dean or been able to touch him. 

“I’m sorry this hurts so much but you don’t want this. You’ve never wanted this.” Your hands fall from his face when he looks up at you, Sam walking into the room again. 

“Dean, you okay?” Sam pulls you back by your shoulder, protecting you behind him.

“Yeah, if you … consider drowning in your own sweat while your blood boils ‘okay.’” A cough-- more of a choke-- is followed by Sam’s sigh. 

“Look, I can’t just stop.” 

“Sure, you can. You just stop! There’s no point in trying to bring your brother back now.” 

I guess this is as close as we get to Dean pleading to be let go.

“I will get my brother back.” 

“In fact, your uh… guilt-ridden, weight-of-the-world bro has been M.I.A. for quite some time now. But I’m loving the new model: Lean, mean, Dean. Do you notice I tried to get as far away from you as possible? Away from your whining and your complaining. I chose the King of Hell over you! Maybe I was just … tired of babysitting you. Or always having to yank your lame ass out of the fire since … ”

Dean laughs at Sam, the strongest he’s seemed in hours. “Forever. Or maybe … Maybe it was the fact that my mother would still be alive if it wasn’t for you. That your very existence sucked the life out of my life! (Y/N) got the hint. Why couldn’t you.”

You both know this isn’t Dean this is the Demon trying to do anything to get his way, but it still hurts to hear. You watch as Sam stays silent and refills another syringe with purified blood. 

“Oh. Ooh. Is this you manning up?”

“This is me yanking your lame ass out of the fire.” Sam jabs the needle into Dean’s arm. “You’re welcome.”

He gasps out in a pain that hurts you, making you want to go to him again, but Sam grabs your elbow, leading you out to the hallway. 

“C’mon. We don’t need to be in here anymore. I’ll just come back to give him the dose. We can go have something to eat.” 

You look back at the dungeon door before nodding to Sam, following him to the kitchen, and standing against the island. 

“What were you doing in Colorado?” 

“Working, trying to fake being a normal human, I haven’t hunted since I left.” You shrug and take the water bottle that Sam passes to you. “Just trying to stay under the radar, I guess.” 

An old habit in times of stress comes up as you slowly peel the label off the bottle, tearing it into small ribbons. “When did Dean turn? When did Metatron kill him?” 

“About a month after you left.” Sam crosses his arms, looking over you as you stare at the floor, tapping your toe every once in a while. 

“He was fine that last hunt when you stayed home-- or planned your escape, but that’s beside that point. He was fine and then I found your note when we got back. I thought he’d be fine; with the way he was treating you, why would he? But he freaked out. He left and didn’t come back for like, three days. I want you to know that I’m not judging you for deciding to do that. For leaving.” 

“He left?” 

“Yeah, came back covered in blood and wouldn’t tell me what happened, just shoved me aside and then cleaned up and acted like nothing happened.” He rubs his forehead, sipping on the water. “He just let bloodlust go, he didn’t stop when he should have. Then Metatron, I thought he was dead, then he was gone.” 

“Did you do those things he said you did? To find him?”

Sam’s head hangs in shame, nodding to your question, “Yeah. I couldn’t... He would’ve done it for me. I couldn’t just leave him.”

“I know, Sam. You’re right.” You tap your foot in quick succession, looking at the door. “C’mon, I want to show you something. I don’t know if it’s still there, but I want to try.” 

He follows you to Dean’s door, watching you as you push the door open. “He kept pictures in here when we were together at least.” 

The room is just how you expect it, guns hanging on the wall and a slice of half-eaten pie that sits atop a pile of papers. Your heart thrums painfully as you see the handwritten notes; Dean trying to work something out. 

You flip over a page in a notepad to see pictures of Dean and Mary, Mary and John, Sam, Dean, and Bobby, and two pictures of Sam and Dean. Sam has tears in his eyes as he looks at the pictures of himself and his brother. A smile at the memories forms before he looks at you, trying to seem as though you weren’t hurting in this situation too. 

“He looked at them a lot. He loves you, Sam. There is no doubt in my mind that he would do anything for you. I’m sure he wants to keep you as safe as you want him.” 

You ignore the feelings coming up when you don’t see the pictures that marked moments in your relationship with Dean. The ones that held bright smiles and love that slowly faded. Sam looks around the room, seeing the perfectly made bed. A piece of blue fabric, sticking out from under Dean’s pillow, catches his attention. Sam drops the photos back to the table, pulling the corner of the pillow up, and revealing the much-too-small-for-Dean t-shirt. 

“Oh.” Shock is evident in your voice when you whisper, “I forgot about that.”

“It’s yours?” Sam picks up the shirt, looking at the design, an arrow below the words ‘I’m with stupid’, and quirks his eyebrow up at you.

“Yeah, Dean bought it for me when we had our first date. Wouldn’t shut up until I put it on.” Sam has teary eyes when you look back at him, giving you a sad smile to go along with them. 

                                                                      Staying in Dean’s room when Sam tells you he’s going to give Dean his next dose of blood. Fingers grazing the bedsheets before you sit down, breathing in the smell you left behind; a dizzying oak and whiskey consuming your nose. 

Startled by Sam entering the room suddenly, wide eyes and panic written all over his face. “C’mon follow me and don’t make any noise.” 

You whisper in response to Sam’s low voice, “what happened?”

“Dean got out. He isn’t in the dungeon anymore.” Sam grabs a knife from the nightstand, peaking out the door to make sure the coast is clear. 

He slides against the wall, looking back at you to see you following his movement, a knife in your hand as well. He enters the kitchen just as Dean’s yell echoes through the bunker. 

“Come on, Sammy! Don’t you want to hang out with your big brother? Spend a little quality time? Or why don’t you leave little (Y/N) for me, promise I’ll leave you alone.”

Loud slamming comes after his jeering, doors hitting walls in Dean’s demonic search to kill Sam and most likely you if you can’t stop him. He motions to the keys on the counter, keeping his eye on the doorways, and clueing you in on his plan. 

The both of you rush to get to the control room and shut the power down to the whole place, red lights begin flashing, and an alarm goes with them. 

“Smart, guys! Locking the place down. Doors won’t open. I get it. But here’s the thing: I don’t want to leave! Not ‘til I find you.” 

You trip trying to get into position, a chair tumbling to the ground behind you, clattering to the ground. 

“Oh, by the way, you can, uh… blame yourselves for me getting loose. All that blood you pumped into me to make me human… Well. The less demon I was, the less the cuffs worked. And that Devil’s Trap? Well, I just walked right across it. It stung, but still.” 

Dean’s voice gets closer to you as he walks toward the control room. He flips the power back on when he is inside, the power surging back to life, and signaling your mad dash to pull the door closed. 

Your shaking hands lock it before throwing the keys to the side, sending a weary look at Sam. 

“That’s your big move?” Dean’s laugh is hollow, making a shiver run up your spine.

“Listen to me, Dean! We were getting close, okay? I know you’re still in there somewhere. Just let me finish the treatments.” Dean stays quiet, worrying both of you. “Dean?” 

You stumble back with Sam as a large splinter flies from the door. Dean continues to hit the door with the weapon he wields, making a crack in the wood that he can look through. 

“You act like I want to be cured. Personally, I like the disease.”  

With another swing of the hammer, more wood flies from the door. 

“Dean, stop! I don’t want to use this blade on you.” He is holding the demon knife, ready to defend himself when Dean comes at him. 

You watch as Dean mocks his words, an exaggerated frown on his lips. “That sucks for you, doesn’t it? ‘Cause you really mean that!” 

Shaky and unsure of your words, you speak your thoughts, “We won’t have a choice if you come after us.”

“Sure you will! And I know which one you’ll make. Isn’t that right? But see… Here’s the thing: I’m lucky. Oh, hell, I’m blessed! ‘Cause, there’s just enough demon left in me that killing you? Ain’t no choice at all.” 

Sam grabs your hand, pulling you away from the madman just as he gets all the way through the door. Your bare feet slap the ground as you run behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides. Breathing hard when you finally stand against one of the walls, trying to listen and watch for Dean. 

A scream gets stuck in your throat-- the noise more of a whimper than anything-- when Dean swings and misses Sam’s head with the hammer, lodging it in the wall. You watch Sam push the demon blade to Dean’s neck, the hammer stuck in the wall next to your head. 

You tear your eyes away at the heart-wrenching scene in front of you.

“Well… Look at you. Do it. It’s all you.” The knife hits the ground, Sam’s hand dropping, unable to do the thing he’s been trying to avoid: killing Dean. When he lunges, Sam steps back, his body hitting yours, the wall of muscle sending you to the ground like a rock. 

A few seconds of silence before Dean’s surprised grunt makes you turn your head, with the new player on your team appearing behind Dean. Sam helps you up, an apology coming out before you are on your feet. 

“It’s okay, Sam, I’m fine.” Your ankle twisted in a way you were sure was wrong and a black eye is inevitable with how his elbow was shoved into your face, but right now it’s about Dean and saving him. 

“It’s over.” Cas’ deep voice barrels over you, his grace glowing blue in his eyes. “It’s over, Dean.”

                                                                      Defeated and angrier than before, Dean yells and tries to thrash away from Cas, trying to get away from the chair in the dungeon as the two men strap him down once again. 

After a few hours of Dean screaming again, this time in pain as he gets stuck with a needle in his arm, he is slumped forward and breathing heavily, passed out from the last round. 

Sam stresses, looking at his worn-down brother. “What the hell are we doing to him, Cas? I mean, even after I gave him all that blood, he still said he didn’t want to be cured, that he didn’t want to be human.” 

“Well… I see his point. You know, only humans can feel real joy, but … also such profound pain. This is easier.” You nod along with the angel, understanding what he means and agreeing with his logical thinking. 

You look at Dean when his head rises, black eyes taking over before fading to the forest green you love so much. 

Sam unscrews the flask of holy water, waiting for another demonic outburst. “You look worried, guys.” 

Sam splashes Dean, hearing no sizzle or screams from Dean, he smiles. The first happy one you’ve seen since you’ve been back. “Welcome back, Dean.” 

The green orbs connect with yours, a twinge of regret on his face when he sees how run-down you look. When Sam unties Dean, he rubs his wrists and takes a step toward you, stopping when you step back. A searing pain shoots up your leg from your ankle when you step your full weight onto it, steading yourself with the wall. 

He looks hurt at your reaction but steps away as Sam helps you. “What happened? Jesus, when did you get a black eye?” 

You shrug Sam’s hands off you, ignoring his questions to look at Dean, trying to convey that you aren’t scared of him. “It wasn’t you, Dean. Sam fell into me.” 

He has his head lowered to his chest, defeat clear in his body language. Despite what anguish he had caused you, you wanted him to know that it was not his fault. 

                                                                      Sam helps Dean to his room while you and Cas sit in the library and look through the Book of Demonic Possession. You wait for Sam, tapping your fingers on the table, impatiently, until he appears. 

“Hey.” He reaches the stairs, no ounce of worry on his face. 

“How’s he doing?” You blurt out instead of any other questions. 

“He’s uh … He’s still a little out of it, but better, I think. I mean, I think this whole thing—the blood cure, and the … all of it—really wrecked him, you know? On the plus side, he’s hungry again, so I’m just going to go pick him up a big ol’ bag of crap food and stuff it in his face myself.”

Cas agrees, “Yeah. Sam? You realize one problem is solved, but one still remains. Dean is no longer a demon, that’s true. But the Mark of Cain… that, he still has. And sooner or later, that’s going to be an issue.”

You tried to ignore the deep red scar in the dungeon, hoping it would fade away as he was cured but no such luck to be had. 

“You know what, Cas? I’m beat, man. One battle at a time, you know? So I’m just gonna go grab my brother some cholesterol. And then, I’m gonna get drunk.”

“Ditto, can you pick me up something? A greasy burger sounds good right now.” Being drunk and full would be so nice after the day you’ve had.  

“Duh, I wouldn’t forget about you.” 

                                                                    You stand in front of Dean’s door, contemplating the idea of knocking and talking to the cured man. Sam hadn’t left that long ago, leaving you with Cas before he goaded you into taking the short walk to Dean’s room. 

With a deep breath, you let your knuckles hit the door, hearing his voice through the door. “Yeah?” 

You step inside, close the door and lean against it with your hands behind your butt, trying to keep your weight on your good leg. 

“Hi.” The bags under his eyes are worse than they were an hour ago, skin pale and flush while sitting on his bed, trying to look relaxed but you know him too well. “You look terrible.” 

Dean chuckles, a glint in his eyes, different-- better than before. “You know, it wouldn’t kill ya to lie.”  

You hum, looking at the once cream-colored carpet, now streaked with dirt from almost a century of use. Your fingers tap against the door, trying to get the right words out. “No, it wouldn’t but I’ve never lied to you before, why start now?” 

Dean stands, stepping in front of you. “Well, you, on the other hand, you… Look good.” 

“Thanks, Dean.” 

You raise your head. Dean’s face hardens at your face, hand going to your cheek. Turning your head into his hand, relishing the comfort that you’d longed for, tears stinging your closed eyes. He whispers apologies, bringing you closer and into his arms. 

“Did you ask Cas to heal you?” 

You shrug, shaking your head on his chest, “No. It’s stolen grace. I don’t want him to drain himself.” 

“Okay, sit down then. I want to see your ankle.” He is gentle with his words as he guides you to the chair, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

You wince when you sit down, biting down on your lip when he starts to roll your sweats up. Purple and blue blotches cover your foot, twitching away from Dean’s fingertips as they graze the swollen limb. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s a doozy.” You want to cry at the pet name but you focus on the pain. He rolls up the fabric so it stays in place, seeing more marks spreading up your leg. “You look like you were hit by a linebacker.” 

“I mean, compared to me, he is a linebacker so, checks out.” 

You get a hearty laugh from Dean, standing from his squatting position. “You got me there. I’m gonna get you an ice pack.” 

“You don’t have to. You don’t have to take care of me.” 

“(Y/N). Stop, I want to. You shouldn’t be in this position at all.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for what I did and said... Or didn’t say. I just want you to know that.” 

“Okay.” Slumping back into the chair and watching him leave, you think about how fast your life changed, for the better. But you love these boys. A family that chose you. And you left. In a time of need, hurt, and worry, you just tucked tail and ran, a coward. 

You cough through the first sob but when Dean reenters the room you are hyperventilating into your cries. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong? You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart.” 

You shake your head, trying to breathe, talk, and cry all at once. “No, I left.” 

 “Calm down, I don’t understand.” He sets the items down on the floor, squatting in front of you. “I know you left, I know why you left. I’m not angry with you.” 

“I-I-” You have to stop and collect yourself to continue. “I shouldn’t have.” 

“You know that’s what I wanted, right? I was too weak to tell you that you deserve more in every way possible so I didn’t tell you anything. And it worked, too well. I’m sorry I did that. Don’t be sorry for leaving, I made you do that.” 

“I missed you.” You wipe your nose with your sleeve, trying to stop the tears. “Not just when I left; I’ve never felt so alone with someone next to me. I missed you so much.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, baby.” He cups the back of your head, letting you stuff your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry. I love you and I’m so sorry.” 

Thinking you’d never hear those words from him again, you respond quickly. “I love you. I don’t want to leave again.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“Just don’t shut me out, please.” 

“I promise. I’m here for as long as you’ll have me, I’m not making that mistake again.” 

[chronicalchaos]

Against Time - Chapter 1

Clock's ticking...

Sam lights a match, looking over his shoulder as he hears footsteps from the trees, a silhouette rises, slowly walking over. Taking a step back, Sam feels his heart beating louder and louder. He had improved a lot, but he couldn't stop the rush of fear, because he knew, he knew he wasn't alone, once he stepped on this place, there was no coming back.

 The silhouette barely comes to view, hissing on an aggressive manner, it reminded Sam of Milo, his cat, everytime his mom attempted to put food on his bowl.

 In a blink of an eye, the silhouette, Tim, charges at him, Sam throws himself to the side, rolling backwards, he pulls the match closer to his chest, his knees dig onto the dirt as he slides back, hissing as his fingers touches the flame. Still with his match, he jumps back on his feet, dashing as quick as he can, heartbeats synchronizing with every step. Sam zigzags through the trees, ignoring all the branches that scratch his skin as he runs, skipping over rocks while trying desperately to keep his flame going.

 But, he didn't have time to lead him astray, as his match dissolves in a green smoke, taking the hint, Sam stops, turning swiftly and facing the ghost.

 Tim raises his hands, a breathy laugh coming from behind the mask, but Sam didn't move, neither flinched, standing bravely, as the ghost almost catched him, instead, he also turns into a green smoke. Sam takes a deep breath and let's out a big sigh, feeling his lungs empty completely, closing his eyes, Sam feels his body get cold, specially around his stomach, shivering as the wind brushes his now exposed skin.

 Once he opens his eyes again, his surroundings are covered with the green smoke, this time being very thick, he couldn't see a single thing inside it, it's a fog now... Even so, Sam walks on its direction, barely knowing where it would lead him, after all, he was completely lost before Tim had attacked him.

 "It's not pitch black this time, thank god" Sam mutters to himself, shivering with just the thought of that happening again. Sam never fully enters the green fog, as it forms a circle around him, not that it bothers him, he's been through this so many times that it almost became part of his routine. But something was different, that same silhouette rises, this time, not in an aggressive manner, Sam stops, watching as the fog slowly reveals the campfire, Tim looks over his own shoulder, his blue eyes stare at Sam, it felt...eerie, seeing him how he was back in the 1900s...when he was still alive...

 Sam could barely identify Tim's expression under the smiley mask, he keeps a good posture, hands behind his back and chin up. At Tim's side, his twin is sat, him, however, is not wearing his signature mask, it rests on his lap. Tom's face has exactly three scars, one going through his left eye, another coming from his ear to the side of his right eye and another on his lips. The flame flickering, threatening to put itself out, Tim takes note of it as he seems to stare at the flames...lost in thoughts. Sam flinches, hugging his own stomach as pain over takes it, forcing his eyes shut while trying to clench his teeth in an attempt to overshadow the pain on his spine, or rather, what remained of it, a cracking noise echos through the fog, he wasn't sure if it was coming from his own body or somewhere else, the pain didn't alloy him to think straight.

  The way he feels his lungs moving, there was no doubt, if he was alive, he would be hiperventilating. Why is it so painful?! The other times it didn't hurt as bad as it was right now. Sam starts stumbling in a random direction, coughing while his head spins uncontrollably, finally opening his eyes, just to see himself tripping on his own feet and falling face first on the grass, staining it with the remaining of his blood as it quickly escapes his guts, his vision seems to blurry as a silhouette appears in the middle of the fog, it's a bit small and quite thin, what looked like a young kid that curled up on itself, kneeling and digging it's hands on the dirt with no effort. He could feel someone tugging on his arm, attempting to pull him up, but failing miserably, the silhouette burrows itself deeper on the dirt, having it's whole arms inside the ground, it's chin brushing the grass.

"Great, mister Wisenheimer arrived" A wheezy quiet voice reaches Sam's ears, his eyes wandering to where he heard the voice coming from, there, he could see what looked like Tim, but there was blood, more blood on Tim's clothes than Sam remembered him having. Suddenly, he feels himself slipping through a forming hole under him, it didn't take long until something scooped him while slipping out of the hole, pushing Sam to be sitting up against a tree, coughing, the silhouette starts to take a clearer shape, one of a young boy, his skin seeming to decay slowly at every second that passed, Caleb stares at him, his eyes grossely starting to melt, it wasn't that he didn't feel disgusted by the scene unfolding in front of him, he just didn't feel the signature twist on his stomach.

"If only you didn't act like a little grouser for once and helped him, i wouldn't have to intervene" Caleb turns his face over Tim's direction, who takes a step closer, tilting his head slightly to the left, arms crossed and chin risen just enough to give him an arrogance aura. "Not that i wanted to be close to you in the first place...but the poor guy was in need, so i had to step in" Tim seemed to reach for something on his vest's pocket, ignoring completely what the younger boy was saying.

"Don't lie, Caleb" Tim pulls what looked like a pocket watch from his vest, opening infront of his own face, almost posing in a theatrical way "I know very well how you just want to show off how good and perfect you are, mama's not here to spoil your needy little heart" Caleb stands up from the floor, brushing the dirt off his clothes. Sam feels someone tugging on his sleeve, at his side, Tom's head is tilted on a very unnatural angle, his face kinda distorted in pain.

"Hey..." A soft, quiet, voice escapes from Tom's lips "...it's gonna be alright..." His bones crack as he untangles his broken fingers from Sam's sleeve. The redhead covers his mouth, coughing slightly before pushing himself off the ground.

"I'm fine..." Sam mumbles, feeling Tim and Caleb gazing into him, he lowers his head, slowly wrapping himself, his eyes averting to Tom as he hears cracking noises, watching as the mangled body contorts against the grass, desperately looking for some relief, if that's even possible.

Sam inhales, not really filling his lungs with air, turning on his heels and stepping away from the three of them, he is once again engulfed by the green fog, just as a thunder cracks in the distance. A storms approaching, and it looks like it's going to stay for a while.

======

Chapters Index

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[ego-osbourne]

A fic to be paired with this post. A bit of a long one, but one that I’m pretty happy about! Got to practice with a lot of new stuff. Hope you enjoy Ego getting their ass kicked… again >:)

The Deep Dive

Word Count: 7885

Status: Complete

TW: Body Horror, Prolonged Asphyxiation, Throat Injury, Violence/Battle, Mental Breaks, Lots of Eyes, Throwing Up, Coughing Blood

Summary: Ego is lured and attacked by Hermaeus Mora, and so has to seek out help while the rest of the Masquerade is unavailable.

———

“Alright, I’m headed out,” Ego said, slinging their bag over their shoulder. “Meet you guys in Winterhold, right?”

“Right, yes,” Erandur sighed. He pushed himself from his chair and stepped over to the Last, putting a comforting hand on their shoulder and he walked them to the door of the lodge. He called over to the opposite end of the room, “Your brother is leaving!”, getting the other three’s attention. Ancano gave his best smile (which was a slanted frown) as he waved them off, Serana gave a wave and told them, “Safe travels,” with a hint of knowing worry, and Miraak stood and meandered over, teasing, “You do know where you’re going, yes?”

“Yes, yes,” Ego waved him off, “Even if I get lost, I have the Rose. I can just summon him.” They referenced Sanguine.

“I really wish he’d walk you,” the priest said. “The Pale is dangerous enough without you traveling alone.”

“He must have big plans,” the First knowingly nudged the Last. Ego nudged him back with a half-frown behind the mask. “Don’t go speculating,” Ego told him.

“Hard not to.” He opened the door for them, chuckling, “Hard…”

“Miraak,” Erandur scolded. Ego shook their head with a grin, telling the First, “You’re terrible.” Erandur stuck by the door of the lodge as the Last stepped onto the porch. “Be safe, son,” the priest told them. Ego waved back as their feet hit the snow, “I will. See you in a day or two!” Erandur and Miraak waved them on, watching them walk out of Dawnstar before settling their worries with sighs and returning to the lodge to pack their things.

The night before, Sam Guevenne had asked Ego to meet him in a “special place” out in the Pale. He had marked Ego’s map, giving hints that there was a shrine to him there, and a warm spot nearby. He was strangely vague about it all and purposely distant, as if drawing Ego out. The group decided to split, agreeing to meet up in Winterhold a few days later and let Ego and Sam have their little date. There were barely any worries; Sam was a well-established member of the Masquerade and Ego was more than capable of traveling alone for a couple of hours.

As they went, Ego speculated what Sam’s little treat would be. There was no holiday as far as they knew. Sanguine’s summoning day was a week and a few days ago, but they figured this didn’t have much to do with it. In fact, they remembered Sam had said he would be busy for a while after his summoning day, cleaning up some messes and making good with some other Princes that may have been caught in the crossfire of his event. Maybe this little outing would mark his official return to the group.

Once out into the wilderness, Ego pulled their map from their bag and found the location. Sam had marked it with a thick black line, near a small wooded area in the Pale, close to the sea. Ego wasn’t sure they’d ever passed by that area before.

Their curious mind kept them entertained as a couple of hours passed. The sun halfway up in the sky and setting, and the usual chill of the Pale was magnified as the cloudy sky darkened. Ego itched to get to the location and be with Sam, who surely had a cozy spot to heat up in.

They spotted stacked rocks among a collection of trees up ahead. They checked their map—yes, this was the spot. They picked up the pace a bit, pushing into the trees and attempting to spot any sort of shrine or other man-made inventions. However, there was nothing other than stale memories of something that might have existed before, now covered by undisturbed snow and shaded in the setting sun’s waning light. Ego stood dumbly, wondering, Is this right? They felt warmth from worry invade their head, and they reached for the map in their bag.

Then, a familiar voice, “Ego?”

The Dragonborn turned to their left, finding Sam Guevenne stepping between the trees. Ego smiled beneath the mask, sighing, “There you are. I was wondering if I was in the right spot.”

“This is it,” he said, keeping his eyes down. Ego noted that he was only in his usual robes, which was far too underdressed for the area they were in. “Aren’t you freezing?” Ego teased.

