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7-wonders · 5 years

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Shatter pt. 12

Summary: The end. Or, alternatively, the beginning.

Word Count: 2,834

A/N: This is it! The last chapter of Shatter. Depending on feedback, I may or may not do an epilogue, but the story ends here. Thank you so much for reading. Feedback is always appreciated, as are likes and reblogs. If you enjoyed, I have a lot more writing that you should check out on my masterlist!

The sun shines high in the sky, a stark change from the smoke-filled, ashy skies that dominated the original timeline. Those that still inhabit the Earth (most of them), however, have no memory of that timeline. For them, this is their only timeline. This is all that they know, and all that they will know. Only a privileged few are privy to the knowledge of how this timeline came to be.

Cordelia Goode is dragged through the desert by the guards that once swore their lives to protect her. She refuses to scream, remaining silent and defiant as she’s thrown onto her knees in front of what will be her demise. Her white robes become sullied with the reddish-brown dirt below her, nearly being pressed into the ground by one stoic guard as the other gets the ropes ready to restrain her to the stake. The worst part about this method of killing her, Cordelia thinks bitterly while she’s hauled back up and marched directly to the stake, is that she knows exactly what’s going to happen.

Michael had made good on his promise to make Cordelia watch as the world came to an end, making her painfully aware of every little thing that happened throughout the course of the apocalypse. At first, she had tried to just ignore the television that was constantly turned into the news and the newspapers that were in her prison everyday. For a while, it had worked as well as desensitizing oneself to a stream of droning voices that never shut up can be. Eventually, Michael had gotten bored of letting her think she was winning, and had much more fun manipulating her dreams so that she had no choice but to know everything that was happening outside the four walls she had come to know as her home over the past three years.

Cordelia tilts her head to the side, watching as her beloved mentor, Myrtle Snow, is dragged to her own stake. She’s dressed in the same white garments as Cordelia, not having been allowed the concession of picking her death robes like she had for her second burning at the stake. Unlike Cordelia, Myrtle refuses to remain silent, questioning “why must you be so brutish towards a lady?” and if “there will be refreshments provided prior to our executions?”

They file in slowly when the bell tolls at noon, all dressed in their finest black attire. Some of Cordelia’s former students, such as Coco and Queenie, refuse to look their disgraced Supreme in the eyes. Whether it’s because they can’t bear to face the thought of possible betrayal or because they won’t look at someone who attempted to murder one of her ‘girls’ in cold blood, Cordelia can’t be sure. Other students, like Madison, stare smugly, triumphantly at Cordelia. Still others, like Mallory (sweet Mallory, who was supposed to be the one to save the world, to defeat the great evil that is Michael Langdon), look at Cordelia, but only hesitantly and when she thinks nobody’s looking. The idle chatter of those who will observe the executions stops, and Cordelia knows that can only mean one thing: the Antichrist has arrived.

Cordelia senses him before she sees him, can feel the heavy air that accompanies his presence. If she listens closely, she swears that she can hear the agonized screams of souls being tortured in Hell with every step the son of the Devil takes. When she does see him, she has to fight to stop the shudder that threatens to wrack through her body.

Michael Langdon makes his triumphant entrance clad in all the finery that one would expect the ‘king’ (Cordelia refuses to actually refer to him as such) of this Hell on Earth to have available to him. His red suit jacket and black shirt give Cordelia an odd sense of deja vu, but she’s not sure where it comes from. The luxurious red-lined black cloak that’s draped over his shoulders is fastened with two ornate pentagrams, the silver perfectly contrasting the onyx crown that sits atop his golden locks. His bright blue eyes, only accentuated more with the deep red eyeshadow that highlights his inner eyelid, twinkle with mirth as his full lips pull up into a smirk.

Michael takes his time swaggering up to his chosen position in front of Cordelia, standing mere feet away from her. She wants to punch him, kick him, scratch him, hurt him, but she can’t. Even if she could free herself, it would be impossible for her to use her magic. She hasn’t been able to use her magic since the night she was imprisoned, Michael locking up her abilities just like she had been planning to lock up (Y/N)’s soul.

Idly, Cordelia wonders what’s become of you. She had managed to get the knife in deep enough that you were bleeding pretty heavily; maybe Michael was too late? She doubts it, but she doesn’t see you, which gives her hope. Surely, if you were alive, you would be right by Michael’s side as his ‘queen.’ There’s no way that he wouldn’t take the chance to rub it in her face that she failed.

“Myrtle Snow,” Michael says teasingly, relishing in the sweet taste of victory, “Cordelia Goode. For the attempted murder of your queen and fellow witch, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), and conspiring to commit treason against the new world, I, Michael Langdon, Antichrist and king of this new world, sentence you to death by fire.”

Two of the guards pick up cans of gasoline, emptying them onto the condemned women. Cordelia coughs and sputters as some of the gasoline gets into her mouth, but Myrtle refuses to even look down at them.

“Our people have long stood by an agreement that no warlock...or other male magic user,” Michael smirks, knowing as well as everybody that he’s no ordinary warlock, “may kill a condemned witch. Only your sister may light the flame. I do not intend to break with that tradition today.”