He hesitated before answering, “I’m a Prince, I don’t worry about the cold.” His speech was slower than before and he seemed nervous. Ego met him with a comforting hand on his arm, asking, “Are you alright?” They knew him well enough to know when he was feeling off and when he was trying to hide it, but even his attempt to cover his emotions felt strange. The Prince in disguise bit his tongue, twisting his heel into the snow. “I’m alright, trust me.” Without making eye-contact, he gestured through the trees, toward the beach. “Should we go to our little spot?”

Ego lowered their brow, worried for their partner. His words felt forced. They slipped their arm under his, wrapping their limb around his back. “Sam, you can talk to me, you know? Not a whole lot scares me.” They tried to keep their tone light.

Sam didn’t answer, or even much look at them. He tried to pull them along, but didn’t put up much of a fight. Ego brought their other hand to his opposite shoulder, turning the Prince to look at them. His half-smile was incredibly forced, and he couldn’t maintain eye-contact. He was stiff, his body tense. A sinking feeling hit Ego’s gut. “You don’t have to talk…” they said lowly, “But you can ask me for help, you know? Do you need anything?”

“What could you do for a Prince?” he asked solemnly.

The phrase seemed familiar to them for some reason, but they couldn’t place it. They ignored it, offering, “Anything. Even just a hug.”

It was then that Sam’s eyes locked onto Ego’s through the mask. His expression flattened before he sighed through his nose and nodded. “Yes.”

Ego noted his speech pattern—it was very un-Sanguine-like. They worried about what might have happened between then and the last time they saw him to make him so distant. They weren’t sure how to get the information out of him—or if they even should—as they pulled Sam into a hug. They leaned into him, accepting his grasp and expecting a gentle squeeze… but his muscles were stiff and his arms were tight around them. Something rang in the back of Ego’s mind, but they ignored it. Ego inhaled, taking in odorless air…

No… That was wrong. Ego furrowed their brow, confused, knowing that they should have smelled vanilla on him. But there was nothing.

And his embrace… was cold. It was as cold as the air around them. There was no warmth or comfort, only stale air, shivering cold, and a dark worry that bled into their mind like ink.

Something inside of Ego told them that this wasn’t like Sam…

No, they thought, This isn’t Sam at all. A subconscious force told them to push him away and run, that they were in the embrace of something dangerous. They didn’t want to believe it, but they couldn’t shake the feeling.

They tried to remain calm, quietly ordering, “Sam, let go,” and hoping that maybe, just maybe, this was still Sanguine. They hoped that the feeling in their head was wrong and that they were worried for nothing.

But Sam’s arms only tightened around them.

“Let go,” Ego panicked, trying to push away from him. Everything about this screamed Not Sam, and the Dragonborn had trouble recognizing anything else other than the figure that held them. The world around was dark and senseless, and this facade of Sam Guevenne was all they could focus on. Ego dug their claws into his shoulders, shoving away, shouting, “Sam!”

The coldness enveloped them. Ego knew this feeling. They were plummeting into a cold ink of Oblivion.

“Get off!” they cried, electricity sparking at their fingers before they knew it. Lightning stabbed through Sam’s skin, electrifying his body and making him spasm. Ego knew that the shock so close to his head would damage him immensely, but their fear overwhelmed whatever benefit of doubt they harbored. Sam’s arms went limp for just a moment, giving Ego enough time to react and shove him away, lighting still springing from their metal claws. They watched him trip and fall onto his back, then lay still in the snow.

Ego’s senses came back to them all at once. They hadn’t realized they were panting so heavily until that moment. They felt cold sweat beneath their clothes, doubling the effects of the chilly air. A biting wind whipped through the trees, moving leaves and creating a light rustle. The sky had near-completely darkened, save for a royal-blue horizon.

Sam’s body laid motionless. His head was twisted over and facing away from Ego, with strands of hair covering his face. He was strangely pale. Strangely quiet. Strangely motionless…

Ego felt panic flood their entire body. The pit in their stomach twisted, now, making them jerk and scramble. “Sam. Sam,” they repeated, not sure who they were speaking to. They spoke to the body before them, terrified that they might have hurt or killed him—could they even kill a Prince?—but they also spoke to the air, hoping that somewhere out there was the real Sanguine, and that he heard them, and would appear at any minute. “Sam. Sam.”

The body didn’t move.

Ego’s hands began to tremble. They grabbed at the air by their sides, making fists at nothing, and stepping back. That wasn’t Sam, it couldn’t be Sam, and yet there he laid.

The weight of their backpack struck a sudden thought into their mind. “Right,” they hissed under their breath, forcing their eyes away from the body. The Rose, they remembered. The Dragonborn swung their bag from their shoulder and set it at their feet, forcibly pulling the staff from its fastenings. They reached for the rosebud to pluck away a petal and summon Sanguine.

When, suddenly, the staff was ripped out of their hands. The force was so strong that they fell forward as it left, tripping over their bag and landing in the snow. They pushed themself to their hands and knees, looking up to see a tentacle as black as night reaching from a tree as if it were a branch. It held the Rose, bringing it closer to other branches that morphed into tentacles. The ever-moving limbs stained the Rose black before snapping it in half, and then into fourths. Ego shouted, “No!” and jumped to their feet, but the Rose had already withered to a blackened-grey by the time the tentacles dropped its pieces to the ground.

The Dragonborn was struck with fear and dread. Something in their mind told them to look back at the body that they had left in the snow. Without much forethought, they did just that, and their perception of the world collapsed around them. All they recognized was the breton’s body, the woods around them impossible to sense. The body was twisting on itself and things writhed beneath its skin. Bloodless, the skull cracked open with a pop, and from it rose wet, bulbous tentacles. A similar thing happened all across the corpse, ink spilling from the open wounds and barbed tentacles rising from the carcass. “Dragonborn…”

Ego struck their head with the palm of their hand, forcing themself to look away from the Prince. They closed their eyes and the world returned to them, cold and unwelcoming. They scrambled and spun, unhooking their axe from their belt as they wove between the trees. Again, they felt something tell them to turn around, look, look at it, but they vehemently denied the urge. Instead, they Shouted, “Wuld… Nah Kest!” and dashed across the snowy plain. They weren’t sure what to do with the Rose gone and the Masquerade hours away—as well as any sort of civilization. So, they ran, “Wuld… Nah Kest!”, and ran, “Wuld… Nah Kest!”, until…

The Dragonborn was struck across the back, a bludgeoning bruise forming beneath their armor. They tumbled forward and rolled, managing to pick themself up with the momentum surprisingly well. They sensed him immediately behind them, and so barely aimed as they swung their axe back with a yelp. The blade cut into a mass of leathery, wet flesh, blacker than night and more infectious than a disease. The figure consumed their mind as they looked at it, and the ink of his body consumed the head of their axe. Ego found much difficulty while pulling it away, choosing next to throw their casting hand out to strike him with lightning. The towering body flinched and reformed where the lightning struck, and in retaliation he overpowered Ego with barbed tentacles. The Dragonborn was wrapped in boneless limbs, pinning their arms back as they were lifted from the ground and as ink seeped through their clothes. A low bass rumbled through their body, preventing them from hearing anything other than his voice. “How foolish…” Hermaeus Mora taunted.

Ego stared into golden eyes that swam beneath a faux hood, pushing against and misshaping each other as they flowed like a gelatinous paste, disappearing into indecipherable blackness where his form ended. The breton was lifted a dozen feet off the ground, nearly reaching eye-level with the Prince. Air was being squeezed from their lungs, and they knew they had to act quickly. They felt the Voice rise to the back of their throat, and they Shouted into his hooded eyes, “Yol… Toor Shul!”

Hermaeus was quick to shield his head with massive tentacles just before the bulk of the fire hit him. The tentacles burned and bubbled before reaching for Ego’s neck and subsequently revealing the Prince’s face once again. Ego inhaled to Shout once more, but the tentacles tightened themselves around their throat and prevented them from breathing. They tried to bring their hands to their neck to pull the tentacles away, but their limbs were stretched further out by Hermaeus. “Allow me to take care of this issue…” he said, leaning in closer as another tentacle rose to their face. Ego could barely twist their head away as the limb wormed underneath their mask, spreading cold ink over their chin and lips before forcing its way between their teeth. Ego felt extreme violation at this, finding it impossible to breathe as the wet mass snaked down their throat. He was preventing them from Shouting, they knew, but he did it in the most personal way possible. They clamped down on the tentacle, gagging already from the intrusion and the stale taste, but now was disgusted threefold as their teeth sliced through the sensation of leather and sponge. The chew wasn’t smooth, and the force of their jaw wasn’t enough to cut through a thick middle-piece of the tentacle. Their stomach flipped as the limb danced in their throat, and a terrible, expanding pain emanated in their chest as they breathed in ink.

Hermaeus wrapped a tentacle around their head, squeezing their jaw and causing them to bite through the tentacle, which severed it and allowed it to slide down their throat. He released their head and neck, letting the tendrils that held the breton fall to the ground and having Ego crash into the snow. They inhaled and exhaled sharply without pattern, drawing in the slightest of breaths—wet, stale, and infected. It hurt to breathe, and they could feel the tendril writhing like a fat worm in their throat, returning to the back of their mouth before divine down into their chest, then back up and down again. Their mask sat crooked on their face, and their armor bent with the tentacles that grabbed them. The Voice called for action, but Ego could barely find the air to stay conscious, let alone to Shout.

Hermaeus Mora moved through the snow, leaving a trail of disrupted black wherever he moved. Ego was being dragged along behind him, and they clawed at the ground with their free hand, though it did nothing to slow him down. Ego desperately tried to cough up the tentacle, but each inhale was ladened with ink and only pushed the tendril further down.

“Your incompetence amuses me, Dragonborn,” he said, his voice ringing out from every part of him. “Perhaps taking you as a Champion would be worth little beyond embarrassment.”

They thrashed and writhed, coughing up black mucus as snow and ink caked into the crevices in their hands. Their body was twisting at a painful angle, no comfort granted to them. Ego knew they’d never be able to escape on their own, and they couldn’t Shout for help, but another thought came to their mind: they could conjure something. Or rather, someone. Sanguine was out of the realm of options, the Rose still withered and broken far away in the snow, but Ego knew the summoning spell of a certain Dagon warrior…

Hoping Hermaeus wouldn’t negate the spell, and hoping that this wouldn’t backfire in more ways than one, they held their breath to focus, struggling to use their non-casting hand to remember the incantation. They drew half in the air, half in the snow; dark purple clouds emanated from their claws, sparking and crackling, appearing to succeed…

And then, the magic turned back on them, the summon failing. They gasped in surprise—which made them swallow down the tendril in their throat and blocked off all air—as sparking purple clouds climbed up their arm with immense speed and burned them through their clothes. They seized up and winced with great pain, cursing the conjuration burn, not knowing if it failed because of the Prince that held them or because of their own incompetence. Either way, the pain reminded them of just how bad this idea could turn out. Ego remembered the terrifying fight was that they had so long ago with the dremora, and the terrible night they instigated. They agreed to never be alone together again, but the situation was dire. Ego needed that daedra.

“I have searched for a long time for my artifacts. I believe I found one of them,” Hermaeus said, switching his grasp on the breton. “Do you remember what you did with it?” The question was rhetorical. He was bringing them closer to the ocean.

Ego didn’t quite register his words, already trying again to cast the summon. They could feel the flesh on their arm wrinkling and tearing from the conjuration burn, but they persisted. They weren’t sure if the dark spots they saw in their eyes were from Hermaeus’ influence or from their body giving up. With their last ounce of energy from a shallow breath, they tugged their casting arm free and used both hands to finish the incantation. Just as they completed the spell, they were yanked from the ground and forced to face the myriad of golden eyes; they never saw if the spell succeeded.

Hermaeus’ gaze trapped Ego’s, darkening the rest of the world so all they saw was black and gold. “You let it sink,” Hermaeus told them, his tone low with malice.

The tendril in Ego’s throat stilled, pushing open the tube to allow them to breathe. Ego gasped and coughed, enjoying the least bit of kindness that the Prince gave them. They had no strength to Shout or speak, however. The tentacles turned Ego’s gaze away from the daedra and toward the Sea of Ghosts; with their gaze off of Hermaeus, the breton could perceive the rest of the world, now. A night sky accentuated the thick darkness of a rainstorm some distance away from the beach. The waves were deep and black, moving with the wind, but Ego noticed a particular spot out in the waters that was completely still. That spot filled them with paranoia and called to them. It was then that Ego realized what Hermaeus was talking about.

The Masquerade had collected the Black Books, so very long ago, and upon realizing just how dangerous it was to keep them, they disposed of them in a number of different ways. Ego remembered one of the ways, when they and Miraak rode dragons and tossed a Book into the ocean while soaring overhead.

This part of the Ghost Sea was suddenly much more familiar. Though Ego had never set foot on this part of the beach before, they’d flown over it. And that still spot in the water signaled where a Black Book rested, calling from the depths.

Ego began to thrash, creating guttural noises of protest as the tendril squirmed in their throat again. “You let it sink…” Hermaeus repeated. “You should sink, now, and fetch it for me.”

Ego was turned back toward the Prince, weakening their will. “Resisting my call will only lead you to drown.” The tentacles squeezed tighter around them, bracing. “So, save yourself the trouble of death, and reach the bottom.” With that, the Daedric Prince swung his limbs and tossed Ego out into the sea. The Dragonborn flew through the air without control, the cold world returning to their senses, but in the worst way possible. They gasped to Shout but only choked, and in a moment their body was enveloped in blistering cold waters.

Freezing wetness flooded their armor and mask, blocking all sense of comfort. They inhaled but took in liquid, fighting against the water as they sank and reached for the dwindling light above. Their armor weighed them down, down, down, and their waning strength failed them. The Dragonborn sank, numbness corrupting their head, and blackness blanketing them.

They felt their consciousness begin to slip. Their heart pulsed in their chest, drumming against their ribs, as if begging for escape from the watery death that surrounded them. They had no strength left to fight the impossibly strong pull of the water.

…And then, another heartbeat. It pulsed all around them, slower and stronger than their own. It was warm and addictive, familiar and foreboding, pulling Ego down. The Dragonborn didn’t fight against it, wanting to be closer to this last sense of twisted comfort before death consumed them. Through the thickness of the water, a noise vibrated their chest, sounding like twisting, scraping metal and stone, or like a magical charm laying over the sky. An impossible noise found common in Apocrypha. An impossible noise produced by Black Books.

Ego’s body came to a stop upon reaching the sea floor. Their legs were in muck and sand, but their upper body rested on something more solid. A hum rang out from the object they rested on, and something in their mind told them to open their eyes. Look. Look.

Ego inhaled, taking in a breath of air. The tendril within opened their throat to breathe, and a bubble of air surrounded their body on the seafloor. Consciousness returned to them, and with it came awareness. They realized they were laying atop a Black Book, the twisted pull all-too familiar and extremely worrying. They could feel its pages, knowing it was open before them. They knew that if they opened their eyes, they would see its contents, and if they did that, they’d be captured and taken to Apocrypha.

They tightened their already-shut eyes, breathing through ink and strange air, fighting against the silent call to open your eyes, look, read the words. It was a snare, a siren’s call, and Ego had to battle with their own will to keep their eyes closed.

But the book was comforting. It was warm and dry, and the heartbeat pulse that it produced squeezed them like a hug. Surely, then accepting its call would promise even more comfort? The Dragonborn shoved those thoughts away, but they kept returning. It will be alright, they told themself, You made it this far. Just open your eyes. It is not a difficult task to do.

Ego tried to pull their hands away from the pages, but found it to be impossible. Their claws gripped the sides of the open Book, unable to be pried off. They felt tightness in their body and sweat began to form across their head and back, mixing with the wetness of the sea water and ink that soaked their clothes. They panted aloud, hissing through their teeth and clamping their eyes shut. “No, no…” they muttered, unable to defy Hermaeus Mora’s influence any other way.

Their lungs burned with pain, a similar feeling to when Ego was sick in the chest back in Solstheim. They searched for the call of the Voice, but there was no strength in their lungs. They began to pant, nervousness taxing the energy in their body. They had to get away from the Book, even if it meant returning to the icy waters. They couldn’t keep their eyes shut for much longer. But their hands were stuck, stuck, attached and wanting. Open your eyes, Dragonborn. Open your eyes.

Ego groaned aloud as they forced their body up and off of the Book. As they went, they lifted their arm, their hand still gripping the Book but lifting it a small bit from the muck of the sea floor. Ego fell back with weakness, but was struck with determination. They couldn’t let go of the Book, but they could manipulate it and move it—they could shut it. Open them, open them. Your eyes, open them.

Ego fought the call, but they could feel the muscles in their face weakening. The want to open their eyes and lay into the warmth of the book was tearing down their psyche. With every last ounce of their energy, they battled against the pull and shoved against the artifact to sit up. Their head hung low as they used the weight of their body to pull on their left arm, taking the Book with them. The Book itself felt no heavier than it had before, but it was as if they were fighting against something that pulled it the opposite way. The tendril in their throat balled up and blocked all air, discouraging Ego from continuing, but they fought anyway. The Black Book hummed a low note that vibrated their body, soothing and weakening them, before the vibrations turned to pins and needles all over their skin. The Dragonborn coughed and groaned, turning their head away from the Book as they finally opened their eyes. The cover of the Book passed the peak of its arch and fell shut, creating a small tremor in the air around them. Ego watched the dome of oxygen collapse; the water of the ocean slammed into them.

There was no warmth, no comfort, and no hope. Pressure strangled them and made their head ring. Air was completely unavailable. They still gripped the Black Book.

And then, tightness around their torso. Darkness swallowed their vision, and they weren’t able to see what had ahold of them, but they could guess by the impossible size and terrible chill that this was one of Hermaeus’ tentacles, grabbing them and dragging them quickly through the water. Liquid rushed by their ears like wind, and they could feel their senses being lost by the second. They weren’t sure if they were passing out or simply being influenced by the Prince. The only given grace was the waning pressure, the water feeling lighter around them as they were yanked back to shore. They subconsciously hugged the Book.

Through their lack of senses, they could still hear one thing: his voice. “Insolent mortal!” Their head broke the surface of the water as they were dragged through the sandy shore. They caught a glimpse of their surroundings: Hermaeus was a tall tower among a sea of writhing tendrils, growing ever-further outward like a hungry fire. They infected the snow and the sea, blackening all they touched. “Open the Book!”

Ego couldn’t grasp the thought of letting the Book go. Sand and muck caked into the layers of their armor. The tentacle removed itself and left them in the shallow water, waves pushing up over their head in pulses. The Prince slowly made his way towards them. He spoke, but the breton didn’t register his words. They were out of air.

Hermaeus Mora felt them slip and had the tendril in their throat open their lungs to take in more air. They were of no use to him if not conscious. Ego’s mind was quickly re-awakening itself as Hermaeus inserted tentacles between them and the Black Book. He curled the pages to open them, beckoning, “Wake, Dragonborn. Wake—”

Ego’s axe flew through the air and struck the Prince in the side of his perceived head, causing his form to spasm and jerk before the weapon was pushed away and fell into swimming ink. Hermaeus drew his attention away from Ego—who was slowly coming back into consciousness—and toward the direction from where the axe came from. At the edge of the mass of tendrils and ink was a dremora in personalized Dagon armor, having just thrown the axe. He sighed off the edge that made his body tingle with excitement, reaching over his shoulder to unfasten his warhammer from his back. “There, you oblivious fucker! Was wondering when you’d pay me any sort of attention!”

The Dragonborn, with a slightly clearer head, heard his voice. They lifted themself onto their knees with consciousness and looked to find the source. A short walk away stood Rakell—the summon they attempted earlier had succeeded. Ego wanted to laugh but felt the tendril be swallowed down again, and they struggled to even function much.

Hermaeus felt a tightening rage upon looking at the intrusion. The dremora was nothing more than a distraction to him, and one that would be taken care of shortly. Ego’s attempt at rescue would fail.

With an uncaring nature, Hermaeus turned back to the Dragonborn while sending barbed tentacles upon the dremora warrior. Rakell lifted his warhammer in a blocking position, knowing it wouldn’t do much, but having a trick up his sleeve. Fire sparked up his arms and shot from his fingers, mixing with a ward he casted to create a shield of fire. Hermaeus’ tentacles slammed into this ward, bubbling and boiling as Rakell was left untouched. The Prince was suddenly very aware of the dremora and reassessed how to deal with him.

Rakell gave him no time, however. The dremora spotted a grouping of tentacles going to grab onto Ego and acted. He threw his hand out and sent a fireball between Hermaeus and Ego, severing the majority of the tentacles and causing the Prince’s stature to deform. Before he could react, though, Rakell pulled the flames back and created a wall of fire. Smoke shielded the daedras’ views of each other, and the hungry flames ate away at the Prince’s flesh. Rakell stepped into the muck of ink, only to be near-tripped by small but strong tentacles grabbing onto his feet. They quickly worked their way into the cracks of his armor, sharpening themselves and attempting to stab through his layer of chain mail. Some of them succeeded, and Rakell quickly attempted to escape the terrain of tendrils. There was no way to get to Ego while they rested in Hermaeus’ grasp.

But he could bring them to him.

Ego knew Rakell was damned good at magicka, but they hadn’t seen a wild display from him like this. They knew they had to get to him, and so tried to fight against the inky limbs that surrounded them, but they were only tripped and pulled time and time again. The fire that burned between them and the Prince was dangerously close, and on the other side of the heat they could hear Hermaeus’ call. “Dragonborn!”

The tendril in their throat writhed as if it were panicking, cutting off most air from reaching their lungs. They clawed at their throat with one hand—as if it would do anything—while the other hand remained occupied with the Book, subconsciously keeping it under their arm. They scrambled to escape, heading for the edge of the area of tentacles in an effort to be free of their grasp, but it was no use. They could feel Hermaeus closing in around them.

And then, suddenly, they were being ripped away from him. They weren’t being pulled by a tentacle—in fact, nothing outwardly had ahold of them. They felt like their bones were being grabbed onto, and the power of the pull was enough to make their whole body tumble across the field of ink.

Rakell, at the edge of that field, had tucked his warhammer beneath his arm in order to use both hands to cast a powerful telekinesis spell. He remembered that Ego’s skeleton was made of metal—a perfect material to use the spell on. He targeted them and dragged them to him, expending lots of energy into doing so, but happy with his success. Tentacles attempted and failed to grab Ego as they were pulled along, and quickly enough Ego had tumbled right by Rakell’s feet. The dremora huffed a fatigued sigh as he recovered, reaching down to Ego. “Alright, alright,” he said, mostly to himself, harshly grabbing them by the arm.

Right as he did though, a particularly quick tentacle emerged from the growing flames that made up Hermaeus’ body. It slammed down onto Ego’s legs, wrapped around their waist, and barbed itself as it dragged them away. Hermaeus’ form had grown above the flames and was twice as incomprehensible as before. The tentacle in Ego’s throat suddenly took on a similar quality to the one around their legs—it became barbed, and it pierced the skin within their throat. Immense pain paired with a mix of blood and ink to create a horrible panic within Ego. They wanted to scream but couldn’t, and so desperately grabbed for Rakell.

The dremora did his best to hold onto their arm, uncaring about the damage it could do to them as he fought against the Prince’s strength. He knew he was no match for Hermaeus, though, and with quick hands he let go of Ego, took his warhammer, and chased them into the field of ink while swinging the weapon down over them. The head of the hammer narrowly missed their leg and bludgeoned the tentacle, severing it. Rakell launched another fireball at Hermaeus, making the field of tentacles around them flinch and coil in on themselves. The dremora grabbed the back of the Dragonborn’s armor and dragged them along as he lunged out of the mass of tentacles and onto white snow. Ego tumbled and choked.

Rakell tried to get Ego up on their feet, but their weak body didn’t allow them to run on their own. They tried to get his attention, hoping that he somehow knew that they couldn’t breathe, but Rakell was none the wiser. He swore aloud, sometimes cursing Ego’s name as he struggled to pull them along. He glanced back, seeing that they might have been just far enough to execute his next step, but he’d have to be quick. “Hold onto me, don’t fucking let go,” he barked at the Dragonborn, releasing his grasp to free a hand for an incantation.

Ego dropped nearly immediately, their legs trembling too much to allow them to stand on their own. They heard Rakell, though, and heeded his words, wrapping an arm around his leg and leaning against him. They did their best to cough or even get themselves to vomit in order to expel the tentacle, but nothing was working. Little slips of air every few seconds was all the grace that they were given.

Ego looked over their shoulder to where they left Hermaeus. His lanky form slowly reformed and each one of his golden eyes locked onto the two of them. The breton felt immense panic swell in their chest as he shot forward with a vigor. Ego hit the armored leg that they held, beckoning him to hurry, hurry.

Rakell was drawing an incantation in the air, and cursed at them when they hit him. “Stay still! Hold on!” Just as he finished speaking, he completed the spell and a portal opened in front of them. The dremora grabbed Ego by the back of their armor and threw them ahead of him. Rakell hopped through the gate just before a series of tentacles attempted to slam him into the ground. He threw his arm back and shut the portal, which caught an unlucky tendril in its wake and sliced clean through it, leaving a dead and writhing limb on the ground.

Ego was attempting to recover without air. The tentacle in their throat ceased to move and smoothed over, no longer barbed but still very stuck. When they were thrown, they lost their grip on the Black Book, and their body was sprawled across a hard, hot, rocky surface. They waved at Rakell, turning over to lay on their side as they pulled the mask off—they didn’t care who saw, they needed to cough this thing up.

The dremora caught their wave and looked down at their face, which was pale and desaturated. “Fucking gods,” he swore, leaning down and putting his hands over them. He was about to cast a healing spell when he realized they were choking and so lifted them up. There was no way his arms could push hard enough against their armor to help them, and he was afraid that there was too little time to pull off their chest piece, and so improvised. He supported most of their weight, holding them in place as he brought his knee up and struck them just below the sternum. Ego’s body jolted, their lungs pushing air up through their throat, but not enough to dislodge the tentacle. Again, Rakell forcibly kneed their midsection, stunning them and leaving a massive bruise just beneath their chest. Still, it wasn’t enough, and Ego felt as if they’d hack up their whole stomach at this point. The force of the pain scared them to Oblivion and back, and their mind was giving up on them. Rakell swore, annoyed, and slammed his knee into them again.

That time, it worked. The wounded muscles in Ego’s throat spasmed and forced the tendril up and out. The wet piece of meat fell from their lips and onto the ground, and the painful luxury of breath was given back to them. They couldn’t control the tremors in their voice, trailing their exhales with pained sounds akin to a dying animal. Rakell felt relief, then, as he pulled their back against him so they could support themself. Ego was barely strong enough to stand, and so relied entirely on Rakell to keep upright.

The Dragonborn’s throat was full of ink and blood. They brought a hand to their neck, attempting to spark a restoration spell, but the tight, magically-burned skin from their earlier-acquired conjuration burn seized in pain, preventing them from casting. They forced out, “Cut…”

Rakell heard them. “Where?”

They grabbed at their neck, blood bubbling up at the back of their throat as they breathed. The dremora could smell the blood on them, and reached his hands to their neck. Ego only slightly feared that his clawed gauntlets would strangle them, but Rakell refrained, casting a restoration spell. He wasn’t sure exactly where they were cut, and so offered a weak but broad healing incantation. Ego felt sharp pains as it worked into their throat, slowly closing the piercing wounds that caused them to bleed. They winced and flinched at each pang of healing, but finally began to relax. They assessed their surroundings.

Wherever they were, it definitely wasn’t Nirn. As pain influenced their mind less and less, they were able to sense the area around them; this was Oblivion, wrought with the deep bellow of a daedric realm. This wasn’t a realm that Ego had ever been to before, though. It was unlike the Myriad, which was cozy and whimsical, and it was unlike Apocrypha, which was damp and haunting. This realm was intensely hot and covered in a hue of fiery reds and oranges, and stark blacks. They were positioned on a flattened collection of rock faces, and surrounding them was dirt and grass that looked bleak and grey in the lighting. The entire sky was blanketed in dark, rolling clouds, illuminated with flashing red and golden lights that appeared like lightning. To their left was solid ground, cracked and traveled on, leading to a skinny path that trailed into a far-off area of lifted rocks and scattered collections of trees. Ahead of them was a drop with brooding golden light shining from far below, heat waves accompanying it. Far into the distance, Ego could spot a foggy silhouette of more mountainous rocks, though they appeared to be unnaturally placed, as if they’d been forcefully pulled from the ground.

These were the Deadlands.

Rakell felt a headache begin to form from his extreme overuse of magic in such a short amount of time. He dispelled the restoration and pushed Ego out in front of him, though held onto their shoulders. “Can you stand?”

Ego’s legs trembled and buckled, and they were led to the ground slowly. They sat on the dirt and rock, attempting to breathe through their nose, but needing more air than that. However, each inhale made them feel sick in the chest, and they coughed ink and blood into their hands. Rakell grimaced at the sound of their coughing, looking around to assess the area. As he did, he spotted the strange book that Ego had brought through the portal with them. He stepped over to it while strapping his warhammer to his back. “Do you need this thing?”

Ego finished a coughing fit before turning to look over their shoulder. Their eyes automatically landed on the Black Book, and a mixture of dread and wanting filled their being. “Get… Get rid of it…” they said quietly, wetness in their voice.

“Get rid of it?” Rakell echoed, “Destroy it?”

The Dragonborn turned their body, filled with sudden, wild energy. They tried to push themself up to stand, but their legs failed them, and they tripped forward and hit their chin on the rocks. Their weak body was being pulled toward the Book, but their mind was strong enough to resist. They barked in a garbled manner, “Get rid of it!”

Rakell frowned at their display, lifting the Book into his hands. Immediately, he felt a terribly cold force emanating from it; the magic that would have made him inclined to open it was dead in this realm, but he could sense how hungry this thing was. Ego cried, “Don’t open it!”

“I won’t, save your breath,” Rakell hissed, casually stepping past them with the artifact. He walked to the ledge ahead, gave the Black Book one last look, and tossed it over. It fell into a grand lava pit below, striking with much more gravity than it appeared to have. It tumbled over a hard surface, sprawling open, and immediately catching alight. The pages blackened and burned in a matter of seconds, and the cover curled in on itself as it was destroyed.

Ego felt a pull leave them, and they were free of a strange tightness in their chest. Relief flooded their mind, and they felt as if they could relax… at least somewhat, anyway. This realm of Oblivion wasn’t exactly comforting.

Rakell turned back to them, frowning beneath his helmet. He wanted to know what exactly he had just saved them from, and why they were in that situation at all. “What the fuck were you doing?”

Ego coughed again, laying on their back and leaving their arms sprawled on the ground. “Fucking… dying…” they begrudgingly answered, making the dremora huff.

“Where’s your party?”

“Winter—” they coughed, “…Winterhold.”

“Your Prince?” He stepped towards them.

The Dragonborn waved at him, as if to tell him to buzz off. They had another coughing fit, and struggled through their next words, “I can’t exactly— talk well.”

Rakell stood over them, thinking about how to handle their next steps. He looked up to the path, across the horizon, and back down at them. “Winterhold, you said?” He knelt down, picked up their mask, and put it in their hand. “I’m sure there’s a gate that will get us close.” He pulled on the front of their armor, making them sit up. “Put your mask on. Don’t speak to anyone.”

“What?”

Rakell lifted them into his arms, beginning forward. Ego didn’t very much like the position they were in, but there wasn’t a lot to do in protest. “There are other Kyn here,” he said. “To see something like you being here will piss them off.”

“Shit, are we going to— have to fight?”

“Hopefully not,” Rakell answered. “They should see my armor and fuck off. But there’s always a chance.” He glanced down at them, and they saw a glint of light hit his eyes as he did. “Stay out of any fighting. You’ll only get yourself more hurt like this.”

Ego sighed, uncomfortably shifting their weight in his grasp. They didn’t like being so close to him anymore, but they didn’t have much of a choice.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” Rakell told them, annoyance in his tone.

“How— long until we’re there?”

“Depending on if the right gates are open, maybe a couple of hours. Maybe all day. Maybe three.”

“Gods…”

“I’ll make sure you don’t die. And I’ll see if there’s any… half-decent healers about. You’re sick with something I can’t fix.”

Ego rolled their eyes, “Shit, might as well take me to Dagon while you’re at it.”

“You’re already getting me in deep enough shit as it is,” Rakell growled, “I don’t need your comments.”

Ego was quiet after that, apart from the coughing fits. They tried a few times to walk, but to little avail at the start. Eventually, just before they reached a well-traveled path, Ego was able to find their footing and walk carefully alongside Rakell, holding onto his arm in the process. He gladly took the break from holding them, both to rest his arms and ease the tension between them. They weren’t exactly on trustworthy terms.

Ego thought about the earlier events. They weren’t sure how long Hermaeus had been masquerading like that for… To take on the visage of Sam Guevenne; how many times had he done that before? How often did Ego speak to Hermaeus when they thought they were speaking to Sanguine? How often did the Masquerade do the same? Further thoughts plagued their psyche. Was Sanguine alright? Was Hermaeus just donning a disguise, or had he forcibly taken Sanguine’s visage? Ego feared that the Prince of Fate may have seriously debilitated—or even killed—the Prince of Debauchery. But then they remembered the Rose. Hermaeus had snapped it before they could use it. They first thought of the action as a pure insult, but then they theorized that it could have been done with more of a purpose: if Sanguine truly was dead, then why would Hermaeus Mora have prevented Ego from using the Rose? It wouldn’t have mattered if they used it, in that case, and yet Mora was keen on ripping it away before they could use it to summon their Prince. It wasn’t much evidence to go off of, but it was better than letting themself mourn over a friend whose fate they didn’t know.

And what of the others? They worried about if Hermaeus had done anything to the rest of the Masquerade. They found it to be somewhat unlikely, given that the Prince seemed to single the Dragonborn out. Still, the possibility remained.

And Rakell… he must have been very confused, and maybe a bit shaken up. Truth be told, he was, but he didn’t show it. Ego could guess that summoning him to face a Daedric Prince on his own wasn’t exactly a challenge that he wanted. A Prince was just about one of the only things that could fully destroy a dremora. One wrong step, and Rakell’s six millennia would be put to a stark end.

And he did save them. He could have just warped back, Ego realized, but he didn’t. And, despite their worries, he was doing as much as he could to help now, it seemed.

“Thank you,” Ego finally said, tugging at his arm.

Rakell glanced back at them, then turned his head forward again. After this long without words, he didn’t expect the Dragonborn to say much of anything, let alone something that praised him. “Yeah,” was all he could muster at the moment. There were a few seconds of quiet before he echoed the same sentiment, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me enough to summon me again. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you after our… freak-out.”

Ego chuffed a laugh out of nervousness, which was followed by a coughing fit. Rakell slowed down for them to recover.

[ejzah]

Could you do a short fic like where kensi is sick and deeks takes care of her like "Even the Strong Fall Now and Then" but set in the present, season 13 or 14?

A/N: I’ll never say no to a good sick fic. Hopefully this counts as one.

***

It’s Going Around

Deeks rolled over to the beeping of his phone, and jabbed at it until it stopped. The first hints of daylight were peeking through the edges of the curtains. Kensi lay face down on her pillow beside him, completely out. He dropped a kiss on her t-shirt covered shoulder, nudging her gently.

“Nng,” she groaned, burrowing further under the covers.

“Babe, it’s time to get up,” he murmured, smiling when Kensi groaned again, and blindly pushed at his shoulder.

“You can shower first.” She sounded like she was already back to sleep before she even finished speaking. Tucking the quilt around her shoulders, Deeks slid out of bed, heading for the bathroom.

Typically, Kensi showered first while he caught a little more beauty sleep, or went for an early run. But they’d had back-to-back cases the last few weeks, with both of them going undercover a few times and taking the lead while both Sam and Callen were out unexpectedly.

Deeks took a little extra time to trim his beard up, anticipating Kensi’s mocking jokes when she saw him. When he walked back into the bedroom with a towel draped around his neck and boxers, Kensi was still fast asleep though.

“Hey, baby, your turn!” he called out on his way to grab clothes. By the time he’d pulled on a shirt and jeans, she’d pushed herself up on her elbows, eyes just barely open. Her hair hung around her face in an impressive mane, which she didn’t brush out of her eyes. “Whoa, you got some serious bed head going on there.”

Kensi gave him a baleful glare, brushing clumsily at her face.

“You’re hilarious,” she croaked out. Deeks crossed over to the bed, instantly concerned by the scratchiness in her voice.

“Are you feeling ok?” Without waiting for an answer, he brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Hm, you’re kind of warm.”

“That’s because I was under the covers,” she told him, failing to conceal a weak cough.

“Uh-huh, I bet you have that cold that’s been going around the office the last week,” he said, which earned him another glare from Kensi.

“I am not sick.” Her argument might have been a little more believable if she didn’t list to the side a second later. Her arm shook with the effort of keeping herself upright.

“Right. You know, it’s not the end of the world to admit that Ninja Assassin Kensi Blye occasionally gets sick.” Deeks brushed her hair back lovingly despite his joking tone. “Ok, I’m going to get you some tea, medicine, and toast,” he added, kissing her heated temple.

Kensi made a token noise of protest, and then flopped back down on the bed. Yeah, there was no way she was coming in today. Luckily, Callen was back, and if needed, they could pull Fatima into the field.

When he returned a few minutes later with a tray loaded up with cups and bottles, Kensi grudgingly accepted a glass of water and two ibuprofen. She washed them down without a word, hand shaking as she handed the glass of water back.

“Ugh, I hate being sick,” she groaned pitifully. “It should be outlawed once you turn 21.”

Deeks bit back a smile, fluffing her pillows and pulling the covers back around her. “I’ll be sure to send a letter of complaint,” he teased.

After seven years together, he’d learned that Kensi handled the common cold as well as any doctor. She usually avoided the yearly colds and flus, but when she did catch a bug, they hit pretty hard.

“Alright, I’m going to go to work, because I’m pretty sure Kilbride will either actually burst a blood vessel this time or abandon us and retire to Florida.”

Kensi managed a weak smile, already drifting towards sleep.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“Of course.” He kissed her forehead again. “Call if you need anything. Love you.”

***

Deeks was kept busy by a combination of paperwork, and a request from LAPD to assist with a brief undercover op. It turned out to be relatively simple.

He’d texted Kensi periodically to check in, who responded with single words or the occasional rude emoji. That reassured him enough that she wasn’t too sick. Still, he felt bad about leaving her to fend for herself. Whenever he was sick, he just wanted to curl up and die.

The image of Kensi’s shakiness ran through his mind. He doubted she’d made it to the kitchen to get more food, probably limiting trips to the bathroom.

With that in mind, he asked to leave a bit early, and stopped off at their local deli for some fresh tomato soup and bread.

“Hey, Kens, I’m home,” he announced as he kicked his shoes off, and pushed them to the side of the door. All the blinds were drawn just as when he’d left, and he didn’t hear any sounds of movement. “Kensi?” he repeated more quietly, stepping into their bedroom.

In the dark, he just made out a Kensi-sized lump took a up the center of the bed. He set the food to the side, and turned on a low light, noting the empty glass on the table, and cold medicine scattered across the floor, the little white bottle wedged under the bed.

Sliding onto the bed beside her, he gently brushed her hair back from her temple. Kensi inhaled sharply, peeling on eye open to look at him. Even in the poor light, he could see her eyes were glassy and her normal coloring was off.

“Hey baby.”

“Deeks,” she muttered, licking her dry lips. She coughed a couple times, curling in on herself as a shiver racked her body. “What time is it? Didn’t you just leave?”

Deeks winced at her strained, cracked voice.

“It’s just after five. I promise I’m not playing hooky,” he said. “You’re looking kind of rough.”

She just shrugged, sighing when he pressed his hand to her forehead. Her skin was hot. Not emergency room level hot, but definitely enough to explain her listlessness and shivering.

“Well, you definitely have a fever, so I’m going to get some more medicine that isn’t covered in dust bunnies. He grabbed a couple bottles of Gatorade, water, and fever reducer from downstairs, bringing them all up to the bedroom.

Kensi had dozed off again, and seemed vaguely annoyed at being woken up, which Deeks took as a relatively good sign. She swallowed two small white pills with a couple sips of Gatorade before trying to hand it back to Deeks.

“Ah, ah, you gotta drink at least half of that,” he told her, pushing the bottle back. It took considerably less effort than it normally would. “Nobody gets dehydrated on my watch.”

Kensi rolled her eyes, but dutifully drank exactly half of the bottle bit by bit.

“Happy now?” she asked sarcastically, slumping back down on her bed of pillows.

“Ecstatic. I brought some tomato soup, you want some?”

Kensi grimaced, unconsciously dropping a hand to her stomach. “No.” She shook her head quickly. “Not even a little bit.”

“Ok, then what can I do?”

“Hold me? I’m freezing,” she said, giving him a pleading look.

Yeah, he’d run into a burning building for that look. Shucking off his t-shirt while he walked around to the other side of the bed, he slipped under the covers, careful not to let too much warmth escape. Kensi flinched when his skin first made contact with hers, then relaxed as he curled around her back, enfolding her in his arms.

“Thank you,” she sighed in relief, melting against his chest. She reached for his forearm, and turned her head just enough to press a clumsy kiss to his cheek. Within a few minutes, her shivers had subsided, and she fell into a deep sleep.

“Anything for my, Ladybird,” he whispered, barely kissing her shoulder.

***

Thanks for the prompt!

[ayamturd]

kid│technoblade

summary: (requested) an errand run forces techno out of the house; he meets an interesting kid in return

warnings: brief injury description, hinted abandonment, light angst and fluff

pairing: in-game platonic!technoblade

a/n: i took this request and ran so far with it lol. pls enjoy, i loved the reader’s dynamic with techno sm

wc: (4.0k) - m.list

It was hot, the day smothering in the summer heat as the village offered little coverage to the harsh sun. From exploring the lands of the Arctic to walking in the crowded space on the sweltering landscape, Technoblade let out a sigh from how his layered clothing stuck to him; his regal attire was more than slightly uncomfortable and was arguably only for looks then and there. 

Glancing down to the list in his hands once more, he grumbled from the tasks, supplies and ingredients he still needed, openly irritated from being forced on the supply run. Real funny Phil. Hilarious.

He scratched his head, lost to the busy market place as many shoved past him in the busy rush. Technoblade was a warrior, the Blood God, he was someone to be feared and feel threatened by, yet at that very moment he couldn’t be anything less than a lost tourist. 

Technoblade rarely ventured to extremely public places, but he knew he couldn’t return empty handed, the underwhelming mockery he would receive would be just plain annoying. 

With a final sigh of defeat, he decided it best to take each task step by step, that starting with the blacksmith. Now, make no question that Technoblade and Phil weren’t not capable of crafting their own weapon, but at times, the cost of another’s opinion did more help than that of personalized wants. 

It was even hotter once he entered the open store, the burning furnace emitting an almost intolerable intensity that rivaled the burning cold of the Arctic. Rolling his neck, he approached the front desk and unsheathed both Phil’s and his long swords, tossing a small pouch with a chink as payment for restorations and commendations.

Speaking few words in the villager’s tongue, the worker immediately began his assessment when taking the weapons in hand. Techno knew little in the different language, but he understood when the man explained the necessary works and time expectancy. 

He sighed for what felt to be his 15th time that afternoon, but complied when leaning against the counter for the next few minutes; he refused to leave his best weaponry in the hands of a stranger, and would do with the wait until then. 

Picking on the crusted mud that hardened on his fur coat, he jumped when someone slammed into the wood he leaned against, eyes dropping to meet the height of a young adolescent.

Unlike himself, they seemed dressed for the sweltering heat. Their cloak hung loosely from their shoulders, but was bare and thin, either from time or was purposeful from the climate, it was his guess. While they seemed as energetic as someone their age should be, he could tell from experience of the way they stood tall with their chin held high that they were a fighter, someone who seemed cautious of their surroundings by the constant shift in their eyes. 

He also knew they noticed him but was purposefully choosing to ignore him for whatever reason, he couldn’t tell. Coughing, he went back to his useless fiddling. 

They tapped anxiously, their fingers twitching while they looked longingly to the nearest axes, an overwhelming sense of excitement filling the stuffy air. While he tried to ignore them considering how little they could stand still irritated him, he couldn’t deny that they intrigued him. 

“Helloooooooo?” they called out, jumping above the counter and holding themself up with their arms stiff in strength. Techno waited a brief moment while they began yelling louder before rolling his eyes to interrupt them.

“They’re busy right now. Give it a minute, will you?”

His monotoned voice caused them to freeze, and as they slowly turned to meet the sight of him, a huge grin grew on their face. It made his frown grow in return. 

“A minute can be so long in silence, I’m only making it go faster.” Techno scoffed at their words and fully turned his body towards them. His genetics made him tower over them even when slouched, yet while he knew others would cower, the child in front of tilted their head in amusement. 

“By what logic does that make any sense?”

The mischievous teenager followed Technoblade’s posture, mimicking his stance with crossed arms. They jutted their chin out proudly, though it was obvious they were only messing with him further.

“My logic, obviously.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s yours, doesn’t make it right.”

With an annoying quirk of a smile, the small human smirked with feigned innocent eyes.

“Says who?”

Knowing full well that it would a battle in vain, Techno conceded and faced the front desk again, his arms resting against the table as he hung his head down with a huff of air. 

His considered defeat made the young stranger laugh lightly, and they copied his position, but instead held their head in their palms with a small hum. Staring at him intensely, their head rocked in thought for some time before they spoke up. 

“You look miserable.”

It took Techno a large amount of willpower to prevent himself from glaring in their direction, something the child took as a challenge. They filled the silence when Techno left it unattended, leaning closer to him while still in place. 

“I mean, the outfit is sick, I won’t lie. But you just look awful right now. How many layers do you have on anyway?”

Once more, he had to clench his fist tightly to drown out their bothersome questions. The child, as he now deemed it considering how persistent it could be, noted his subtle tensing and bit their lip to smother another coming giggle. 

“Is your crown real? Are you actually royalty? Am I expected to bow in honor or respect? I’m terrible with conversation-“

“So I’ve noticed.” Techno dryly stated, his hand coming to rub the back of his head, exasperated, with a shake. They completely disregard his side comment like he never spoke. 

“-but I never though I’d live to see the day I interact with royalty.”

“I’m not royal, I’m anythin’ but.” Techno’s voice dropped when considering the matter, his narrowed eyes in concentration against his constant fight for Anarchy and destruction. 

His seriousness created a beat of silence in the shop, though without fail, the teenager overlooked his internal monologue.

“Do you have a long, fancy name with numbers and stuff? Like ‘King George the First' or ‘Their majesty, Alas-’”

“No."

“But what about-”

Techno’s groan cut their next range of questions off, and he pushed himself up to stare them down tiredly. 

“You’re a pretty annoyin’ kid, you know that?”

Sitting up when he did, the teen jumped onto the counter backwards, swinging their legs on the edge while gripping the border tightly. They rested their chin on their shoulder with an eased smile as they now matched his height. 

“So I’ve been told.”

The approaching footsteps from the back entry caused the both of them to turn their heads, the young stranger facing to him while Techno’s gaze still remained. 

“But you can’t deny it, I made time go faster.”

Hopping off before they could be scolded, the blacksmith returned with the weapons’ adjustments and the requested engravings Phil asked for, drawing Techno’s attention away from the young stranger. He opened the cloth the worker brought the swords out in, and lifted his own while gripping the grained handle tightly.

Stepping away from the counter, he swung the blade in front of him, tossing it briefly as to adjust to its weight and consider its balance. The wind it generated in the slices of air brought a dark smile to his face. Satisfied with the result, Techno inspected the finer details up close a final time before sheathing it to his side. 

As he went to grab Phil’s, he caught the teen’s awed gape. He chuckled from their open amazement and moved to walk towards the displayed axes behind them. 

“What’s your name, kid?” With his back to them, he reached his hand outward to the various blade sizes, hovering over the edges with careful pressure. 

His question visibly threw them off, and they stuttered before gathering themself. 

“What’s yours?” they asked, eyebrows raised in defense. Techno felt the corner of his mouth lift from their faltering. 

“Technoblade.” He was patient as they swallowed before responding. 

“Y/n.”

Unclasping a light, yet deadly thin battle-blade axe from the wall, Techno eventually turned around to meet them again.  

“No last name?” 

While they smiled, it didn’t reach their eyes as they glanced away with a careless shrug. No origin or proper upbringing, he assumed.

“Never came up with one. Never needed one.”

“Hmm.”

Lifting the axe in hand, Techno gestured to the empty baldric that wrapped tightly around their chest. By their longing stares and stance as a fighter, it didn’t take much to make the connection that they were someone who fought with an axe. 

“What happened to the last one?”

Surprised by his close observation, they brought their hands to the bare hold as if they were searching for it. Unlike the past few minutes in his company, they suddenly became shy and spoke with a guilty smile. 

“O-oh. I, uh, chipped the blade. Wore it down. It’s been a while since I was able to treat myself, I thought it was finally worth the wait to get a new one.”

Shifting on their feet, they grasped one of their arms awkwardly. Despite their previously loud, outward energy, Techno sighed once he saw them as the kid they were; they were someone alone that was forced to survive in the big world, someone he could relate and understand. 

After a moment passed, Techno faced the worker. They had been watching their interaction the entire time and seemed as uncomfortable as they were bored. Without asking for a price, he wordlessly pulled out a handful of emeralds from his drop leg pouch and slammed them on the table surface. 

The blacksmith made sounds of gurgled delight, gathering the gems into his opens hands with furious nods in thanks. Techno only rolled his eyes and shoved the purchased axe forwards, leaving it open in his outreached hands to the child. 

“Save your money. It’s not worth any price they try to sell.”

Switching their sights from the weapon and Technoblade in disbelief, they breathlessly giggled when carefully lifting it from his hold. 

Twirling it easily before striking near the ground, the pulled the new beauty to their chest gratefully. They were at a loss for words, to say the least, and Techno laughed from their frozen shock.

His laughter died down and he decided to take his leave in quick steps. While the teen tried to shout to him in thanks, they were still dazed and couldn’t form words to yell. 

Techno paused at the entrance and dipped his head back, his hand bordering the door frame. He grinned slightly to the point where his sharper canines were visible, and called out to them in departure.

“See you around, kid.”

Bow raised, arrow drawn, Techno crept low on the forest ground with cautious and calculated steps. 

The overgrown leaves above provided a gentle shading that shielded the majority of the sunlight, only few splotches breaking through. It had been too long since Techno went hunting, the sport lost to him since his recent adventures and scenery in the very south. 

As he had been traveling for days on end to meet with his brothers’ call, he thought to gather food and see through with his lost skill; he had devoted a majority of his time in peaceful solitude to farming and raising cattle, he wasn’t as skillful as he used to be. 

Keeping that in mind, as his eyes narrowed from the close rustling of a bush before him and he approached meaningfully, he failed to noticed the grown roots that broke through the dirt. 

With a small yelp, his foot became stuck and he fell hard onto his face.

A small rabbit hopped out of the shrubbery and stopped briefly near him as if in mockery to his embarrassing failure before bouncing away. 

Technoblade groaned, both from pain and the circumstances, and gave up any hope for moving in shame when the voices began to mock him. 

“Well that wasn’t very royal of you.”

While his memory failed him more often than not, he recognized the voice specifically over the chaos that reigned in his ears. Contemplating the next-least humiliating course of actions, he settled on pretending nothing happened. 

“Like I said the last time,” he sighed while pushing himself up, “I’m not royalty.”

Brushing off the dirt that stained his clothes and skin, Techno turned to the child’s voice and jerked startled when their entertained countenance was closer than what he expected. They were hanging upside down with their legs hooked on a low, but sturdy branch. 

Face smug, they crossed their arms and openly snickered. 

“Agreed, you are far less graceful than what I expect them to be.”

Techno shook his head and searched for his bow, the old relic more traditional and practical in comparison to his crossbow for hunting. He hummed when spotting it and tried to shift the conversation. 

“What are you doin’ out here, kid?”

Pulling themself up in a sitting position, they swung their feet wildly and looked around the woodlands with a shrug. 

“I live here.”

Freezing mid crouch with his bow in hand, Techno’s words were slow following after. 

“Out here?”

“Mhmm.”

There was a pause as Techno looked at them confused. His brows furrowed fro their vague input. 

“In the trees?”

“Sometimes,” they sang. Leaping forward, they landed smoothly onto their feet and raised their eyes to the sky. “It depends on my mood, and whether or not I want to see the stars.”

“Ah.”

With that, Techno turned and started to walk away. His hunting attempt was a mistake that cost him a bullying teenager that apparently lived in the woods and was homeless, the voices adding onto his internal torment; he wanted to leave as fast as he could.

Racing their steps ahead of him, y/n began to walk backwards to address him directly. 

“Why are you here? I assume you don’t live near here since you dress like an old, aristocratic woman with modesty insecurities.”

Techno looked ahead without faltering considering their playful jab, and they tried for an answer again. 

“Plus you haven’t been around for weeks.”

Steps slowing, Techno was genuinely surprised to hear their observation and glanced at them with an inclined head tilt. 

“You looked for me?”

Caught in their own web, y/n timorously avoided his stare. 

“The town’s always busy with newcomers, travelers, royalty,” they emphasized with a pointed look at him, “trust me when I say you stick out like a sore thumb. Your turn.”

Nodding from their reasonable, but untrue explanation, it was Techno’s turn to glance away while formulating a response. 

“I’ve been… uh, explorin’, you could say.”

In a paralleling manner, they copied his previous nod despite their skepticism. 

“I see. And now?”

“Now I’m visitin’ an old friend, old relations.”

“Ahhh. Girlfriend?”

Technoblade stopped walking altogether and incredulity gawked at them. 

“What?”

“Boyfriend?” y/n continued, now turning with their back facing him. Techno rushed to meet there stride and spoke down to them.

“No, stop it.”

Hand to their chin, they pretended to reach another revelation with wide eyes. 

“Ohh I get it now, distant family.”

“You can be quiet now,” Techno grumbled. Smacking his forehead, he rubbed it exasperated while their joy became evident in their cheerful tone.  

“Are they misunderstanding?” the teen asked, their cheeks flushed excitedly from his apparent discomfort. “Is it the person-friend they don’t approve of?”

“I’m leaving now.” Techno hurried his pace as to leave the forest ground.

“They rude? Unbearable? Selfish? Annoying?”

“You know what,” he stated, spinning to them to clarify since they had stopped walking entirely behind him, “yes.”

“Ooo which one?”

“Annoyin’, and you remind me so much of them.”

The trees were now clear as the plains had become more visible during their trek. Strapping the long, recurve barbow over his head and around his chest, Techno thought the exchange done and allowed the sun to bask over him. 

Before he could make his way to his camp, their voice yelled out to him. 

“Aww that’s sweet!”

Perplexed to how anything of what he said could be seen as ‘sweet’, his curiosity got the better of him and he turned again. 

“You consider me like family? I’m touched!”

Eyes narrowed, Techno bowed his head it defeat once again. He could never win with them, could he?

“‘kay, I’m done with this. Goodbye.”

Y/n waved avidly with a wide grin in spite of him not looking. 

“See you around, Sir Blade!”

“You should consider yourself lucky.”

The stillness was deafening. Regardless of the wind that howled outside and forced the shudders to rattle upon constant impact, or the fire the lit the room bright in heat and warm tone color, the quiet was tense when y/n awoke in Techno’s house. 

“I saw the smoke burn miles out. Had the wind changed its course, I would have never noticed.”

As his back was turned to them, Techno pulled the cork from his most recent regeneration brew and poured it briskly into a small mug, its small rippling sound overtaking the room. With a plate of bread he prepared beforehand, he finally addressed them with the sustenance in hand. 

Y/n was completely engulfed in the large bedding they rested in, Techno’s bedding. Their arms were wrapped tightly with gauze that covered their forearms all the way to their chest. Eyes sunken and dark, they squinted heavily from recently awakening with ashen hair that matted to their face. 

“Is everyone alright?” they asked, voice faint yet rough from the intense smoke inhalation and damage they sustained in the event. Coughing from speaking for the first time, Techno was quick to hand them the potion. 

They downed the drink voraciously, and he decided to speak while they ate. 

“Everyone that managed to escape, probably. But those that did fled long before I arrived.”

Glancing at down at them, Techno could only sigh at the sight. They were so small under his gaze, and he shifted his attention to the nearest wall with crossed arms. 

“It’s one thing to help others, it’s another when takin’ on a raid by yourself.”

His pointed comment caused them to snap and try to defend themself, however, they moved to suddenly and winced from the slight movement. Despite his frown, Techno’s hands were raised gently with concerned eyes from their evident pain. 

Breathing in and out harshly, they were still hunched over when they glared up at him in anguish. 

“You didn’t hear them scream, you didn’t hear them yell for mercy. You weren’t there, but I was. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.” Their voice cracked near the end, and with vast tears that escaped, a broken sob filled the space as they hid their face ashamed. 

Techno was at a loss when comforting others, but he wasn’t a jerk to ignore someone after surviving a tragic incident, one they tried to fight yet lost to. 

Slowly, he moved to sit on the bed side. He clenched his fist shut in hesitance, but steadily, he hovered his hand over them before stroking their back reassuringly. 

“Listen, kid,” pausing, Techno caught himself and cleared his throat, “Y/n, I know you barely know anything about me but trust me. I understand how it feels, how it must’ve felt then to be overwhelmed by sudden cries that surround you to the point that you make rash decisions. Trust me when I say I get it.”

Their cries died down from his words, and he spoke earnestly as they listened more closely in smothered hiccups. 

“I respect what you tried to do in the end, but you have to be self aware that you’re still just a kid.”

His blunt statement made them freeze, and when the fully processed what he said, they dropped their hands to scowl at him incredulously. Their red eyes are hard and made him laugh from his lack of explanation to his true meaning. 

“Hey, I never said it was the age that was at fault.”

Pulling his arms away, he grasped his hands together and rested his elbows to his knees, though his focus was still on them. 

“You’re young, and young means inexperienced. Give yourself some leeway and accept your limits that come with time.”

They looked down from his attentive eyes, but still nodded when understanding his perspective. 

Rubbing the bottom of his chin with the back of his hand, Techno attempted to further the conversation amiably. He was out of his depth socially, but he was trying for their sake. 

“Besides all that, I have to say you can definitely fight.” Their eyes shot up to meet his, the acclaim unexpected. Their face was too emotionally soft for Techno to look at, so he turned away before speaking with a joking smirk. 

“Though I’m not too sure about your close combat.”

Gawking at the audacity, y/n lightly smacked his arm and scoffed. A smile crept on their face as they shook their head from the backhanded compliment. 

“You try training with a tree, they don’t always fight back.”

His snicker grew from their weak justification, and eventually, they joined his laughing fit. Helpless giggles replaced the once solemn air. While it soon died down, the elation of each other’s company still remained. 

Techno rose from the soft mattress and crossed his arms loosely in thought. With a single nod, his monotoned voice encouraged them considerately.

“Get some rest, we can talk later.”

Like his past departures, his steps were fast and large as he moved to exit. His hand pulled the door with him, but a shy call of his name stopped him from closing it fully shut.

“Technoblade.”

His head peaked from behind the wooden door and was met with soft eyes that expressed more gratitude than words could convey. 

“Thank you.”

“No thanks needed, kid.”

Bonus:

Shutting the door gently, Techno walked into the kitchen space with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes from the hours he spent watching them unconscious after tending to them, and heeded the voices’ command for food (real food for once, not blood).

He leisurely approached the pantry, and without turning to address him, spoke lowly.

“Not a single, word.”

Phil lowered the book in his hand and raised a hand defensively with a shrug. He was sat in the living room, obscured in the large armchair from the kitchen; Techno was aware of his presence, however, and knew of his routine.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Phil called out, though Techno was quick to respond. 

“Phil, you are the least stealthy person on this planet.”

“No, no, I’m serious. I have nothing to say.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Techno murmured a sure and moved to the front door, an apple in one hand and bag full of produce tucked in his other arm. He stated that he was going check on the animals and slammed the door close harshly.

Moments passed as Phil sat in silence, save for the crackling fire that roared beside him, before speaking as if he could still hear him. 

“To think, I sent you to the store and you brought back a kid.”

[yandere-sins]

I just finished reading all your Haikyuu Kitsune fics and I am obsessed. I was wondering what would happen if kitsune Suna just kidnapped the reader one night and she just wakes up in his Kitsune village tied up lol.

(╯‵□′)╯︵💗

Glad you enjoyed them! Thanks for reading & requesting ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————««       

You were awake for a while already, pondering, when you finally heard the door to the basement open again. Even though you felt exhausted and anxious after the last few hours that you spent alone in the dark, you still mustered up the strength to glare, enough hatred in your gaze that the person entering the basement should have dropped dead if looks could kill. Person? Entity? You weren’t sure how to title him, but any name that came to mind wasn’t a very friendly one.

“You’re scrunching up your face... again,” he noted, and now pointed out, you grimaced even more. Suna either didn’t want to understand why you were looking at him, clearly finding discomfort in your gaze as he opted to avoid your eyes, or he decided to play dumb. Whichever it was, it only made you angrier!

“Seriously...” he mumbled, sighing deeply before placing down the tray he had been carrying, on a barrel next to the stairs. The whole basement was stuffed with things that seemed like they had been standing there for a while, unused and covered in thick layers of dust. Some of the stuff looked like ancient versions of modern tools for farming, but with that man nearby, your whereabouts were your slightest worry.

“I got you some food.”

Placing a spoon into the bowl he had brought, he stirred it briefly, a gooey, thick substance dripping of the cutlery when he lifted it into the light of the candle accompanying him. You, right away, felt anything but hungry, even if you assumed it was just oatmeal. Still, judging from the looks of it, you couldn’t find even one thing that was appetizing about it.

Taking the bowl with him, he walked over to you, a hand reaching out towards your face as you reacted, pushing yourself backwards until your back hit another barrel behind you. The metal chains wrapped around your wrists rattled upon your stir, making Suna flinch away for a second, his whole body stiffening as he looked back over his shoulder and up the staircase. He remained silent for a moment as if he waited for the door to open, but nothing happened.

“Don’t be too loud,” he reminded you for what must have been the fiftieth time since he threw you over his shoulder and made a run for it to this place, a strange, abandoned village in the forest. “They could hear you. Just be warned that other than me, my kin might eat you on the spot.”

Part of you wanted to call this a bluff—just a trick to keep you quiet. But knowing how unpredictable he was, you didn’t want to get to know any other ‘of his kin’ either. This time, you drilled a hole into the hand slowly approaching your face, strained your neck to get it off you. But lastly, he managed to pull on the cloth wrapped around your head and gagging you, making you fear more scratches from the claws on his fingers.

You didn’t know it was possible to feel sore around your mouth but being free of the gag it was the painful reality you were facing. “Eat,” Suna decided, gathering the gunk of a meal on his spoon before lifting it to your lips. “Fuck off!” you hissed at him quickly, turning your head away and making him struggle to hold the spoon properly, dripping its contents everywhere.

“I am doing this for you, you know?” he growled as you two fought over whether you were going to eat or not. Until Suna had enough, his second hand much quicker and less careful in its approach as it clipped over your nose, pulling you forward. You didn’t have enough time to see it coming, gasping as he cut off your air supply and tugged, making you open your mouth wide enough for him to press the spoon forward.

The taste of unseasoned oats and the wooden spoon mixed with your saliva while you tried not to gag from the slime that seemed to slip right down your throat. Before you knew it, Suna let go of your nose, and you didn’t hesitate to spit out whatever hadn’t been forwarded to your stomach yet, the mass spilling all over the floor.

Disgusted, Suna watched you as you coughed, wishing the taste would pass immediately, not even a hint of understanding in his gaze. “For someone so worried about food, you’re very wasteful. Open up, come on.”

You barely had time to recover as he scooped up another mouthful, but this time you felt ready nonetheless. Clenching your teeth together, you waited for him to do the trick again, deciding you’d rather suffocate than accept any food from him, especially one that you couldn’t be sure where, when, and how it was made.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he pressed the spoon up to your teeth, growing impatient as you wouldn’t open up no matter how much pressure he applied. Suna even gripped your chin from below, trying to slam both forces together, but you persisted. You would have been mighty proud of yourself for resisting if not for the oatmeal getting plastered all over your face, its consistency running down your cheeks and lips as Suna threw away the spoon in frustration.

“Fine!” he gnarled. “You want to show me how tough you are? I can do that too!”

As if on cue, the light flickered before going out, but even just the three seconds that you were able to see his bared teeth - his pointy fangs looking even longer than you imagined them from that time he bit you - scared you. It was the first time, but certainly not the last, that you felt yourself submit to him. Like an animal who tugged in its tail, you flinched away, ducking lightly until all you could see were his golden, shining eyes in the dark. Even if it was just a spur-of-the-moment action, you instantly felt embarrassed and upset you reacted the way you did.

“Good,” he appraised your recoiling motion before he moved closer. You felt his body leaning towards you, the warmth impossible to ignore as his arms caged you on either side, barrel in the back and fox in the front. You felt something wet and rough drag over your chin, lips, and cheek before you felt it trying to intrude on your mouth. Even if you wanted to complain, scream even, you found yourself cut off by Suna exploring the inside and catching your voice, the damn taste of oatmeal back on your tongue with no way of spitting it out.

His arms closed in on your hands, long fingers wrapping around the metal restraints and pulling your shoulders down until your hands pressed against the dirty ground, making it almost impossible to move your body like you wanted. The kiss continued, mouths opening for quick breathers in between, and you had to realize that these fangs weren’t optimal to be used for kissing, your teeth colliding with his a few times, and your lips getting caught on the fangs. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but every time it happened, you felt a spark of pain going through you.

The sounds very quickly changed from sloppy to passionate on his side, soft whines and groans escaping him in the breaks. You felt like you were going to die from either shame or the pain of him ending up dislocating your shoulders as Suna kept pressing in further and further, his chest soon enough resting on yours while your hands hurt from being caught in his grip and bracing against the ground.

All that was left when he very suddenly, very unpredictably, pulled away was the taste of iron as his fang finally managed to rip open a small part of your lip. You cursed inwardly as you took deep breaths, trying to regain air and your composure, while you barely heard him whisper something under his own breath. “... too much,” you made out, coming from him before he turned around, taking deep breaths.

“What the fuck--!” you cursed, but Suna was quick to return to you, clasping his hand over your mouth before listening intently. “Shhh!” he hissed, listening again, just like before. However, this time, you collected all the courage you had in you to bite him in the hand, catching a finger to latch on to. Suna noticeably flinched before he pulled away, seemingly looking at his hand for a split moment in an emotion you couldn’t make out. Still, before long, he clicked his tongue and pressed the gag he had taken off you back in place.

Even if you struggled now, he was stronger than you as well as relentless, and after tying a knot in the back, his hands lingered on each side of your head briefly. You could only see his eyes coming closer, but next thing you knew, you felt another kiss to your exposed lips before he seemed to notice the blood, his tongue coming forth to lick the wound tenderly, different from how he treated you before. “Fuck...” he whispered before he finally let you go and got up, his feet barely making any sound as he moved away.

“I’ll be back in the morning, don’t make a sound if you want to survive the night,” were his last words before he swiftly walked up the stairs and out the door, again leaving you behind all by yourself.

What were you supposed to make out of the situation? Why did he bring you here anyway if he was just going to leave you alone? What was ‘too much’, and why did he kiss you again and again? It felt like every time you saw him, you had more questions left unanswered than before. All you knew was that you wanted to go home.

And hopefully, this was just a very awful nightmare you’d soon wake up from.

[tiredb0igivemesugars]

Cold basement floor

Summary: Y/n is taken hostage

📝Words📝: 1.7K

⚠️Warnings⚠️: detailed mentions of stabbing and pain. Knives, smoking and burns.

💙Pairing💙: none. Tony Stark as Y/n's father

📎Note📎: I know this is a lot different from my usual stuff but I still wanted to post this one, hopefully you won't think too ill of me after this

The big metal door swung open and then closed, the loud noise startling you. You weren’t actually sure if the door was metal since you couldn’t see but it sure sounded like it. A pair of heavy boots walked on the concrete floor. That you were sure of, you had felt the cold and wet concrete floor yourself. You shook out of coldness in the room. The cold shackles on your wrists and ankles kept you from moving along with making sure you got deep cuts on your skin from the edges. You had no idea how long you had been gone. You just knew you were starving. You heard the same broken water pipe dropping droplets of water on the floor, forming a puddle. The larger the puddle got, the deeper the sound was. You had momentarily considered drinking from the puddle, but decided against it once you deducted that you couldn’t reach it.

The man with the heavy boots walked around the room, his steps echoing throughout the room. The sounds from his steps echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls. They had blindfolded you, at least that was what you thought. The chains on your arms weren’t long enough for you to touch the blindfold but you could still feel the soft material wrapped around your head, covering your eyes.

A chair was dragged across the floor, a screeching sound now echoing in the room. The man sat down on the chair. ”Y/n now was it?” He asked. You heard as he pulled something out of his pocket. A lighter. Suddenly the room smelt of cigarettes. He was smoking. His mouth made wet noises as he sucked on it. The ashes made the quietest sound when they fell on the floor beneath him. You didn’t answer his question, trying to pay attention to every sound in the room and possibly outside of it. The direction of the wind changed. You felt it as the wind grazed upon your exposed upper arms. ”Your dad is not paying the ransom money,” the man said. His voice was rough, raspy even. He had no foreign accent so he wasn’t hydra. He sounded slightly surprised, like he tried to make conversation with you about the fact.

You listened as the man shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable in the position he had chosen for himself. ”You probably have no idea how long you’ve been here,” the man suddenly said. That he was right about. ”Three days. Three days without food or water. That does something to a person,” he continued. He stood up and began walking around the room. His steps became further away before they came back, this time closer. So much more closer. You pressed yourself against the cold wall, desperate to get away from him. The dust and pieces of rock from the wall dug themselves into your skin, making you feel uncomfortable. ”You see. Now when your dad isn’t paying up, we get to have all the fun we want,” he said. His voice so much closer. Closer than ever. You could even feel his breath on your skin. He blew smoke into your face. You coughed at the repulsive smell. There was a sudden pain in your forearm. A burning pain. You bit your lip, trying to not give in to the temptation to scream as the pain worsened.

The man suddenly yelled something to his accomplices, startling you. The metal door banged again. At least two other people came into the room. The sounds of their steps echoed in the room, fast and determined. Pairs of hands grabbed your shackles. ”No no please stop,” you begged. You trashed against their firm hold, ”no please don’t hurt me,” you begged. The cold metal against your skin was gone, now a hand was laid against your scalp, pulling on your hair. ”Let’s go,” a deep voice said and pulled you up by holding onto your hair. You cried out in pain. He began pulling you forward, out of the room. Your feet barely touched the ground as the man pulled on your hair. The cement was freezing cold against your bare feet as you were dragged out of the room. The hallway was filled with different noises. The sounds of different machines running and people screaming in agony. You too, screamed in agony as you were pulled into another room. You felt another pair of cuffs getting tied around your wrists, then suddenly, you were hanging from the ceiling. You panted, anxious for what was to happen next.

The number of steps had been reduced to one pair. Another cigarette was lit. ”Now,” the familiar voice said. It was the same man from before. ”We’re gonna have fun,” he stated, sounding ominous.

You breathed in deeply, trying to embrace yourself for whatever it was that was about to happen. You could hear a cart being wheeled towards you. The wheels screeched and screamed in pure agony. The man hummed a song as he touched every object on the table. Something thin made of metal. A big machine with the outer layer being plastic and lots of switches. A small plastic object with some glass on it. The man suddenly grabbed an object, it slid against the table as he took it in his hand. He took steps around the room, like dancing. His humming became louder and clearer. It was no melody you recognised, although somewhat familiar. He seemed to have stopped in front of you, there couldn’t have been more than five inches between his nose and yours. His breath smelled foul, the occasional hint of nicotine mixed with whiskey and something rotten. He licked your cheek before spitting on your barefoot. He smacked his lips together. ”Sweat, tears, dirt and maybe a hint of blood,” he spoke in a calm matter. You shuddered as the chills ran down your spine.

He pressed an object against your stomach. ”Do you have any idea why you’re here?” He asked. You could now tell that the object was a knife. Its sharp point was pressed against your skin, only the thin fabric of the open-back hospital gown separating it and you. You chuckled awkwardly, trying to hide your fear. ”I- I have no clue,” you answered. You wanted to make a joke, ease the pressure in your chest but you couldn’t. The fear that came with losing one of your main senses was too powerful. It kept you in check, woke you up to the reality that you had no idea what was going on. You had no idea what was to happen next. You could hear him breathe. Feel how the small air current changed with each of his exhales and inhales.

This room. This place you were in, had been in for three days, was his kingdom. He was in absolute control. You were powerless, like an animal in a cage at his mercy.

”You’re here as a paper we’re going to write the message onto. You can tell your dad that he messed with the wrong people,” the man whispered as he pushed the knife into you. You could feel your skin split as the sharp object was pushed further into you. It burned. You were on fire as you screamed. The pain was excruciating as it spread throughout your body. Over and over again, he sunk the knife into your skin and dragged it in every possible direction to inflict the most pain possible.

Once the pain in your body and throat became too much, you fell limp. Your mind was now up for rent. Owners from before had gotten their deposit back and now new inhabitants were to move in. Yet, no one hauled their sofa and dining table in through the doorway that was just a little too small. As minutes went on, you failed to react or really even register what was happening anymore. None of it mattered, you didn’t care. This pain that was being inflicted upon you was too much, why be around to feel it?

Eventually, it came to a halt. He stopped digging the sharp blade into you. The cart made a loud noise as he threw the knife back on it. ”Like a Christmas present,” he whispered in your ear, his rough hand caressing your wounds.

Tears escaped your eyes as you hung there, chest rising and falling as you failed to fully re-enter your body. His hands stopped roaming your body as he took a step back. The screeching noise of a chair being pulled filled your barely conscious mind. He seemed to sit back down, unmoving. Eventually, he moved. He moved and began humming the same tune from before. He grabbed the knife from before and you braced yourself for more pain. But when no pain came your breathing eased just the lightest amount. Yet, still, you hung there, from the ceiling on hypervigilance. This seemed to go on for hours. The man just humming the same tune over and over again as he sat there, most likely watching you.

There was a loud crash. It startled you as it seemed to do the same to the man. He pushed himself off the chair and hurried out of the room, yelling orders. You felt relieved upon hearing the loud sirens of the security system. Finally, you were going to be released from your nightmare. You listened as guns went off and people screamed, crying tears of happiness when you heard every metal door being opened systematically. Blood pumped into your ears as you listened to the nearing sounds of the doors opening. The hinges of the door creaked and you sighed in relief. ”Hold on, I think I got something,” the familiar voice of Steve Rogers aka Captain America spoke. ”Hello?” You called out once you heard no movement. ”Y/n?” Steve’s voice asked, confused and concerned. You cried out in relief. ”Can you please help me?” You pleaded, hearing how desperate and raw your own voice sounded. You heard Steve’s steps as his feet came in contact with the cold and damp floor. His hands undid your shackles before lifting you to carry you. You sighed in relief as your head fell on his shoulder. You felt the rhythm of his steps as he walked. The sounds of the fighting had stopped, feeding into your relief that yes, your nightmare was in fact, over.

”I’ll help you. Always will,” a voice said. Your blood halted. It wasn’t Steve’s voice.

[a-jynx]

Expensive Taste

Excerpt; Gambling with your past is bound to piss you off...

Warnings; Strong language, drunks, threats, blood/broken bones, hint of sexual tension(?), tell me if I missed any warnings!

Pairing; Quackity x reader, female pronouns

[ Male vers. / GN vers. ] [ Part 2 ]

a/n; I hope you guys enjoy it, this was a lot of fun to write! And biggest thank you to @kxrmitty for editing this for me! <3

~~~~

“So, what happened this time?” Foolish sighed, walking alongside Karl and Sapnap. Karl nervously giggled.

“I wasn’t, uh... I wasn’t paying attention and a creeper snuck up on me.” He sheepishly grinned, rubbing the back of his neck as Sapnap snickered, growing quiet as Karl elbowed him. “I’m sorry about taking so much of your time, Foolish. I’ll pay you handsomely though!” The curly-haired man flashed a toothy grin, making Foolish chuckle.

“No, no it’s alright! Besides, I needed to come and speak to you all about the cherry blossoms you wanted added in,” the tall God trailed, motioning for the pair to follow. “I was thinking about adding some further out - y’know showing where the land could begin,” his voice trailed as the wind blew up, causing Sapnap to squint before watching as a crumpled sheet tumbled from Foolish’s pocket. The Blazeborn scooped it up, straightening it out before calling out. “Hey! Foolish! You lost-'' his voice died as he scanned across the sheet, his brows creased as he slid his thumb across the bold, red letters “Las Nevadas'', followed by smaller black letters, “meet tonight’s main entertainment that is sure to rock your world!” His lip turned into a frown as he glared at the dull white, focusing on the letters at the bottom signed BQ.

“Las Nevadas..? BQ..? Oh, shit-” he quickly crumpled the flyer into his own pocket, rushing towards his fiancé and friend. “Karl, I’ll be back! I forgot I needed to go help George with something!” The raven-haired man rambled off, pressing a quick kiss to the brunettes’ cheek before retreating backward and giving a quick wave as the two watched him disappear before returning to their conversation.

“Is Sap always that… Rushed?” Foolish snickered, looking back to Karl who frowned, his brows knit tightly together. “Karl? You alright?” The totem God asked, patting the brunette’s shoulder making him jump.

“Hm? Oh, uh, yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Let’s get this finished and get to work on those cherry blossoms!” Karl grinned, moving ahead of Foolish, who quickly followed and yet hadn’t seen the look of hurt flash across the fiancé's face.

~~~~

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding..” Sapnap huffed as he stood in front of the towering entrance. Black stone and quartz stood tall as he moved closer, eyes glazing over each block, each light, each flyer that looked identical to the one he retrieved. The bright neons flickering and buzzing with life, even in the late afternoon sun, welcoming him even with the eerie feeling breathing down the back of his neck.

Striding up the steps, he watched as other patrons followed through the large doors. Excitement and sudden thrill-filled his veins as Sap was pushed and maneuvered into the chilled foyer. People pushed and shoved around him, taking off towards the games or towards the sitting areas where a few girls walked through, their clothes bright and alluring while shimmering from the pulsating lights. It felt like a dream..

“First time?” A soft voice called over the roar of the crowd, catching Sapnap’s attention quickly as he moved towards the desk.

“Uh, something like that.. What the hell is this place?” He laughed, shock evident in the wispy breath.

Niki smiled, sitting up more as she flicked some of her pink hair out of her eyes while turning towards the crowded floor. “Las Nevadas is a country that Quackity made, he made this for people to come in and just leave reality for a little bit. He built this place to be safe- no judgment, but no idiocy either. The Casino is one of the biggest organizations right now and I know Mr. Quackity has some big plans for Las Nevadas, so I’m excited to be a part of it.” She explained, tilting her head back towards Sapnap as he blinked.

“He built this?” He blinked again, a huff passing his lips. “Like - Like Big Q, our Quackity, built this place? Not just this, but an entire country?” He flabbergasted, causing Niki to curiously glance at him.

“Well, he wanted to make a good place? I mean from what I’ve learned about Mr. Quackity’s past, he deserves this.. I mean, he’s worked hard! He deserves the happiness returned after giving so much for others to feel happy, don’t you agree, Sapnap?” She flashed her teeth, the small bits of glitter shimmering and shining on her cheeks and nose as he gulped, flashing a quick grin back.

“Everyone deserves happiness, sure, but.. Should it really be at the expense of the people he loves the most?” He scoffed as Niki knitted her brows together, leaning onto the desk as Sapnap frowned.

“I believe you mean loved - past tense, Mr. Halo.” She grit, shifting to sit back down with a huff. “His office is up the stairs and down the hall, I don’t think you’ll miss it.”

Sapnap glared for a moment before moving towards the hallway and disappearing into the neon basked way. Perhaps he’d get answers, or perhaps it’ll be even more heartache…

~~~~

The dark oak door came into view, the fluorescent neons highlighting the cracks and dents as he gulped, feeling the sweat build-up and trickle down from his forehead. Standing there, he frowned as he heard voices coming from inside, the commotion getting louder with every second passing.

“Sir, just give us a few more weeks-” A voice quivered as two laughed, one causing flashbacks to a sweeter, easier time and the other causing a shift in Sapnap’s gut.

“I have given you an extra three weeks! I think that’s plenty of time to make up your side of the bargain.” The second voice coughed, yet you could hear the snarled grin behind it. Sap leaned closer towards the door, lifting his hand and wrapping it against the dark oak. Pushing it open as the room goes silent for a moment.

“Uh.. Hope I’m not interrupting?” Sapnap coughed, standing in the doorway as Quackity cleared his throat, standing from his desk with a crooked smile.

“Sapnap Halo! Long time, no see.. And allow me to finish this up and we can visit.” Big Q sapped, clicking his tongue as he turned his attention back towards the quivering man. “If you’re not willing to meet my demands, then I’m no longer in charge of what he commits..” The scarred man sneered, leaning against his palms as the man shook.

“Sir, please I just need-” a hand shot up, silencing him.

“You’ve had enough time. I’ve given you enough time. I have no control over what he chooses to do with your town, Mayor Liek.” Quackity chuckled, a maddening grin splitting across his face as Sapnap frowned, taking a step back.

“I can come back later-”

“No. He was just leaving.” Big Q grit, his eyes shift towards Punz, who steps out of the corner. “Punz. Escort him to the foyer, I’m afraid he’d get… Distracted.” Punz’s lips split into a grin as he stepped towards the man, clasping a hand on his shaking shoulder before dragging him out of the dark oak chair.

“Of course, Q.. Wouldn’t want him to get lost among these walls.” The blonde snickered, tugging the Mayor towards the door before shoving past Sapnap, flashing the bandana wearer a toothy yet sickening smile. Sapnap stood there, shock evident on his face as he watched the doors close behind Punz. He turned his head back towards Quackity, who settled back into the large leather seat, his hands folded in front of him.

“Sap, please sit.”

“Uh, nice place you got here..” Sap gulps, his gaze continuingly shifting around the room, taking in the pulsing neon lights, the dark oak desk that the dark-headed man sat, and two large windows behind him, showing off the casino floor and it’s patrons.

Quackity breaks into a sly grin. “Thanks, it, uh… It cost me some pretty rings.” Sapnap’s gaze moved back towards his ex, his brows furrowing. His eyes snapped towards Quackity’s left hand, eyes widened at the sight of ring-shaped tan lines.

“What?” He barely uttered, his fingernails curling into the dark oak chairs’ arms. His lips curled into a snarl. Quackity frowned, standing with the roll of his eyes. He stepped around the desk, his fingers grazing the few glossy playing cards on top. “Listen, an.. Extravagant life like this?” Quackity gestured around them, breaking into a large, prideful grin. “It doesn’t come cheap.”

“So, you - you sold our engagement rings?! Are you fucking serious, Big Q?” Sapnap snapped, standing abruptly. Quackity’s smile fell, his hands falling to his sides.

“Why would I want to keep memories of the people who abandoned their own fiance?! You must be living in fucking paradise, pal, because the moment you began construction for Kinoko was the day you chose I meant nothing.. Why would I want to remember that?”

Sapnap stared at him, eyes wide and lips parted before scoffing. “Who the fuck said you meant nothing to us - let me remind you, you walked out on US.”

Quackity squinted his good eye, tsking. “I was making this for us. I was making somewhere safe for our futures together and you assumed I left before I was even gone.” Silence swelled over them, each daring for the other to continue their verbal assault. Sapnap’s mouth opened, only to shut when the doors slammed open revealing a disordered Punz. He gulped loudly before straightening up, running a hand through his blonde hair.

“We have a situation.”

~~~~

“Sir, please,” Charlie sighed, rubbing a napkin across his forehead as he glanced down at the multi-colored cards sitting in his green, shaky hand. “The private dances are to be made upfront at the receptionist desk. You can pay forward and ask Niki, the said receptionist, to call upon the girl of your request.”

“Well, I’m requesting the one right there,” the drunkard slurred towards the girl on the stage. Her hips moving to the upbeat, organ-moving music thumping through the surround sound speakers. Glittering eyes darted towards the pair with a sneer, glossed lips pulling into a pout. Strutting around the metallic pole, she clicked her tongue before wrapping her dominant leg around, keeping a loose grip as she spun, her eyes catching on the pair below her.

“Sir, I understand that you want to request her, however, she’s not available for private dances,” Charlie uttered, clearing his throat. The burly man coughed out a laugh, suddenly leaning into Charlie’s space, flashing his gnarled teeth before spitting. “I can’t understand you when you mutter.”

Charlie flinched as the saliva landed on his face. He cleared his throat, using his napkin to wipe away the alcohol-stained spit. “My apologies, sir,” The slime kin spoke. “What I said was she’s not taking private fucking dances.”

The man flashed a mean grin, his hand shooting out towards Charlie’s collar, wrapping it into a tight fist and lifting him to where his shoes barely grazed the carpet. Charlie’s slimy hand shot out, wrapping around his assaulter's wrist as a whimper left his quivering lips. The man’s unoccupied hand raised as if to strike Charlie before a voice above them called out.

“Excuse me,” the dancer chimed, towering over the two males with a fierce grin. “Can you pretty please drop my little slime?” The man scoffed, dropping Charlie to the carpet with a grunt.

“Oh, so the little whore DOES have a voice! How intriguing.” The man laughed, stepping over Charlie’s trembling body, leaning against the stage where his dollar bills still laid. He reached out to scoop up the ones closest before a glittering maroon heel stamped into the top of his wrist, trapping it against the polished black stone stage. The man cried out, his free hand snatching her ankle, glaring up. “You little bitch! I’ll fucking kill you!”

She furrowed her brows, clicking her tongue before glancing around the casino floor - everyone was watching. Her eyes darted down to the hand on her ankle before shooting back up to his beat red and sweltering face; she scoffed.

“I could say the same about you.” Yanking her leg free before rearing back and slamming her heel into his nose, blood splattering onto the dollar bills and the finely polished stone. “Next time, I’ll charge you extra for wasting my time.”

~~~~

“There’s a situation on the floor,” Punz murmured as Quackity sighed, glancing back at Sapnap, who had yet to leave, before turning back to Punz.

“How bad is it?”

“Blood was spilled.” Quackity’s eyes widened, sneering. “Fuck.. Alright, Sapnap, you need to leave. I have some business to attend to. Don’t let the door kick you on the way out.” He waved off his raven-haired ex before quickly following his second-in-command down the hallway. Sapnap grew wide-eyed only to race after them, quick to complain.

“Like hell, I’m leaving! I don’t care what kind of business you have, Quackity. We’re not done discussing-” he stopped as both the males ahead stopped and turned towards him, causing him to sputter.

“We have nothing else to discuss, Halo.” Quackity spat, staring at his ex - the one who promised him the best future. A future of love, compassion, and safety. He was left to pick himself up and put himself back together. He stared, and stared, and stared before turning and continuing down the hallway. Punz stood there watching Sap for a moment before following after Quackity, this allowing Sapnap to silently yet swiftly follow behind the pair.

Quackity strode across the floor to meet with Purpled and Charlie to discuss the events that took place. His eyes landed on Charlie, who looked shaken up, Purpled offering him a drink. “What the fuck happened.” He sighed as the pair looked at Big Q and his right hand, along with the tail.

“Ace got into a fight-”

“I fucked up and Ace stepped in,” Charlie quickly jumped in, sniffling as Quackity frowned.

“How’d you fuck up, Big C?” He asked carefully, lips twitching into a frown as he squatted down to meet Charlie’s eyes.

“I.. I read the card! I read it just like you and Niki showed me, but he - well, the guy didn’t like that and I think he drank too much and he - he was an angry drunk..”

“C, you’re monologuing..”

“Sorry.. He grabbed me and tried to hit me, but Ace stepped in..” Charlie sighed, shifting his attention to the floor as Quackity nodded, standing straight before glancing at Punz.

“Where’s the dickhead?”

“Already taken care of. Waiting for a private session with Big F.” Punz snickered as Big Q nodded, grinning slightly as they looked up to meet the glimmering eyes of Ace herself.

They both nodded towards her as she stepped into the booth, tossing a bloodied tissue onto the tables’ plastic cover before scoffing. “I need new heels now.” She grits through her teeth, crossing her arms over her bust.

“Of course, Princesa, anything for our main attraction.” Quackity clicked his tongue, grazing his fingers across her bare shoulder before resting at the base of her neck; a comforting touch. She grinned, her lips sparkling under the lights. She reached a handover, resting it on top of Charlie’s with a gentle pat.

“Are you alright, Lil Slime?” She whispered, giving his slimy hand a firm squeeze as he shot her a comforting smile.

“I’m okay, thanks to you, Ace.” His toothy grin caused her to smile widely, gently leaning forward and pressing her stained red lips onto the back of his hand. “We’re a family, Slimy! We’ve got to look out for one another.”

Quackity’s fingertips scraped up her shoulder, reaching up and tucking a loose hair behind her ear, his finger catching the dazzling earring and watching it glitter. “So, Mi Carina.. How loud was the crunch of his bone beneath your heel?” His bottom lip caught between his teeth as she turned towards him, a shit-eating grin spreading across her lips.

“You should’ve heard it, Quackity! I think I scared Purpled.”

“Because you did, Sparky,” Purpled scoffed, knocking a rag into the bloodied tissue and into the bin in his hand. “And Big F is gonna have your head for that blood on his stage - y’know he doesn’t like spilled blood.”

“Well, security should’ve been on the floor,” Ace sang in a sing-song voice, as Punz snorted before stepping around Sapnap, who blinked at the group, his gut twisting as he watched the exchanges.

“I had my best guys on the floor! Besides, I was helping the Bossman.” He spat, no real threat behind it as he moved to lean against the wall next to the booth. Sapnap took a step closer, causing them to shift their gaze to him.

“And whose loudmouth?” Ace snorted, followed by Charlie, Punz, and Quackity with their own chuckles.

“Uh, Amada this is-”

“Quackity, I didn’t come here to meet your side piece or whoever this fucking is,” Sapnap spat, stepping closer and leaning onto the table, making Purpled and Charlie glance at each other, Punz’s brows furrowed as Quackity grew quiet, holding his gaze with the black-eyed Blazeborn.

“I came here to talk about us. And I’d rather not discuss any of this in… Mixed company.” Sap finished his piece, straightening his stance as Quackity stood, his lips pressed into a crease.

“Like I said before, Halo,” he spat the man’s last name, bumping their chest together as Sapnap’s mouth curled into a frown. “We have nothing to discuss. There is no us, and obviously, there never was an us. And this ‘mixed company’, is the best thing that’s happened to me, and if you, or anyone for that matter, tries to come in here and ruin that?” Quackity snorted, leaning close and pressing the pads of his fingers into Sap’s shoulder and shoving him back. “I’m not responsible for you not returning to your little kingdom.”

Sap stepped back, sneering at Quackity while glancing at the others - they all shared the same confident stare. Huffing, he licked his lips before nodding, coughing out a laugh. “I don’t even recognize you, Quackity.” Punz suddenly snickered, causing Sap to turn towards him with a frown. “What the hell are you laughing at, Blondie.”

Punz coughed, halting his laughter before pushing off the wall, now moving closer as Quackity took a step back, holding a smirk of his own.

“I’m laughing because you don’t recognize someone else and, yet, you’re going after an ex. I mean, it’s a little funny, along with a little sad, Sap.” The blonde grinned as he took a step towards Quackity, as Sapnap frowned. “What the hell are you talking about Punz?”

A scoff came from behind the two, making Sap move to look around them as Ace scooted out of the booth, standing beside Quackity whilst shaking her head. “I think you’re right, P.. I think someone’s memory is being influenced by his fiance.”

“How the hell-”

“What? Don’t remember me? That’s a little harsh, Sappy! Bad wouldn’t be happy about this one.” She giggled, leaning further into Quackity as Sap’s eyes grew wide before shooting towards her collarbone. A gnarly and pale scar sat across the thin skin, standing out from her soft tone. An accident that happened back in the Nether - he hadn’t meant to hurt her.

“Y/N..?” His voice was barely about a whisper, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as she shot him a short, soft smile. Taking a step towards him, he suddenly stepped back, his face retorting into one of disgust. “What the fuck happened to you? You.. Oh, God, you look like a whore-”

“Sapnap,” Both Quackity and Punz growled as Y/N shook her head, taking a step closer with a smile.

“I may look like a whore, but at least I’m a loyal one.” She spat, turning back towards the two men as Sapnap arched a brow, scoffing.

“What the hell is that supposed to..” His voice trailed, his eyes switching between both Big Q and his sister. She pressed herself into his side, wrapping her arms around Quackity’s shoulders with an award-winning smile. “Mean… Are - Are you fucking dating my ex-fiance?!”

Y/N broke into a small grin, leaning close to Quackity’s side and pressing a chaste kiss to his scared lips, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist, keeping her pressed against him as she spoke, “well, Dad always said I had… Better and more expensive taste, Sappy.”

~~~~

Tags: @aphroditeandvenus-blog, @paintingportrait, @sourdoughnoodles, @mult1xtr1nna, @trashpiegon, @trixyvixen, @sxturn-0, @thescoutsb13tch, @banghaydencoven, @707xn, @supernaturalboi, @basementfloorfeelings, @june-x-boi, @aloookay,@dreamzluvrr, @theforestcryptid926, @fantasticpurseturtleknight, @cheesysin, @kxrmitty, @socially-blue, @excuijme, @lonley-nightmare, @kittenachu, @alleyesonmendes, @itsoakaa, @saifukus, @alec-lost-bee, @nattsaa, @dayanavmb, @boiciph3r, @leenthepanda, @0a-little-bit-of-everything0, @howdycharlie, @joinotfound, @coreys-riffin, @fa1ryclouds, @honeyimluctus, @tittylover6000, @noctis-yeye, @kiritokunuwu, @novelist2, @sn3k-was-here, @traumatizedladybug, @weepinghollywoodatsupernatural,

a/n; I hope you guys liked it, i have more ideas for this fic to possibly continue so let me know if that’s something you’d like to see! Requests are open as of now and I will hopefully be posting more hc’s/ imagines later on!

Until tomorrow, I hope you have a beautiful day! ~ J

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

3 Oct. Suptober: Rainbows

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

s15 au; deancas

In hindsight, Cas was preoccupied, not only by the task at hand but by the person he was undertaking it on behalf of, which was likely why he didn't realize he had company in the bunker kitchen until Sam said, "Hey, Cas," and Cas almost fumbled the glass into the sink. 

"Oof, sorry," Sam rushed to say next. 

His expression was a variety of things, none of which Cas clocked as fundamentally apologetic while he refilled the glass. 

Sam cleared his throat. "Whatcha doing?"

Cas squinted at him. Maybe Sam was drunk, or ill. "Just getting a drink of water." He left the statement there; Sam had seen him consume water before.

Sam fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt and did not look at Cas. "Sure. You." He made some kind of gesture with his hands that did not seem relevant to anything. "You seen Dean lately?"

"He's asleep," Cas offered, since he knew it to be correct.

"In his room?" Sam's voice cracked on the second word.

Cas drew out the word 'yes' into something of a question. What was Sam looking at on the ceiling anyway?

"His room. Which. You just left?" Sam bounced on the balls of his feet for a second.

Cas looked around for intruders, hex bags, strange fogs, spooky auras, blood stains, a bucket of empty beer cans -- something that might explain why Sam was speaking like someone who'd just learned English. 

"Yes, Dean's room." 

Cas suppressed a smile that wanted to surface as his thoughts quickly flitted to Dean -- Dean curled boneless beneath a body-warmed blanket, his eyelashes fanned dark against the tops of his freckled cheeks -- and back again. He sat the glass in the sink and stepped toward Sam carefully.

"Uh huh. Okay." Sam took a step backwards. His line of sight popped back up to the light fixture. "Wearing. ...What it is you're wearing?

Cas glanced down past his bare chest to the flannel covering his legs. "Pajamas?"

Sam nodded a series of tight little nods, like an invisible puppeteer controlling him was getting restless. "Okay. Okay. And Dean is." He didn't trail off as much as seem to run out of ideas for the rest of the sentence.

"Asleep," Cas reminded him. 

Another Sam nod. "Right." 

"He tends to fall asleep for a while within thirty or so minutes after we--"

"Dude," Sam said. 

Understanding clicked into place. "Ah. I apologize, Sam," Cas said, with a small sinking sensation in his stomach. "I did assume Dean had told you." 

He was leaving out some words, and he didn't mean to play coy; it just seemed like perhaps Sam would prefer fewer details over more with regards to -- how to say diplomatically? -- recent developments.

"Dean tell me? Really?" Sam stared at him directly for the first time the whole encounter. His pupils were big black dots reminiscent of the ones he'd had when they were all cartoons for a while.

"No." Cas paused. "But I did think maybe you just knew." 

An honest confession, since Sam, a skilled hunter with decades of experience beneath his proverbial belt, was often quite good at discerning patterns beneath the surface of verbal communication. Cas had not always been as certain of his own feelings as he was in the present. Indeed, it had taken years for what he felt for Dean -- unfamiliar, prismatic impulses occasionally strong enough to almost bring Cas to his knees -- to coagulate into something fierce and unshakeable that could in part be described in words, much less translatable to more tangible actions. Just because Cas had been slow to realize the depths of his own emotions didn't mean Sam had been.

Except.

Sam's eyebrows jumped into his hairline like worms fleeing chicken beaks. 

"What," he choked out. "Why. No. How would I have known about--" He was flinging his hands around again. "--This?" The hands flew toward Cas like Sam was casting a spell at him. "You are like my brother."

"Um," Cas said.

"And Dean is my brother."

"Uh--"

"And I have literally heard him refer to you as our brother."

"Right.”

"Like, we're all brothers here." Sam gave a helpless chuff of laughter.

"Okay."

"So you understand," Sam continued, "why I might be concerned that my two brothers are apparently sleeping together." The volume of his voice went lower in direct counter to its pitch by the end of the sentence.

Cas chose not to comment on this, nor on the shadow that lurked in the doorway and then dissipated. He said instead, "I don't really sleep all that much, but I take your point."

Sam buried his face in the palms of his hands. 

"I'm." Cas swallowed. He stood a bit taller, the way a soldier might when either respectfully yielding to an enemy or accepting that opponent's surrender -- not that Sam was a villain here. "I'm sorry you found out this way, Sam."

"It's." Sam took a deep breath, then coughed once. "You don't have to apologize."

"Sam, could you... There is nothing on the ceiling that could be that interesting."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." Sam spoke like he meant it, or at least wanted to mean it.

Cas let out an inward sigh of relief. "All right."

"The stress," Sam said. "What we do. Monsters. Apocalypses, plural. It's-- I know it's a lot." Now he had slipped into hunter wrangler mode, all rallying the troops and leftover law school pragmatism. "And I can see how the two of you might, you know, need to blow off some steam. Sometimes."

"Sam--"

"Dean always does get a little antsy when he goes a while without." Sam shook his head like he'd realized this was absolutely not a topic he wanted to think about. "You know."

"Sam," Cas said sharply.

"I'll stop talking now."

"I'm in love with your brother, Sam." Those truest words were spoken so easily that once upon a time it might have bothered Cas; in the present, it assuredly did not. He let Sam gape for a moment and then softened the statement with, "It's not just a casual, friends with insurance sort of thing for me. For the record. If that helps."

Sam looked like the human equivalent of the little tri-colored beachball that would spin and spin onscreen when one of his computer tablets got overwhelmed. Finally, his eyes cleared. "All right." His mouth quirked. "The phrase is 'friends with benefits.'" 

Cas blinked. "Insurance is often a benefit extended to citizens in the United States, isn't it?"

"Less often than's helpful," Sam said.

Cas nodded. The two of them stood there by the sink, not really looking at each other. A thought came to Cas.

"I love you too--"

"Dude," Sam said.

Cas held up a hand. "--But I'm not in love with you." This distinction was one that had taken him a long time to understand; it seemed worth sharing.

The ceiling had recaptured Sam's fascination, but he was smiling when he said, "I know." He clapped Cas on the shoulder. "I love you too."

Cas returned the smile. "You, and Dean, and Jack -- you are all my family."

"Yeah." Sam ducked his head, as if pleased. "Yeah, I know."

Cas picked the glass of water up out of the sink. He raised it to Sam in a small toast. "Okay. I'm going to go back to Dean's room now."

"'Night, Cas."

Cas padded back down the hallway, opened Dean's squeaky door, and crept inside the room. The bedside lamp had been turned on. He watched the blanketed lump in the middle of the mattress for movement before asking quietly, "How much of that did you hear?"

"Most of it." Dean sat up and yawned. He scratched at the side of his head where his hair was sticking out. The blanket puddled below his pelvis. Cas glanced away like he hadn't personally and enthusiastically pressed those hipbones into the mattress less than an hour before.

When Cas walked around and put a knee on the bed, Dean said, "I also wanted water."

Cas bumped his arm with the glass. "This is for you."

"Oh," Dean said, taking it from him. "Thanks."

"Because I don't drink all that much water."

"Right."

"Because I don't sweat as much as you do."

"Hmm. You sweat some," Dean said, a hint of slyness in his tone. He leaned away to leave the water glass on the bedside table.

Cas sat on the edge of the mattress and let Dean scoot up to him. "Are you bragging about making me sweat?"

"Mmm," Dean said, splaying his hand over Cas's clavicle. 

"You should probably talk to Sam in the morning."

"This is the morning."

"Later, then."

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's waist like he owned the span of it. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"Maybe you could just--

"Nooo." 

A sharpness tapped underneath Cas's ribcage, an angel blade's point pressed with deliberate aim. It took a minute before he could speak. He gathered his courage. "If you want to stop--"

"No." The word fell from Dean like Cas had knocked it out with his fist. His eyes were fever bright and anguished, and another, better ache flooded Cas's chest at the sight. "No."

"I am very much in love with you." Cas took a breath. "Sam's reaction, I know, wasn't entirely out of nowhere." 

Dean tipped his forehead to Cas's. "I don't think he was objecting so much as he was surprised--"

"I'm only saying, I have thought of you both as my brothers, at various times in the past." Cas studied, not for the first time, a collection of freckles on Dean's shoulder. "I still think of Sam as a brother, in a way. He may not be incorrect that the situation, as it has evolved, is something a bit… Atypical." He considered a further implication. "And each of us is one of Jack's dads."

Dean huffed, a bluff since his fingertips were memorizing Cas's vertebrae like he planned to sketch them later. "Well. We can't all be the goddamn Waltons, or whoever."

Cas agreed, "We definitely do not live on a farm." He let himself sway toward the ardent way Dean was looking at him. "It might be nice to live on a farm, with cows and ducks, maybe some sheep--"

"And I am very much in love with you too," Dean said softly. He pressed his lips to Cas's cheek.

"Yeah?" Cas's eyes felt hot.

"Yep."

Cas thought to say, "You know, Sam is exactly who you raised him to be: a good man."

At that, Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "New rule," he said hoarsely after several seconds. He wiped his eyes and shook his head. "We cannot talk about Sam, like. When we're not even dressed."

Cas stretched out his right leg and wiggled his foot. "I have on these pajamas pants. Can no-one else see them? They're covered in so many things."

This was an understatement. Technically, the pattern contained no less than the following items: rainbows, unicorns, blue whales, yellow stars, shield-wielding pugs, and anti-whale flags, whatever and why-ever those were. Put simply, the pajama pattern was like an indecipherable code of images that seemed to illustrate the illicit drug use of the manufacturer's designer.

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

Cas thumbed a spot on Dean's throat, his mouth going dry with the desire to taste the pulse fluttering there. "In my celestial wavelength form, I suppose I would be more closely related to a visually-deducible electromagnetic wave than I would be a pug riding a whale into glorious battle."

"These pajamas are a work of art," Dean contended, kissing Cas's temple. "Hmm."

"What?"

"I guess that story about God -- Chuck -- using a rainbow to seal a promise about never again destroying earth with a flood is just apocrypha, huh?"

Cas thought about it. "Yes. Unfortunately." He tried not to sigh. "Sometimes I have to remind myself Chuck created some beautiful wonders despite...being who he is."

"Yeah. Going out after a hard rain and seeing a rainbow's colors arching through the clouds -- still seems hopeful." Dean started pulling Cas down beside him on the mattress. "Maybe that's what reminds me of you."

Unable to speak, Cas tucked his face into Dean's throat. 

Dean's fingers were slipping beneath the waistband of the pajamas, ever so slowly. "Anyway, these are mine." Cas hummed an affirmative. "I would like them back," Dean said.

"Now?" Cas heard himself gasp.

Dean pressed him onto his back to nose his way down the line of Cas's breastbone, his warm breath teasing over cooled skin and coaxing out a shiver Cas felt splintering through his whole body. 

"I would settle for you just not having them on at the moment," Dean said, using both hands to reclaim his property, and before raising up to kiss anything Cas might have wanted to say in response entirely out of his mouth.

[its-deputy-caleb]

would u possibly do some NSFW morbell? where they're up in colter ( i loved ur original morbell post on them ) pls do more as i love ur blog 💛

this is an absolute mess oml i literally have no idea how to write anything smutty but here we go i guess. I love this pair but i kinda went off topic and centred this on a praise kink for micah. ANYWAY this is probably terrible since i'm melting, its literally 40 degrees and the aircon is broken so its unedited af and i wont look at it again until i have a cold drink. but pls enjoy some morbell <333

------------------------------------

‘Cold up in Colter’

Fuck, what a mess Blackwater had been. The Pinkertons were on them faster than ever and they found themselves fleeing from a blood bath.

That was almost three days ago and Micah hadn’t had an ounce of sleep. He’d been sent out with John to scout ahead, having found a homestead which ended up burning at the hand of O’Driscoll’s. Okay maybe house burning down was his fault but he tends to make stupid decisions when he’s had little to know sleep. And it was so fucking cold.

That didn’t stop heat rising to his face when he felt Arthur’s hands on his shoulder, pushing him back with a roughness he could only wish for in another way. Damn Arthur Morgan and his ability to have Micah curling in on himself and blushing like a virgin at the mere thought of a hand on his shoulder.

He should hate Arthur, really the two are nothing more than rivals, competing for the spot of Dutch Van Der Linde’s right hand. At the beginning, almost six months ago now, Micah couldn’t stand the sight of the man but somehow that anger tapered off into something more akin to admiration and that admiration slowly turned to desire.

He’ll never admit to how badly he wants Arthur but he won’t deny however that he’s pushed the man’s buttons more than once just to have an interaction with him. All he had to do start a silly argument over camp earnings or a bet at five finger fillet to have the man shaking him by the collar and threatening to break his nose.

It almost always ended with Micah sneaking off into the woods with half a bottle of whiskey and his pants bunched around his ankles as he thought of the way Arthur roughed him up by his shirt collar. Fuck he was pathetic sometimes.

There were other occasions where the two had actually managed to get along and that’s what pissed Micah off more than any threats of violence. Arthur just had to go and bring him a beer as he grabbed one for himself, letting their fingers touch accidentally. Or he went and offered him a seat by the fireplace where they ended up much to close for his comfort. Damn Arthur for always leaving him short of breath with a hole in his heart.

Despite what Micah did to impress Dutch, Arthur was still the camp’s favourite by a mile and he never failed to outcompete him in the eyes of the gang. Micah never minded much, not looking for anyone’s approval, but the thought of proving himself to Arthur, of being worthy of his praise is enough to have his wild side reined in.

Naturally that didn’t stop Micah from losing it from time to time and wasn’t surprised when his jealousy shot up again as Miss Grimshaw announced Arthur got his own cabin while he shared with the rest of the fellers. And he’d be damned if he had to share a room with Williamson who didn’t stop snoring.

That’s why he found himself huddled in the makeshift stables, choosing instead to wrap himself in his coat and down a bottle of whiskey to wait the night out. He cold planks he was sitting on offered little comfort and the draft in the room had his lip shaking. But at least he wouldn’t have anyone in his hair and he’d be left alone, just the way he liked it.

Of course that didn’t last long when the cranky wooden door was barged open, spooking some of the horses in the opposite end of the room. A broad figure entered the room, blocking most of the door way but that didn’t stop to whoosh of cold air flood into the room, draining even more colour from his face.

It wasn’t until the door was closed and the man stepped closer when he realised it was Arthur.

“Micah? What the hell are you doing in here?”

Arthur sounded surprised, with only a hint of concern in his voice.

“Sleepin’— what the hell ya doing here Morgan?”

There wasn’t much of a response from Arthur, only a quiet noise which was barely heard over the whistle of the wind between the planks. He walked over to the horses, checking over them and ensuring none of them were freezing to death. Micah watched in silence, scared to disturb the man as he patted along Taima’s neck.

It wasn’t until after Arthur had checked over all the horses did he turn his attention to Micah.

Micah watched as Arthur’s gloved hand extended out and offered itself to him, he hesitated before taking before taking it and being pulled to his feet. Arthur’s hand draped over his shoulder which he didn’t realise had shaking in an effort to keep warm, having drunk the remaining whiskey from the bottle.

“Common now, yer gonna freeze in here alone.”

Micah dug his heels into the ground, not allowing Arthur to pull him any further to the door as he tried to hold his voice steady. He’d be damned if he ever let Arthur know just how much he affected him.

“I ain’t sharing a bunk with Williams—“

Arthur tutted, pulling Micah out the door as he pushed him towards his cabin in the snow storm.

“Quit yer yapping, you’re sharing with me and I ain’t having any more folk die tonight. Now let’s go.”

Arthur didn’t utter another word until they were well and truely in his room, wrapped in a blanket that was barely big enough for the two of them. The bed wasn’t much bigger, having been made for one person which was evident by Arthur pressing against Micah’s back in efforts for them to fit. The only thing that kept them apart was the fabric of their jackets, otherwise Arthur would probably hear Micah’s heartbeat which was beating much to fast for his liking.

The uncomfortable silence was broken when Micah cursed under his breath which caused his teeth to chatter and Arthur spoke up.

“Yer still cold, c'mere”

Micah’s breath fell short as Arthur’s hands slid under his coat, resting his hands on his tummy to use his body heat as a source of warmth. In doing so Arthur had moved even closer, ensuring Micah’s back was flush against his chest.

Despite that Micah wanted to protest, to go straight to his default of arguing he couldn’t help but feel as he began to warm up and he slowly relaxed under his hands.

A blush rose high on his cheeks as Arthur also relaxed into their embrace, accidentally letting his hands drift lower until he felt the hard press of Micah’s straining erection against his knuckle.

Micah instantly sucked in a breath, panicking and trying to push his way out of Arthur’s hold.

“Shit Arthur I—“

Micah froze as Arthur gently pulled him back to the bed and rubbed slow circles along his stomach.

“S’alright Micah, I’m not mad…”

Arthur held him close, letting him relax before talking again before he whispered right into the shell of his ear.

“…This what you want? Is this why you’re always staring at me from across camp, why yer always picking fights and asking me to robberies?”

A high pitched noise left Micah as he shivered, feeling Arthur’s hot breath against his ear. His blush deepened as he pushed back slightly into him, whimpering at the feel of Arthur’s own erection pressed against his ass.

Fuck it, he thought as heat pooled in his abdomen and he finally allowed himself to have the one thing he’d been craving for months. He nodded frantically, grinding back onto Arthur’s clothed dick and squirming in his grip.

“Relax boy, gonna give you everything you’ve been waiting for— just be good and you’ll get it”

Micah nodded in agreement, a needy, desperate sound leaving him at the promise of praise. He wanted, no needed to be praised by the man so badly that he’d do anything for an ounce of it from the man.

“Oh god Arthur! I need it, need you. Fuck I can be good I promise.”

He knew he was probably being too loud but apart of him didn’t have it in him to care. He moaned softly as Arthur moved him to roll onto his back, towering over him but ensuring they were still kept under the blanket.

Arthur spent the next ten minutes undressing him without exposing much of his skin to the cold. He unbuttoned the lower buttons of his leather jacket, enough for Arthur to work his fly down and pull one pant leg off. He whined pitifully, grabbing at the lapels of Arthur’s coat in a silent plea for him to undress him properly.

Micah mentally scolded himself at just how desperate he was for Arthur to rip his clothes off and fuck him like a bitch in heat but he knew that wasn’t happening any time soon. Arthur however caught on pretty quickly to what he wanted, it seemed the man knew just what made him tick.

“I know sweetheart, once we’re well and truly outta here I’ll get us a room and we can do this properly.”

Micah’s eyes beamed at the thought of Arthur taking him to a hotel in the future, panting as his mind raced with images of Morgan making him fall apart on his cock for hours on end.

While Micah was busy in his mind, Arthur took the opportunity to retrieve the gun oil from his satchel. It certainly wasn’t the best option but it was their only choice with their limited supplies.

Arthur draped himself back over Micah’s body, kissing at his jaw and nibbling as he coated his fingers. The air was cold, only making the oil feel colder as he slowly dipped his index finger past Micah’s rim.

A devilish grin came to Arthur’s face as he heard Micah sigh and take his finger easily, deciding to work his way up to two sooner than he was expecting.

“You’ve wanted this for a long time haven’t you? I saw you once, bout a week ago. Head down, ass up with three of yer fingers inside you while you cried out for me to fuck you. It all clicked in my head then when you started acting different around me at camp.”

Micah flushed a deep red, coughing on air as he realised Arthur knew about his little crush. He tried to think of an excuse, to weasel his way out of it but his thoughts died in his head when Arthur twisted his fingers, scissoring and stretching him open before adding a third.

Arthur dragged a lip along Micah’s cheek to his lip, ghosting his lips over his before kissing him properly. This time Micah didn’t even try to fight for dominance, opening his mouth instantly for Arthur’s tongue to enter. Instead he sighed into it, pulling his legs to wrap around his waist as his hands wrapped around his lover’s shoulder.

It went on like that until Arthur was satisfied that Micah was well prepped enough, simultaneously rubbing against Micah’s prostate while he kissed him deeply. He only pulled away to pull his own leaking member out, bunching his pants around his thighs so he had enough room to move but could stay warm. He coated the rest of the oil onto his member, jerking slowly as he stared down at the sight of Micah below him.

Micah looked like an absolute mess against the pillows already, his face was flush and the scarf around his head had unwrapped slightly, revealing his disheveled blond hair. His chest was heaving as he panted and his thighs shook from pleasure as the weakly wrapped around his waist.

“You look so pretty like this sweetheart”

To say that Micah hated the pet name was a lie, one that he didn’t try deny as he moaned softly. His back arched and he gripped Arthur’s coat tightly as he felt his cock slide between his cheeks and over his hole. He’s wanted this for so long now and yet somehow it still didn’t quite feel real as his mind was clouded with arousal.

Micah’s toes curled and he moaned when he felt Arthur push into him, slowly inching forward until he felt him bottom out.

“Ah— ah! Oh Arthur fuck! Please fuck me, I’ll be good I swear.”

Micah practically sobbed with pleasure as Arthur set up a fast pace, pulling almost all the way out till just the tip was left inside his tight hole before pushing back in quickly, brushing his prostate in the process. His cock twitched from where it rested against his tummy, pinned between Arthur’s jacket which caused a string of moans to fall from his mouth.

“Look at you, so good for me— fucking perfect Micah. Such a good boy”

Arthur’s hands came to hold onto Micah’s hips for leverage, pulling on his slight muffin top under the jacket to help pull him back to meet his thrusts. Beneath him he heard Micah whine and whimper at the praise so desperately needed to hear.

Micah bought a finger up to his mouth, biting on his knuckle to silence any more noises he deemed to be pathetic from slipping out of him. He hated how close he already was just from being praised by Arthur.

It seemed Arthur wasn’t having any of it when he pulled his finger away from his mouth before kissing him like he had done not that long ago. He swallowed every one of Micah’s noises, mindful of Dutch sleeping next door and slowing his thrusts to something deeper and slower.

His hands roamed all over Micah’s clothed body, breaking away for air and whispering praises down his ear.

“That’s it, make those pretty noises for me sweetheart.”

Micah eye’s rolled into his head as he cried out.

“You’re mine, all for me— my good boy.”

More moans slipped from his lips.

“Atta boy— taking me so well, so good.”

His back arched and he withered in his embrace

“So eager to please aren’t you? I’ll take care of you now boy.”

“—Arthur! I’m close— Ah, I’m gonna—“

“Go on sweetheart cum for me…that’s it good boy.”

Micah’s whole body when rigid as he finally came. His mouth hung open, tongue lolling out as his orgasm dragged out with each thrust Arthur delivered, eager to chase his own.

He collapsed into the pillow, thighs shaking as he whined at the oversensitivity. It didn’t last long before Arthur’s thrusts changed pace to something more erratic, picking up the pace as he spilled his load inside him.

Arthur groaned into his neck, pulling him close and collapsing into him as he regained his breath.

He pulled out slowly with a wet and obscene pop, sitting up and helping Micah put his clothes back on. Micah only weakly managed to fiddle with the button on his jacket while Arthur gently manhandled his jelly-like limbs to fit back into his pant leg. He used the blanket to wipe the cum off his tummy, a weak attempt at cleaning up and something they would both no doubt regret come tomorrow morning but for now they were keen to sleep after such a horrific and chaotic few days.

Arthur pulled Micah into their original position for the night, the only difference being that his face was now tucked into his chest. Arthur rested his chin of Micah’s head, littering his hair with kisses as he played with his hair between his rough fingers.

Micah was the first to fall asleep, curled up with his forehead against Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur wasn’t far behind him either, finally letting himself get some much needed rest but not before he pressed a soft kiss to his hairline.

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Honest mistake [Ron Weasley x Reader]

Title: Honest mistake Pairing: Ron Weasley x Reader Word count: 2.5k Published: 13 April 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warning: Alcohol, drunk teenagers Summary: [x] Winning a quidditch game means one thing and one thing only, drunken teenagers stumbling across the corridors of Hogwarts. Ron Weasley isn’t any different, he is anything but sober by the time you catch up with the trio and for once you don’t mind drunk people.  Bingo: [x] This is part of my Band–psychos 1.5k Followers Bingo Card by @band--psycho​ 

Square filled: Drunken Confession 

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

Band–psychos 1.5k Followers Bingo Masterlist

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Winning a quidditch match meant one thing and one thing only. Teenagers drunkenly stumbling around the castle trying not to be caught by Filch and Mrs. Norris. It was a hard task, one that many failed to achieve. But you seemed to be on the right path as you hid in empty classrooms, behind statues and hidden passages. You were on your way to the Gryffindor common room to continue the party, you simply slipped out to help your friend going back to the Ravenclaw common room after she had decided that clumsily undressing herself on a table would be the best way to entertain the rest of the school. Although she was somewhat comical, you couldn’t let her go through with it, so there you were, trying to sneak back in.

Luckily the corridor leading to the Gryffindor tower was empty, no sign of Filch or his cat, but you still kept the noise of your shoes as faint as you could possibly manage. You quickly whispered the password to the Fat Lady, who opened the door for you, although murmuring something under her breath that you couldn’t quite catch.

“Finally, where were you?” George slurred as he threw his arm around your shoulder, his scent of alcohol immediately hitting your nostrils.

“You smell like fire-whiskey, George,” you grimaced as you removed his arm from your shoulder.

“It’s the smell of adulthood,” he shouted after you, but you didn’t even acknowledge that you heard his drunken rumbling. You looked around searching for your cousin, Angelina, who previously tried to get you as drunk as she was, unsuccessfully. Drinking wasn’t something you enjoyed, and it wasn’t because of the taste of alcohol, but because it felt like you lost control over yourself and that wasn’t something you enjoyed. You liked to be in control one way or another.

As you tried to push past the sea of people, you caught sight of Angelina, but she seemed to be rather occupied by Fred Weasley’s lips. Rolling your eyes, you turned around, searching for some better company. There was one particular ginger boy you were interested in finding, but you couldn’t see him anywhere nor did you see his friends. Hermione, Harry and Ron were glued by the hips as far as you saw and when one was gone so were the others.

Giving up on your search you flopped down on an empty armchair, not far from Fred and Angelina, who seemed to have better things to do than realise your presence. The sound of their saliva exchange seemed to bother you the longer you sat in your spot and by the time Angelina slipped into Fred’s lap, you couldn’t handle it anymore. The definition of control was something you just wanted to forget as the whole Gryffindor common room was a mess of drunkenly stumbling kids with no self-control. You couldn’t handle the sight, the noises, the crowd, you reached for the lonely bottle of fire-whiskey on the table and chugged a good shot down your throat.

Inevitably you started coughing, your body’s reaction to the unusual substance was obvious rejection, making you feel like you were about the throw up. Taking slow, deep breaths however seemed to have worked as the alcohol stayed down and after taking a second and third round, your body got used to the feeling. The room started heating up and you felt your cheeks flush, your ears burn as though someone changed the temperature in the room. But you weren’t naive, you knew it was simply the effects of the alcohol.

“Someone changed her mind about alcohol,” Angelina quipped as she finally parted from Fred. You didn’t even realise when the smooching sound has stopped, but it felt calm and somewhat pure again, regardless of all the drunk, dumb teenagers crowding the room.

“I couldn’t handle the atmosphere anymore,” you replied in a dry tone.

“Or?” she raised a questioning brow, a rather suspicious smile spread across her face.

“Or what?” you squinted with a deep frown across your brows, trying to understand her indications.

“You know, liquid courage,” she winked playfully, but her words meant nothing to you.

“I have no idea what you are on about. What would I need courage for?” You grimaced, scrunching your nose in the process.

“Obviously to ask Ron out,” she deadpanned you as if her statement was natural.

“Hold on a minute, you have a crush on my brother?” Fred quipped in with a wide grin on his face, one that didn’t indicate you were about to get out of this uncomfortable situation any time soon.

“Oh, she is head over heels for him,” Angelina laughed, slightly tilting her head back, holding onto her stomach. You didn’t find the situation quite as funny as she did, but it might have been because of the difference in the amount of alcohol you both consumed.

“So, when are you going to confess?” Fred asked with a humorous tone to his voice. Although you expected to be made fun of, it felt wrong that they found your feelings for the youngest Weasley brother comical. Watching him for years, yearning to be close to him and being swept aside to be stuck in only a friendship with him was beyond hard for you to handle and now that two people who were close to you made fun of you certainly didn’t help your unfortunate case.

“I’m glad you are enjoying the situation,” you huffed, trying to divert your attention from the couple, indicating that you didn’t find their presence interesting any longer.

“Oh, come on, we were just joking around,” Fred added upon seeing how uncomfortable he’d made you. But there was no reply, you didn’t even spare a glance at him. Fred heaved a heavy sigh and stood up, stumbling over to you and taking a seat on the arm of your chair. “Listen to me, my brother is a complete idiot for not realising your feelings, and I’m an idiot for making fun of you too, but it’s in our blood, maybe he just needs a little nudge,” he grinned proudly as if his idea was some sort of newfound solution. But in reality, you have tried to nudge the boy so many times, giving him hints, staying close to him as much as you could, but he remained blind to your feelings.

“If I nudge him anymore, I might as well push him down a hill,” you added bitterly, making Fred snort.

“I think our mother would have a say in that, but whatever you feel comfortable with,” he kept chuckling as he walked back to Angelina and captured her lips again. You never meant to be bitter about other couples, you didn’t want to be jealous, but watching them embracing each other made you feel useless for once. You stood up from the couch, securing your firm grip around the bottle of fire-whiskey as you stumbled around the room, not even trying to control your own body’s reaction to the alcohol. At that moment you just didn’t care anymore.

“Hey, we were looking for you,” you heard Hermione’s voice from across the room faintly. It took you a good few seconds to find her as you glanced around the room in anticipation, hoping the ginger boy was close by. As you caught a glimpse of Hermione’s bushy hair with Ron and Harry on each of her sides, you cut through the crowd, halting in front of the trio.

“So was I. Where were you?” You questioned as you tried to catch Ron’s eyes, but he found his shoes more interesting than your presence. You heaved a heavy sigh, one that has been an hourly occurrence around the boy, each time destroying just a little more of the hope you still harboured for the slightest of chance that you might just have a tiny chance with the boy.

“Ron got a bit too drunk,” Harry huffed in an annoyed tone.

“As if,” Ron quipped in, his cheeks crimson red, his words slurred. You found his pouting adorable, and you could barely contain the small smile threatening to grow wider.

“He confessed his undying love to me,” Harry added with a deadpan expression.

“I didn’t see that it was you,” Ron added in haste, trying to save himself from further embarrassment.

“You were looking straight into my eyes whilst you did so. So, whether you really are in love with me, or you have had way too much to drink. Your choice,” Harry raised a questioning brow, waiting for his friend to reply.

“Well, I’m certainly not in love with you,” he huffed.

“Then I guess you are drunk, what a surprise,” Harry retorted, making you giggle.

“Whatever,” Ron shrugged, heading towards an empty sofa and dropping down on it.

“Can you pay attention to him until I get some food and water for him from the kitchen?” Hermione asked with an exhausted expression and you could just imagine the amount of effort it took her not to strangle her drunk friend.

“Of course, but hurry back. He needs to just sleep it off,” you told her as she nodded and walked past you with Harry in her steps.

You walked over to the couch, looking at the boy, his limbs spread all over the cushions, his eyes closed, clearly in need of a good sleep. “Don’t worry, Hermione and Harry will be back soon and then you can go upstairs,” you tried to reassure him as you sat down beside him.

His eyes opened and effortlessly stared at you, making you feel as though you were tiny under his intense gaze. You attempted to turn away, but his blue eyes completely captured you and as much as you tried, you couldn’t get yourself to take your eyes off him. Gulping loudly, you shifted deeper into your spot, feeling as though it would be better to disappear.

“You’re fairly pretty, you know?” He asked with a lopsided grin, his confidence surprising you.

“Excuse me?” You asked, fearing you have heard him wrong.

“You’re quite pretty,” he repeated himself as he leaned closer, this time making sure you heard him well. His cheeks were slightly blushed, his freckles scattered all over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

“Qu—quiet? What does that even mean? Am I supposed to feel happy and take it as a compliment or were you trying to insult me?” You chuckled awkwardly, although you were rather happy both as a result of the bottle of fire-whiskey you were still holding on to and the compliment or so that you have received from Ron for the first time.

“Well, I mean— I can’t just walk up to you and confess my love for you, can I?” He snorted, laughing at himself, but you didn’t find his words funny. You were stunned, your smile disappeared and there was only one thing going through your mind. How sincere he was. “You would kill me if you realised how much I loved you,” he added, surprising you even more. Trying to control your heartbeat, you took deep breaths, but it didn’t seem to help. His words affected you both physically and emotionally. Your cheeks felt as though they were burning, your breathing was irregular, and you could physically feel your blood pulsing through your veins whilst your brain didn’t seem to process his words.

“What did you just say?” You asked, needing reassurance.

“I said you would murder me if I told you how much I loved you and I can’t risk that,” he slurred, his eyes closed once again, feeling tired from the amount of alcohol he has consumed throughout the night.

“Ronald, you just have,” you tried to reason with him, a small smile hiding in the corner of your lips, his confession making you feel content. It did run across your mind that it was the alcohol talking, but in the end, you just ignored the voices, because alcohol or not, no sane person would make such a silly mistake.

“No, I haven’t. You might have a hearing problem,” he replied cluelessly, shrugging his shoulder. You found his state rather funny, so you decided to push him.

“So, you don’t like me?” You asked, raising your brows curiously.

“Wait what?” he asked as though he finally realised something was wrong. His adam’s apple bopped firmly as he swallowed, his palms sweating in his nervous state. “I—you are my friend, of course, I like you,” he tried to save the situation.

“Then you won’t mind if I leave you here and go and dance with other people. You wouldn’t mind a bit,” you questioned with a rather proud smile.

“Erm— I’m your friend and I don’t feel well,” he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, trying to keep his hands occupied. “As a friend it wouldn’t be nice of you if you left me like this,” he added, nodding along to his clever thinking.

“Okay, but after you have gone to sleep, it would be perfectly fine if I danced with others, right? You wouldn’t be jealous,” you asked with an innocent smile. Ron was clearly searching for the right words, but they just didn’t come.

“If— if that makes you happy, sure, go ahead,” he nodded along awkwardly, confused about his own words. You couldn’t stop the silent giggle from leaving your lips as you leaned closer and kissed the corner of his lips.

“I like you too, Ronald,” you chuckled at his cheeks taking on an even darker shade of pink and the surprise sitting across his face.

“Hey, we are back, let’s get you up,” Harry added as he appeared in the crowd with Hermione following him behind. “Are you okay?” Harry asked, looking at his friend who still looked at you as though he had seen a ghost.

“He is just tired,” you replied instead of him with a proud smile.

“Come on,” Harry stepped closer, hooking his arm around Ron’s body, placing his arm around his own shoulder.

“I meant it,” you quickly said causing Hermione and Harry to frown, but Ron understood. A wide grin spread across his face as he tried to balance himself.

“So did I,” he chuckled and leaned closer, hinting a small kiss on your forehead. “Hopefully I won’t be dead tomorrow and we can actually sit down and talk without me feeling like a rag doll,” he laughed, and you couldn’t stop yourself from returning his expression.

“I’d certainly love that,” you offered him a sweet smile as he nodded and stumbled across the common room with Harry’s help.

“What was that about?” Hermione asked with a deep frown, for the first time feeling completely clueless.

“I guess you will just have to wait to find out,” you giggled as you headed towards the dormitory, shoving the bottle of whiskey into George’s hand. You left the loud crowd and walked up the stairs to your room, with a wide grin across your face, impatiently waiting to wake up even though you weren’t even asleep just yet.

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[alittlebitofinsanitea]

Library Shelves and Physics Books

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Summary: Library shelves are stupidly tall...so is Ushijima...

Warnings: Nothing inappropriate, just two people standing close to each other

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Studying actually sucks. You have spent so long in this stupid library that you don't remember what subject you are supposed to be studying. Supposed to be is key here, as you spent the last ten minutes face down in what you think is a math textbook, or maybe just physics but at this point, it might not actually matter because of how much your head feels like it's about to explode. Instead, you take a walk around the library book in hand, trying to remember where you took it from.

You take a look at the spine and see the numbers 530 printed out next to the name of the library, and you make your way around looking at the numbers lining the ends of the bookshelves and you reach the 500's. Your footsteps become more methodical as you look for the specific spot. Eyes slowly moving up the stacks of books, your head tilts back, and then farther back, and you see what you think the number after the book you are holding. You jump up and catch the book between your thumb and index, barely bringing it back down with you. You check the spine, and your eyes didn't lie, this was the right spot. You jump up again trying to push the now two books into the shelf and as you land you feel something warm against your back.

That warm feeling envelops you, and you see two arms reach over your head with the two books you didn't even realize left your hands. Your heart starts to beat faster and you feel your blood temperature rise to its boiling point when you hear the stranger speak,

"You couldn't reach it, so I thought I should help you." Your eyes grow wide and you turn around, not sure what to expect, but you aren't disappointed with what you see, at all. He quirks his head to the side and speaks again, "Did I scare you? I apologize I never meant to."

You raise up your hands and finally find your voice, "No! No no, uh, thank you for helping me? Uh-"

"Ushijima,"

"Ushijima, nice to meet you," and you respond with your name. His lips move to form a tight small smile like he was practicing it in the mirror, but it's cute, you think to yourself.

A cough sounding through the library brings you back to reality, but when you left, it turns out you were staring into his eyes, his smile relaxes, then he looks away, you can swear you see the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks, but that thought disappears when he asks you, "Would you like to go to a cafe with me? I can carry your books if you would just like to study?" The questions come off as statements rather than actual questions, but it was endearing, so you agree to go with him, and you leave behind your studies in favor of learning about the polite stranger who helped you put back your books.

[lunar-wandering]

100 kilometers left to travel

so me and the ~discord~ came up with a MK clone (not a hair clone, this one was created by science! how fun!) and I kinda. went a little wild so now I’m Making A Fanfic for him-

Word Count: 3.4k

Read on Ao3

He knew something was wrong the instant he woke up.

The ground was hard and cold, he could feel tiny rocks digging into him as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. He could faintly hear water dripping in the distance, the sound of a car driving overhead. The soft click of somebodies shoes hitting the floor as they approached him.

He moved his hand to the side, trying to find a better position to push himself up and off the floor. His hand landed in something wet, and he hurriedly pulled it back. His eyes were still closed. He couldn't see what he had touched.

He hoped it was just water.

Taking a deep, wheezing breath, he slowly pushed himself up, trying to stand, before stumbling, sitting down and leaning against the cool metal behind him. His limbs ached, they felt like they hadn't moved in ages.

Now that he was thinking of it, had he ever moved before?

....Who was he?

A flash of some kind of memories danced in his mind. A hint of pink, the taste of something good, a book being placed in his hands, a flash of green, a dash of red, the warmth of tea, a touch of gold, a tint of purple, and something blue.

Blue.....

His head hurt. He couldn't make sense of any of the colours within his mind, the emotions they brought with them coming and going like the tide, vanishing before he could even begin to decipher them. He didn't..... he couldn't understand.

"Ah, I see you've survived."

He'd forgotten about the footsteps.

Something about the voice sent shivers down his spine, making him curl up, every inch of him shouting 'protect yourself! you're not safe!'.

"Oh, well we can't have that."

A hand softly ran through his hair, before harshly pulling it, moving his head out of the curled up position he'd put himself in. It didn't hurt a lot, but it still made him whimper in fear.

"Look at me."

He didn't want to know what would happen if he disobeyed. Slowly he tried to open his eyes, the colours of real life swirling almost as much as the colours within his brain. He closed his eyes in response to the sudden stimuli, before remembering the voice's demand and forcing them open again. Despite this, he couldn't make out who was in front of him, his eyes incapable of focusing.

He could only see blue and white.

"Hm..... I suppose you'll have to do." The voice let go of his hair, but he didn't move. He had a feeling curling back up, despite how every instinct was screaming at him to do so, would be a bad idea. "You certainly didn't melt like the others."

Melt? What did they-

"Tell me, Experiment Number 7, are you ready for your mission?"

He didn't even know what his mission was.

But he knew, down in his bones, that saying 'no' would have consequences.

"Y-" He tried to speak, but his voice cracked, breaking off into nothing. He coughed, trying to speak again, only for the voice to huff in irritation.

"You needn't continue. I suppose I should give you a bit longer to adjust before I send you out....this must be perfect in order for destiny to come to fruition."

The footsteps clicked again, and he waited until they had faded away and he couldn't hear them anymore before he slumped, curling in on himself again, letting out a wheezing breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

Alone, he listened to the sounds surrounding him, colours flickering in his mind again before, inevitably, he fell back asleep.

-

"MK!"

MK jolted, leaning back and falling out of the chair he'd been sleeping in. On his way down, he knocked the table with his head, sending a bowl of broth (there had been noodles, but MK had already ate them) flying down to splatter on the floor beside him. He groaned, rubbing his head as it ached.

He felt like he'd dreamed about something important....

MK blinked, and suddenly Mei was leaning over him.

"You alright?" She asked, holding out her hand to help him up. MK took her up on her offer, standing up and dusting himself off, before looking at the shattered bowl and liquid on the floor, and sighed.

"Guess I'll have to clean that up...." He mumbled, before switching gears and turning to Mei with a smile on his face. "Anyways, I'm fine, but Mei, what are you doing here?"

"Did you seriously forget already?" Mei asked, "You promised you'd come with me to the arcade today!"

"Oh. I didn't forget I just, I didn't realize so much time had passed, I must've been asleep for longer than I thought...." MK said, stretching a little to get the last bits of tiredness out of his limbs. Mei watched him with a look of concern.

"Have you been sleeping enough lately?" She asked, looking him up and down, searching for any sign that he wasn't taking care of himself like he should.

"Yeah, I just...." MK paused for a moment, before shrugging. "I keep having these weird dreams. They feel important, but I can never really remember them."

"Is it a side effect of your monkey powers?"

"Monkey King doesn't have prophetic dreams Mei." MK said, walking out the door, Mei keeping in time with his stride. "Or well. It's never mentioned in the stories."

"You'll have to ask him when he gets back from his vacation then." Mei said.

"Yeah, I guess I will......"

-

He took a deep breath, leaning against the wall of the alley way.

Glancing out, he could see his original, walking beside the green girl.

(He hadn't bothered to learn her name. He felt like he should know it, but it would be fine. He could learn it later, it wasn't important for his mission yet.)

Right now, what he had to do was simple. Grab his original, bring him back to the lair, and then, once he'd gathered his information, replace him.

Simple. Easy.

He looked back out at the fairly crowded street.

Simple. Easy.

And then suddenly there was a crash, his original shrieked, and then red was there too, the green girl holding him back from attacking the original.

When has anything ever been easy?

He turned and started heading back to the lair.

The Lady wasn't going to be happy about this, but there was no way the plan was going to work today.

-

Two weeks later, MK leaned against the railing on the deck of the ship, while Wukong sat on the railing, swinging his legs off the side.

"....Monkey King?"

"Yeah, what's up, bud?"

"Have you ever had like, prophetic dreams?" MK asked, and Wukong's legs paused mid swing.

".......No." He answered, slowly, "Why? Did something happen?"

"Well, not exactly." MK said, thinking of how best to explain it. "I've been having these dreams, but it's like I just can't remember them once I wake up. I know they happened, and I feel like they're telling me something important, but what actually happened in them just keeps...slipping out of my grasp."

"And you're sure they're not just regular dreams?" Wukong asked, sighing when MK shook his head yes. "....Okay. I can't say that I've experienced anything like that, but I can look into it if it really concerns you."

"Thank you." MK sighed in relief, before giving Wukong a smirk. "On another note, you should probably run, I think Pigsy's finally noticed that you stole all the snack food."

"Oh n-" Wukong scrambled off the railing, causing the spoon Pigsy threw at him to just barely miss. Hurriedly, he turned and ran back into the ship, Pigsy chasing after him. MK gave a little laugh as he watched the both of them disappear through the door, leaving him alone on the deck.

It was almost...nice to be able to relax like this. Sure, the Lady Bone Demon was after them, but it wasn't like there was a demon attacking every other day. In fact, thus far into their journey, they hadn't been attacked at all.

So of course, it was immediately after he had that thought that something hit him in the back of the head, hard, causing him to pass out.

-

MK woke up to a dark room.

No, not a room.

A cell, as evidenced by the bars.

He shivered, as a cold breeze blew through the cell. His jacket was missing.

Recognizing that this was probably not good, MK quickly sat up, grabbing hold of the bars and pressing his face against them, trying to tilt his head to see the surrounding area better.

"Hey you, you're finally awake."

MK bit back a shriek, startling and hitting his head against the bars with a clang. He let go of the cell bars to hold his head, crouching down as he hissed in pain.

"Woah, don't go knocking yourself out again so soon, I need someone to talk to around here."

MK knew that voice.

Looking over to the side, he could see someone sitting in the corner, half enshrouded in darkness.

"Why are you here, Macaque?" MK asked, rubbing his head as he stood up again. "And also, did you seriously just quote a meme at me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Macaque said, amusement in his voice. "And I'm here because I wanna be."

"Bullshit." MK deadpanned.

"If Wukong was here you'd get smacked." 

"Well yeah, but he's not, so-" MK said, smirking, before looking back out through the bars again. "Where are we anyways?"

"One of the Lady Bone Demon's lairs." Macaque answered, standing up and walking to also glance out through the bars. As he entered into the slightly more lit area of the cell, MK could see that his clothes were torn, dried blood staining it, and a torn piece of his scarf wrapped around his arm. MK barely bit back his concern in favor of a different question.

"She has more than one lair?"

"Apparently." Macaque shrugged. "This is a different one from the one I first woke up in, so I can only assume it's a different location."

"...How long have you been captured? Actually, wait, better question, how long have I been captured?" MK asked, panic starting to grip him. What if he'd been gone for too long, and something had happened to-

"I don't think it's been any more than a few hours for you." Macaque said, alleviating at least some of MK's worries. At least he hadn't been passed out for 3 days or something.... "As for me....I don't know."

"Wh- how could you not know?" MK asked, "Have you seriously been in here long enough that you can't remember how much time has passed?"

"I think it's been a week."

"You think!?"

-

In the end, it had been rather easy to escape.

Scarily easy, to be honest. There hadn't been a single guard, and they hadn't encountered the Lady Bone Demon so much as once the whole time.

Macaque had, in return for MK not telling Wukong that he had helped out, personally gotten MK back to the ship via shadow-teleportation. MK had to admit, traveling through shadows was a weird experience, but it was kinda thrilling in a way, a bit like a roller coaster. The two of them popped out of the shadow of a tree beside a forest clearing, where the ship had landed on the ground.

"This is as far as I'm taking ya, kid." Macaque said, falling back into the shadows. "......You might want to mentally prepare yourself before you get back on the ship by the way."

"Prepare myself for what?" MK asked, but Macaque had already vanished, leaving MK alone.

MK sighed, then walked over to the ship, going to climb up the side of the ship and onto the deck, but then paused, one leg over the ship's railing as he took in the sight before him. He slowly blinked, wondering if he was just seeing things, but nope, Mei was holding another him at sword point, the others standing behind her in a defensive position.

"Who are you and why are you doing a horrible job at pretending to be my friend!" Mei asked, leering over the other MK in a threatening matter.

"Hey, I thought I was doing a good job at pretending to be MK!" The other MK yelled.

"Evidently not!" MK said, fully climbing over the rail and dropping down onto the deck, drawing the attention over to where he was. "Seriously, who the hell are you?"

"Who the hell are you?" The other MK shot back, before realizing what he said. "No, wait that was a stupid question, I know who you are- why did I say that?"

The others ignored him, in favor of staring at MK in suspicion.

"Are you the real MK?" Pigsy asked, causing MK to sputter in offense.

"Wh- of course I am-" MK said, before cutting himself with a yelp, as Wukong suddenly appeared beside him, lifting his arm, picking him up, basically checking him all over before placing him back on the ground, seemingly satisfied.

"Yep, this one is the real deal." He confirmed, before glaring at the other MK. "That one, on the other hand-"

They turned back to the other MK, who had, in the moment of distraction, begun to slowly inch away from Mei's sword, and now was halfway over the railing, about to jump off.

"Oh no you don't." Mei hissed, grabbing onto the back of the other MK's jacket (and oh, so that's where MK's jacket had went, not only did he have a double, but said double was a jacket thief-) and pulling him back onto the ship, letting him fall backwards and slam down on the metal deck. "You're not going anywhere until we get some answers out of you, KM."

"KM?" The other MK asked, everyone else looking at Mei with the same degree of confusion.

"I needed something to call you other than MK." She said, shrugging, before getting right back to business. "Now. Who sent you?"

"What, like I'm just gonna tell you that-" Mei's sword poked closer to his neck. "The Lady! The Lady Bone Demon! She's the one who sent me!"

"Well. That certainly explains why I woke up in one of her cells." MK said, and was immediately met with various looks of concern. He threw his hands up in self-defense. "Hey, don't look at me like that, she didn't even show up, like seriously, it was ridiculously easy for me and Macaque to escape-"

"I'm sorry, you and who?" Wukong interrupted, looking like he was about to breakdown then and there.

"Oh, that's the shadow guy, right?" KM asked, ignoring the glares the others sent him. "I talked with him a few times. Or, well, we didn't so much as talk, more like I walked past him, but like. Same thing, right? Ha ha, yeah, uh, anyways, can we put the sword away now?"

"Depends." Mei said, "What're you gonna do now that we know? You going to go ham, no offense Pigsy, and kill us all?"

"What? No." KM said, "Well. Is that what I'm supposed to do?"

"No, no, no-" MK hurriedly said, rushing forwards, pushing Mei and her sword to the side in order to be face to face with KM, which, wow, that was weird seeing his own face not on him and not on a hair clone- how does KM even exist if he's not a hair clone- wait he's getting distracted- "It is not what you're supposed to do. You are not going to do that. Right?"

"....Right." KM said, slowly nodding. There was a moment of awkward silence, then Mei was back up, shoving MK over as she pointed her sword at KM again.

"That didn't sound like a very confident answer." She said. KM glanced at her, taking in her threatening expression, looked over her shoulder, seeing the expressions of the others-

"If I give you the staff, will you not kill me?" He asked.

That made everyone pause.

"....What, exactly, do you mean by that?" Wukong asked, and KM, in response, hurriedly removed his jacket, shaking it out a little-

And the staff fell out, clanging and slightly denting the deck.

There was a moment of silence.

MK slowly reached over, grabbing hold of, and lifting the staff, feeling a familiar warmth rush through him.

"Why did you have this?" He asked, and KM rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Well I mean, you had it in the videos I watched, but I couldn't make a realistic replica, so when I saw it in the Lady Bone Demon's lair I just... took it?" He said, carefully watching the other's blank expressions. "I-I figured it'd make it easier to pretend to be you if I had it-"

"So what you're saying is you stole it." Pigsy said, "From the Lady Bone Demon."

"I don't know, maybe?" KM said, and Mei slowly lowered her sword, before finally putting it away.

KM watched on as the group all looked at each other, seemingly having a silent conversation via eye contact.

(They were, in fact, having a real conversation, as Wukong was astral projecting to everyone, and thus basically opened a telepathic connection.

"We could just let him stay with us." MK said.

"Kid, are you crazy? Do you know what he is?" Wukong asked.

"No actually." MK said.

KM, not being in the loop, had no way of knowing this.)

"....So uh, KM was it, what exactly are you?" Tang asked, and once again all eyes were on KM, who shifted nervously.

"Uh, a clone? Like- like test-tube clone. Created in the science goo and all that." KM said, making jazz hands as he said 'science goo'. No one looked very impressed.

"She knows how to do that?"  Wukong whispered under his breath, sounding almost horrified.

"Are there any others like you?" Sandy asked.

KM thought back to the wetness he'd touched when he was first created.

"....No." KM said, "The others failed. They.....they melted."

There was another moment while the others had a silent conversation.

( "Look, he's all alone, we can't just leave him be!"

"But-"

"Look, we know you don't trust him Monkey King, which to be honest the rest of us don't really trust him either, but we can't just leave this kid alone!")

Wukong gave an irritated sigh.

"Fine." He said, marching over to KM, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him up so that he was standing. He grabbed MK's jacket out of KM's hand, tossing it over his shoulder, where it proceeded to land directly on top of MK's head. "Look, kid, the others have decided to trust you, and I've been outvoted, so listen. We're going to let you stay on the ship. But if I catch any sign of you being up to no good, I will not hesitate to throw you overboard. Clear?"

"As crystal." KM said.

"Good." Wukong said, "But, just in case-"

And then KM's bandana was gone, replaced with a golden circlet. With nothing to hold up his hair, it flopped down, almost completely blocking the new circlet from view. KM reached his hand up to feel it, instantly recognizing what it was.

"....Why." He asked.

"Like I said, just a precaution." Wukong said.

("I have always wanted to do that to someone else-"

"Monkey King."

"Oh. Oops, forgot this connection was still open-")

"You don't have to worry though." Wukong continued, "It won't hurt you or anything, you just won't be able to get more than a kilometer away from me or MK."

"Okay??" KM said, and, well, that was that.

KM was officially a member of the ship.

-

"Out of curiosity, what was it that made you realize KM wasn't me?" MK asked, later that night. Mei immediately broke out into a wild grin, while KM groaned.

"Well first of all, he didn't call any of us by our names." Mei began, "He called me Green Girl, Sandy was Tea Man, so on and so forth. But the real thing that made us realize was that-"

"Don't say it-" KM started, but Mei wasn't going to listen.

"He referred to himself in the third person." She said, "Or, really, he was referring to you, but since he was pretending to be you-"

"Look, I just got used to thinking 'MK smiles like this' and 'MK moves like that', okay?!" KM said, covering his face with his hands. "It just became the default y'know?"

"Understandable, but really?" MK asked, "You didn't once train yourself into talking like you were me?"

"Look, I've only been alive for one month-"

[writingtoforgetreality]

Speak Of The Devil (Malcolm Bright x Winchester!Reader) | Prodigal Son/Supernatural Crossover

[Prodigal Son-Masterlist], [Supernatural-Masterlist]

Summary: What started as a normal case for the NYPD ended in you needing help from your family. Malcolm had never met your brothers & they had no idea you were dating. Things were bound to get complicated, it was inevitable. Still, you had to focus on this case before another person got killed.

Words: 5,557

Warnings: spoilers for 2x02 (doesn’t follow the actual plot obviously), murder, demons, language, confused Malcolm, lil hint at Destiel (barely there, could be missed if you don’t pay attention - sorry, I couldn’t help myself), I don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun while writing something

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

The NYPD was assigned to solve a “creepy ass case”, as JT so lovingly put it. As Malcolm & you got to the crime scene, you understood what your fellow coworker had warned you about. Ugh, you hated churches with your guts. Well, that was not entirely true. But whenever a murder happened on a holy ground, nothing good ever came out of it. That was what you experienced before you started working for the police. Before that…you also worked for the police somehow? Just, they were not aware of that & you might have done some criminal things. For the greater good, though! Your brothers & you had saved thousands of people. They still did. You just needed to get out of this life & see if there was more for you to achieve. And there was. Not only did you find a great family who was also your team, at the same time you found Malcolm, your boyfriend.

Back to the case. Walking into a crime scene had always been bizarre to you. It showed you how close you still were to murder, even though you promised your brothers to distance yourself from it entirely. Technically, you did. This was different, though. At least you told yourself so. Gil, JT, Dani & Edrisa were already inspecting the scene when you two walked in. Oh no. This could not be good. The image in front of you seemed familiar & if it were not inappropriate to roll your eyes at a dead person, you would do it. Gil briefly explained the situation to you. Apparently the victim had been a member of the church for 30 years. The Lieutenant & Malcolm interrogated Sister Agnes. She was the one who found the body. There was another thing bothering you, so you did not really pay attention to whatever she was saying. Your focus was solely on JT, who had been through way too much to stand here & act as if everything was fine. A slight touch on his shoulder made him turn his head in your direction.

“Hey, you okay?” of course you were concerned about him. He was family, after all.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” he brushed you off as if he did not know what point you were trying to get across.

“Really? Because usually when Malcolm says he’s fine…well, he’s everything but.” a chuckle lightened the mood a little. You had to keep a closer eye on JT for the time being. Just in case.

“Our victim here performed an exorcism.” Malcolm’s statement let your eyes snap back to where he was standing. Edrisa smiled excitedly at him. This woman…She was the sweetest soul. Could be annoying, too. But in a sweet & loving way. Maybe she should turn down her excitement for murder. Who were you kidding? Your boyfriend was probably worse when it came to that. Wanting to have a closer look at the book Malcolm was referring to, you put your gloves on & carefully walked over to him. Trying not to mess up any possible clues left behind by the killer.

“Can I have a look?” you gestured to the small book & Malcolm handed it over to you. Shit. If you remembered correctly, there was a similar one back at the bunker. A look inside the pages confirmed your assumption. No need to freak out right away. There were tons of crazy people out there. Just because of this murder in this church & this book did not mean that there was anything supernatural involved. You just hoped it would stay that way. For everyone’s sake.

Your face fell when Edrisa said that there was a note left behind, written in blood. To the others, it looked like a sign without meaning. It looked familiar to you but you could not quite pinpoint where you remembered it from. Sister Agnes’ words made you stop in your tracks.

“Abaddon.” she breathed out. Sure, why the hell not? Okay, maybe this case was something for your brothers. But wait a damn minute…last time you checked, Abaddon was stabbed with the First Blade. She could not possibly be back, could she?

“Now we know our killer’s name.” Malcolm’s words gained the attention of the entire team. There was no way he had everything figured out already. You knew he was a great profiler but even that would have been too fast for him.

“Oh? Who is it?” Gil asked intrigued.

“You know.” Malcolm paused for a few moments. Probably for dramatic effect but what did you know? “The devil.” you could not help but laugh at his words. Great, now everyone was looking at you weirdly. Oh, he made a joke. Of course he did. Sometimes you forgot that you were not an active part of the hunting life anymore. A few coughs from you stopped the awkward tension in the room. At least a bit.

In no way did you want to defend Lucifer. He had made your life literal hell one too many times. But even he would not go as far & do something as cruel as this. Again, last time you checked, he was dead. But death did not agree with Lucifer. How many times had he died? You probably should not be the one to judge. You were not better by any means.

Excusing yourself to get some fresh air, you grabbed your phone out of your pocket. Hopefully he would pick up. It had been a while since you last talked. The phone rang & rang & slowly you lost hope. Maybe he really was mad at you for being radio silent for so long.

“(Y/N)?” his voice startled you slightly.

“Sam! Uh, hi.” suddenly you turned shy.

“It’s so good to hear from you! How are you?” he was happy that you decided to call after so long.

“I’m good, thanks. Actually, I need to ask you for a favor…” you started.

“What is it? Everything alright?” Sam was growing concerned. Back then, you hated relying on another person, too stubborn to ask for help, because you wanted to do everything on your own.

“There’s a case here in New York…I believe it’s your kind. And I genuinely don’t think I can deal with this on my own.”

“But you’re safe, right?”

“I am, as safe as one can be.” you chuckled. Working for the police & all that. Not that you would tell Sam on the phone. If they were to come by, he would find out sooner or later. “I’ll send you the details, alright? Be here as fast as you can.”

“Okay, no problem. Take care, okay?”

“You too. See you soon.” wow, you were about to see your brothers again. Hopefully everything would be fine & nobody would rip your head off.

“See you, (Y/N).” Sam ended the call & you let out a breath you did not know you were holding.

The phone call should stay a secret for the time being. People breaking out in panic was everything but convenient. Besides, you did not need your team looking at you like you were a lunatic. Malcolm explained possession trance disorder when you joined everyone again. How could one human being know so much about so many unimportant things? Like, this man was a human dictionary. Looking over at Gil, you had to grin by how hard he was trying to make sense of what Malcolm was saying. Gil noticed you staring at him & gave you a look. The one that made you not want to mess with him. Still, you laughed shortly, you could not keep it in any longer. Malcolm gave you a questioning look but you simply shrugged him off by a wave of your hand.

The last interrogation of the day was with the guy who was currently doing the painting job inside the church. Unfortunately, you did not get any more information. Everything he told you, you had already heard from the others. Basically, after interrogating everyone, you were certain that this was not a common case for the NYPD. And you were more than happy that your brothers were on their way to come over. How would you explain any of this to Malcolm? He knew you had two brothers but you had also told him that you were not necessarily talking, only when it came to emergencies. Great, Malcolm would freak out. Even more so than normal, probably.

“Why do we have to visit your father again?” you shot the question at Malcolm as you were walking over the psychiatric yard, looking for Martin. He rolled his eyes at you, exhausted by your constant questioning.

“I’ve explained it a thousand times, (Y/N).”

“Well, I don’t see how any of this is connected to him.” you argued. Whenever Malcolm had the great idea to visit his father, you tagged along. Simply because you knew it was always hard for him & you wanted to support him wherever you could. Right now, though, you were losing your patience. After all, you knew the cause of this case. But your brothers had yet to arrive so you should play along for now.

“Malcolm, my boy. (Y/N)! Always nice to see you.” Martin started, excited to see his son accompanied by you. The first time you visited Martin, he took an immediate liking to you. Probably because he could see that you were good for Malcolm & his son meant the world to him. Still, he was a narcissistic psychopath. Remembering clearly how he had told you that everyone had flaws during your first meeting. Ah, good times.

“I wish I could say the same, Dr. Whitly.” a sarcastic smile plastered on your face. From then on, you let Malcolm do the talking, not really paying attention to what he was saying. Your thoughts were with your brothers, hoping they would get their asses here quickly before you had to endure more of this bullshit. It was frustrating when you knew how to solve this case but there was nobody you could talk to, not about this. Malcolm desperately tried searching for a non-supernatural explanation. Of course he did. And you just stood by, not being helpful at all. Malcolm did notice your quietness but did not comment on it. Not when you were with his father. He would ask you later today, when you were back at home.

Sam sent you a message earlier today, asking for your address to meet up. This meant that they would not take much longer. The knock on the door was confirmation enough. Malcolm walked over, ready to open it & you did not have enough time to warn him. Oh, this was bound to be fun.

“Uh…Hello?” Malcolm, everyone. Great first impression.

“You’re not (Y/N).” you could make out Dean’s voice. Walking up to where Malcolm was standing in the doorway, you looked over his shoulder & smiled at your brothers. They really were here, it had been too long. Softly pushing Malcolm out of the way, you pulled both of them in a long overdue hug. It was only then when you realized how much you had missed them. Malcolm observed the interaction from afar, confusion obviously shown on his face. Right now, you could only focus on the men in front of you, though.

“It’s good to see you guys again.” smiling widely at them. Sam nodded at you & even Dean could not hide the small smile that was forming on his face.

“I’m sorry…Can I help you guys?” Malcolm spoke up, waiting for answers from either you or the strangers that now entered his apartment.

“No, but we’ll help you.” Dean walked over to Malcolm & patted his shoulder.

“Sam, Dean. This is Malcolm. Malcolm. These are my brothers.” you awkwardly introduced them to each other. Malcolm’s mouth hang open & he could not form a coherent sentence.

“Nice to meet you.” Sam held out his hand & it took Malcolm a second to shake it.

“Your brothers?” Malcolm whisper-yelled.

“Yeah?”

“And what are they doing here?” it was not his intention to sound rude, you knew that. Yet, he seemed rather frustrated because you clearly knew they were coming over but decided against telling your boyfriend.

“Remember when I told you that they had a similar job to ours?” Malcolm nodded at you. “This case we’re working on…that’s one of their kind. We wouldn’t be able to solve it without their help.” you tried explaining.

“We have the best working team out there! Of course we could’ve solved it alone!” but you simply shook your head at him. He would understand sooner or later.

Sam & Dean sat down on the expensive couch, Dean putting his feet on the coffee table. Good thing Malcolm did not care too much about his furniture. Malcolm & you brought drinks from the kitchen & sat across from them. Dean only eyed Malcolm, though. The inevitable was about to happen, you just hoped Malcolm would deliver accordingly.

“Who the hell are you?” he was judging Malcolm & neither Sam’s elbow nudging him nor your dirty look changed the way he looked at him. What could you say? Dean was very protective of you, even after ages of not talking.

“Malcolm Bright, profiler for the NYPD.” that made the brothers’ eyebrows raise. Thank God he did not let slip that he was the son of a serial killer.

“You’re working for the police?” Sam eyed Malcolm, now being confused as to why you would get them involved with the police even though you were aware of what they had been through.

“Well, yeah. I mean, (Y/N) & I met there.” Malcolm reasoned. Great, the cat was out of the bag now.

“Seriously (Y/N)?” Dean looked…disappointed?

“Okay, wait a minute. Let me explain!” Sam & Dean nodded at you to continue. “When I left you guys, I really tried to leave this life behind. I did. But I still wanted to help people. So…one thing came to another & then I was part of the NYPD &-“ you were interrupted by Dean, of course.

“And slept around with this guy?” Dean looked Malcolm over & you rolled your eyes at him. Malcolm looked offended but stayed silent.

“This guy is my boyfriend. And his name is Malcolm.” you defended him. “And I asked you to help me with this case, not with my dating life.” looking at Dean sternly, he nodded at you & apologized. He could get caught up in the heat of the moment but you had more important things to focus on.

Throughout your talk, Malcolm sent you questioning looks every now & then. You brushed him off, telling him you would explain it later. Sam & Dean got the message & tried keeping the talk casual. Clearly, your boyfriend did not know about the supernatural & it would be better if it stayed that way.

“Okay, so tomorrow, we’ll talk to Norman & see what we can find out.” Malcolm concluded after some long confusing hours.

“Sammy & I need some sleep after that long ass drive anyway. We’ll be meeting at his house first thing in the morning. Don’t be late.” when he said that, he stared at Malcolm. Rolling your eyes at his childish antics, you slapped him lightly on the chest.

“Do you wanna stay here for the night?” you asked when they were walking to the front door.

“Um, no. We’re checked in at the motel a few blocks down. Besides…” Dean gestured wildly with his hands. “This entire apartment looks too luxurious for us. How did you get so much money anyway?” Dean asked, again motioning at the expensive looking apartment.

“It’s actually Malcolm’s…I moved in not too long ago.” explaining to both of them. Sam nodded, looking satisfied with your current living situation. Dean, of course, had another thing to comment on.

“Oh wow, (Y/N)…Good catch.” winking at you, you shoved him out of the apartment, shaking your head.

“Good night!” you said before closing the door behind them, letting out a long sigh.

“Your brothers are…nice.” Malcolm started. You winced at his choice of words. In your head, it all worked out way better.

“I’m sorry, Mal…They can be quite protective.”

“No, it’s fine, I get it. They’re, uh, very into this religious thing, huh?”

“Oh, you have noooo idea.” you chuckled.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were coming by?”

“I don’t know…I guess I didn’t want you to think that you’re not good enough for this case.”

“But?”

“But I need you to trust me when I tell you that Sam & Dean are the ones who should handle this one.”

“I trust you, you know that, (Y/N). But you have to give me permission to say “I told you so.” when we solve this case without their help.” Malcolm held out his hand for you to shake.

“Deal.” you smiled at him. Your brothers & boyfriend might not become best friends but you did not expect them to. All you wanted was to get rid of whatever killed that priest. And you knew that the supernatural feared Sam & Dean. This would be over soon.

“You sure these are the same guys who were at our apartment yesterday?” Malcolm whispered to you when you were approaching two men in suits. Not their usual flannel attire, they were working a job after all.

“Just play along, alright?” Malcolm nodded at you. He promised to trust you on this & you seemed like you knew what you were doing.

“Detectives.” Dean greeted you.

“Shut up.” you threw back almost immediately. Sam & Dean laughed at your comment.

“I missed you, lil sis.” Dean said with a genuine tone, one that made you smile wildly.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Sam knocked on the door, waiting for it to open. They introduced themselves as FBI & showed the woman in the doorway their badges. Shooting Malcolm a look as if to say “Don’t ask.” & he just acted as if he had not seen this. The woman led you upstairs to a room. She warned you to not cross the salt lines. All of you nodded. Well, all but Malcolm. The poor man could not understand a thing. Sometimes you wished you were this innocent when it came to cases like this. If it were not for Malcolm, this would have felt like the good old days when you spent your time solving case after case with your brothers. Yeah, it had been dangerous & exhausting but you still liked being a hunter. Also, the three of you were one hell of a team.

The door opened & you were met with countless geometrical lines made out of salt. Because a simple circle would not do the job or what? Fucking show-off. Careful not to mess with the salt, the four of you stepped inside the dark room. Norman’s back was facing you. While Sam & Dean simply took in the room to check for any indicators of anything supernatural, Malcolm started interrogating Norman. You signaled the boys to let him do his job.

“The salt keeps him out.” suddenly, Norman’s voice was way deeper than when he first started talking. Weird guy. Still, you did not think it was him.

“Who?” Malcolm asked in a calm voice. He was good at this. Even though he almost always got himself killed.

“The demon.” Norman said. What the hell was wrong with him? Malcolm turned around to you & found the three of you rolling your eyes. Really desperate if a person wanted to be a demon.

“He’s clearly mentally ill.” Malcolm stated quietly.

“Oh, really?” you sarcastically shot back. Who would have thought? Malcolm started lifting one of his foot, meaning to cross the line.

“Mal, wait. Don’t.” you warned him but when did Malcolm ever listen? You were not sure how Norman even noticed Malcolm crossing the line, his back was still facing you after all, but all of a sudden things escalated. Apparently, Norman thought Malcolm was a demon. He was everything but, really. He just had some demons to fight but he was not one. Norman was grabbing a lamp, wanting to attack Malcolm with it but you got everything sorted before anything bad could happen. Norman was on his way in the hospital & you were just glad that everyone was fine.

When all of you were outside the house again, Sam & Dean looked annoyed.

“Dude, we wasted time with this madman.” Dean started. “That’s bullshit.”

“Dean, stop.” you cut him off before the situation got too intense. “He was the only suspect we had. We couldn’t have known he was mentally ill.”

“We should check out the church tonight.” Sam suggested.

“Why at night?” Malcolm asked curiously.

“Oh, look how precious he is.” Dean mocked. If he kept acting that way you might as well salt & burn his bones next. Turning to Malcolm, you tried reasoning with him.

“Because we can’t risk people watching us. Not when we’re doing this.” Malcolm understood but he also planned a lot of questions for when you were back home.

“Alright, we’ll meet there later. Dean & I will take care of everything we might need.” Sam said before walking off to Baby.

“I see you took great care of her.” nudging Dean, motioning at the beautiful ’67 Chevy Impala. Another thing you had missed dearly. Countless nights had been spent in the backseat, you associated this car with a lot of happy memories.

“Always.” Dean smiled at you. “Baby misses you, too, you know?”

“I’m sure she does. After all, I had the brains. Of course she misses my smartness.” Dean shook his head at you, rolling his eyes at the same time. Saying goodbye & turning around, Malcolm gave you a look.

“What?”

“Baby? Her? You sure you were talking about the car?” oh, that was bothering him. Now you understood.

“It’s a long story.” you laughed & gave him a kiss on the cheek before walking past him. He let out a short laugh & smiled at your actions.

“(Y/N)? I think we should talk.” Malcolm started shortly after you entered your shared apartment.

“Oh no…that’s never a good sign.”

“What’s going on here?” you could tell he was serious. Fuck, you hated lying to him. One of the reasons why you had barely mentioned your brothers was to avoid questions you did not want to answer. It was now or never. Telling Malcolm to sit down, you were about to start at the very beginning. There were still a few hours left before you had to be at the church, might as well use it appropriately. Hopefully, Malcolm did not decide to leave you after opening up to him.

“So…you’re telling me that monsters are real, your brothers hunt them down & you used to help them before you left.” you nodded when Malcolm tried processing what you had just told him. “And my girlfriend saved the world more than once.” he concluded.

“Pretty much, yeah.” he was silent for a few seconds. That would be the moment he would ask you to leave.

“My girlfriend is a badass.” Malcolm mumbled & started laughing then. You joined in.

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” you questioned, not really believing that he dealt with it so casually.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m freaking out.” he confessed. “You know, makes me think of all the cases we couldn’t solve. Maybe we weren’t successful because of…supernatural beings playing a part. But honestly, it’s just another thing that got added to my plate. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Mal…”

“No, really. I mean it. Besides, now I know that if I ever meet a monster, you’re here to fight it off. Or your brothers. If I were a monster, I’d be scared as shit of them.” Malcolm finished & you laughed, throwing your entire body back on the couch. That actually went quite well? At least something positive.

Churches were creepy in general. But churches at night? That was a whole other level of madness. You met Sam & Dean at the Impala, Dean’s face buried in the trunk, looking for suitable weapons. Malcolm had promised not to question your actions & you were thankful for it. Because you had other things to focus on. Dean handed out weapons which you gladly accepted.

“Mal? You gotta promise me to stay behind.” concerning eyes met his & he knew better than to argue with you. Malcolm gulped but nodded anyway.

“You ready to do this?” Sam asked.

“I am but I think (Y/N)’s a little rusty.” Dean commented.

“Just...let’s get this over with…” rolling your eyes at Dean, you hated to admit that he was most likely right. You had not been on a hunt in a very long time but you knew you could fight when push came to shove.

The four of you entered the church silently, weapons at ready. After walking around for a while, Dean lifted his hand to stop you all. Trying to get a better look at what made him freeze, you were shocked when you saw Jonah, the painter, pacing these holy grounds. Why did you not think of him? It was quite obvious, really. Maybe you were getting rusty.

“Well, he is a demon, no doubts, but he isn’t Abaddon.” Dean spoke, quietly enough as to not get caught. “So if you guys distract this son of a bitch, I can catch him off guard from behind & stab him.”

“No, wait. You can’t kill him, Dean.” you argued. There was still a possibility of a human being somewhere inside.

“What? Why?” Dean turned towards you & tilted his head in confusion. Sighing out, you tried to talk some sense into him.

“Let Sam do an exorcism. We don’t know if Jonah’s still in there.” Dean thought about this for a few seconds but nodded afterwards. Sam grabbed an old lore book with the exorcism inside. He remembered the words by heart but better safe than sorry, right? Your plan was to stay hidden, the church was dark enough to do that without getting caught.

The demon was confused when he heard the first words of the exorcism, already struggling to stay inside Jonah. Good, he was not a strong one. Malcolm stayed close with you. Sam & Dean each took one side of the church, just in case something went wrong. Sam continued with the latin words & the demon was unable to move anymore. He was trapped in one place. That was when all of you made yourself shown to him. Hopefully, Jonah was still alive in there. If not, you had a lot of explaining to do. You already had but another dead person would make everything even more complicated.

“I AM ABADDON!” the demon screamed & you noticed that he barely had enough strength to stay in Jonah’s body anymore. Malcolm stayed in the background, simply observing & letting you do your job.

“I’m sure you wanna be, pal.” Dean got closer to the demon but not too close for it to be dangerous. “But we got rid of her a long time ago.” and it was true. Abaddon’s death was years ago. Why this demon thought to be her? You were not sure. But you also did not care. You just wanted this to be over. Sam finished the ritual & black smoke came out of Jonah’s mouth. After that, he fell to the floor & all of you ran over to him. Malcolm checked for a pulse & nodded when he felt it. Letting out a breath, you were glad that you could save him. Grabbing your phone out of your pocket, you dialed 911 & called Gil right after.

In no time, cars were surrounding the church. Sam, Dean, Malcom & you were standing in a small circle outside. Gil approached you.

“What the hell happened? And who the hell are you guys?” the second question was directed at your brothers who coughed a little, not knowing how to answer. Time to sell a little fake story.

“Gil, these are Sam & Dean, my brothers.” Gil shook both men’s hands.

“Didn’t know you had brothers.” he noted.

“Long story…Anyway, they came to visit & stayed at our apartment. They kinda overheard Malcolm & I talking about the case. Sam, here, has the brains-“

“Hey!” Dean feigned hurt at your words.

“And he pieced everything together. We didn’t wanna waste time & before I even had the chance to call you, we had already caught him.” as soon as you finished, Malcolm joined in to help with your little white lie.

“Jonah was poisoned by the lead in the paint he was using. It can cause dissociative behavior that can be mistaken for possession.” thank God for Malcolm “Human Dictionary” Bright. Gil could not argue with this so he simply went back over to the rest of the team. Nice job.

“Thanks guys.” addressing Sam & Dean.

“So that’s it, huh?” Sam asked, sad that he knew he had to let you go again. Yet, he supported your decision.

“Hey, Malcolm?” Dean looked at him. “I wanna show you something, come on.” Malcolm followed Dean to the black car which left you alone with Sam.

“He’s gonna kill him, isn’t he?” Sam laughed at your words.

“Possibly.” then he turned serious again. “I miss you.” Sam confessed, his jaw clenching.

“I miss you, too, Sammy.” looking up at him, you continued. “And I’m sorry for disappearing off the radar. It’s just…when I left, this entire starting new thing took more time than I thought it would.”

“I get it & I’m not asking you to come back with us. I can see that you like it here. You’ve finally found your happiness & by the way Malcolm looks at you? He’s utterly in love with you, (Y/N). Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will, I promise. You, too. Call me when you’re starting the next apocalypse.” you joked with him. He then pulled you into a big hug, one that you had missed so much. Sam always gave the best hugs.

“What is it?” Malcolm asked Dean, nervous as to why he wanted to talk to him alone.

“Look, man, (Y/N)’s my little sister & I’d do anything for her. So if you ever hurt her…know that I’ll beat the crap outta you.” Malcolm gulped but found enough courage to answer him.

“I love (Y/N). I’d never to do anything to hurt her. I get why you worry, I do. But she’s safe here. I promise.”

“Hey Dean, go easy on him.” their heads snapped in the direction your voice was coming from. By the smile on your face, he knew you were joking. Sam & you reached the car.

“I’ll miss you.” approaching Dean, you were more than satisfied when he opened his arms for you to pull you into a hug. He pressed a soft kiss on top of your head before releasing you again.

“Malcolm promised me to keep you safe.”

“Did he now?” turning around, eyeing your boyfriend with a smirk.

“Check in with us, okay?” Dean grew serious.

“I will, I promise. You guys take care of yourselves, okay?” both men nodded. “Tell Cas I said hi. How are you two doing anyway?” you stopped briefly to wink at him which made Sam chuckle quietly. “And bring him next time.”

“Alright, goodbye.” Dean said, laughing at you, Sam joining him.

“Bye, guys.” you waved at them when they got into the car.

Leaning into Malcolm’s side, you could feel his arm sneaking around your waist to keep your close. For a few moments, you stood there in silence, watching the Impala slowly disappear out of your view.

“Do I need to be jealous of this Cas guy?” Malcolm asked all of a sudden & you broke out into laughter. His confused face was hilarious.

“Trust me, Mal. If you meet him, you’ll know that there’s no need to be jealous.” tears were threatening to escape your eyes. The simple image of you & Cas together made you laugh out loud.

“I guess I need to trust you on that.”

“Hey, remember what you said when you thought we wouldn’t need help solving this case?” you asked him, changing the topic entirely. His face showed you that he did, in fact, not remember.

“I told you so.” you smirked at him, enjoying how his smile slowly faltered. Rolling his eyes at you, he wanted to say a witty remark. You knew what he was trying to do but before he had the chance, you silenced him with a long, soft kiss. That always managed to do the job. Pulling away after a few seconds, you lovingly stared into his eyes. This moment could have been overly romantic. If it were not for you putting salt into his wound.

“I told you so.” repeating your previous words, you walked away from him, sarcastically smiling as you did so. You were right about this & Malcolm prepared himself to hear the same words over & over from now on.

Published (04/15/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @thefictionalgemini, @prodigalsonlovingbisexual, @octopus5555, @claudiaparker30, @the-unknown-fan-girl, @popcornanon, @jasminetea-andpaisho, @anatanotegami, @blackandwhitejoker (thanks for your support <3)