Bitterly, Cordelia realizes that he’s reciting the speech she had given before the attempted execution of Ms. Mead. She looks expectantly at Mallory, assuming that the girl she’s trained to become the Supreme will light the flame that consumes her.

That assumption goes flying out the window the moment that you appear via transmutation, your darkly-painted lips turned up in a sickeningly misleading smile. Your black dress, long and form-fitting, flows behind you in the wind as you take Michael’s outstretched hand. A matching black crown, daintier than Michael’s, is perfectly placed on your head. You look everything like the queen Michael has proclaimed you to be, and Cordelia notices with a sinking stomach that the power seems to almost visibly spark and crackle around you.

“I’ll allow you to do the honors,” Michael says softly to you, stroking the hair that surrounds your face and smiling at the sight of you in a crown.

“Are you sure? I know you’ve been waiting years for this.” It’s not that you’re hesitant; actually, you’d be more than happy to end the life of the woman who’s manipulated and ruined your life for the past five (has it been five? It could be less, but it’s felt like a lifetime has passed since that day Michael stormed into Miss Robichaux’s with an AI machine gun). You’re worried that you’re stealing Michael’s magnum opus right out from under him, the thought of which you almost can’t bear.

Michael, sensing your unease at possibly upsetting him, smiles reassuringly. “Nothing would give me greater joy than seeing you, my dear, take what’s yours.” With that, you nod and turn your gaze back to the two women in front of you.

Myrtle Snow can see the fire building in your eyes even before it begins to catch on the gasoline that she’s bathed in. You shoot her a pitying look, “don’t worry. Your death will be quick compared to Cordelia’s.” With only a tilt of your head, the fire quickly starts.

Myrtle’s screams echo across the sparse landscape, neither you nor Michael making a move for Cordelia until long after the red-haired witch has become merely a smoldering pile of remains. You both want to be absolutely sure that Cordelia feels the enormity of her looming death.

“As for you, Miss Cordelia,” you spit vehemently before flicking your wrist. Immediately, the Supreme cries out in agony. It feels as if the blood in her body has been replaced with molten-hot lava, a torturous heat coursing through her veins. If your power’s anywhere close to what she believes it to be, then she wouldn’t be surprised if that’s actually the case. “You’ve spent years dictating how my life plays out. You prevented me from seeing the love of my life, attempted to have my memory wiped, and not to mention the time that you almost killed me.”

“Everything I did, I did for your benefit!” Cordelia calls out, screaming when she feels deep cuts spontaneously open on the soles of her feet. With no way to sit or relieve the pressure, she’s forced to stand and exacerbate the wounds.

“No, everything you did was for your benefit.” You stalk closer to the stake, Michael more than happy to let you have your moment. “I used to idolize you, you know? You were everything I hoped to become. And then I saw you for what you truly are: no better than your greedy, vain, power-hungry, bitch of a mother.”

“You can’t kill me,” Cordelia starts to laugh, “I’m your Supreme, you insolent girl. Do you truly believe that the coven will let you get away with this?”

“We already have,” Michael says haughtily from behind you. “Look around you, Cordelia. Your ‘coven’ has long-since accepted their places in this new world order: as our loyal subjects.”

“You attempted to murder one of your own. Who’s to say that you wouldn’t do the same to any of them?” You shoot a false-sympathetic look at Cordelia, almost pitying her for her naivety towards this situation.

Cordelia looks around, sure that, at any moment, her girls will rise up and free her. Surely, this must be some elaborate ruse, some long-conceived plan to save their Supreme? All Cordelia finds in the faces of the girls she once called ‘hers,’ however, is varying looks of disdain, apathy, and disgust.

A whine slips past her lips before she can catch it, and she closes her eyes tightly to avoid seeing the faces of those she once mentored as she’s burned alive. Her eyes are, of course, then forced open by your magic. She can’t even look away from you, frozen on your face as you smile softly and lean in so you’re mere inches away from her.

“I want my face to be the only thing you see as you die,” your voice drops to nearly a whisper, your smirk evident as you back up and rejoin hands with Michael. You hold up your hand, poised to snap into existence the spark that will end Cordelia’s life. “Anything else to add?”

“Mallory will put an end to this. When I die, she’ll assume the role of Supreme and rise to her destiny, which is to defeat the Antichrist,” Cordelia spits. To her shock, your laugh peals through the air.

“You really haven’t figured it out? I am the next Supreme. I would have thought that the raw power flowing off of me was enough of a clue, but I guess not,” you shrug. “And I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Michael.”

“I do have one other thing to add, my love.” Michael smiles at you, before resuming his stone-cold demeanor to face Cordelia. “Give my regards to my father.”

The snap of your fingers seems to reverberate across the plane, Cordelia’s wailing following soon after. You can both feel it the moment her soul leaves her body, only yours is due to the influx of powers as one Supreme falls and another rises. Michael catches you in his arms as your knees buckle, your nose bleeding as your body taking a moment to get used to the immense power that flows through your veins. Michael smiles reassuringly when you look up at him, kissing you and taking pleasure in licking the blood off of your lips.

“Are you okay?” Michael asks.

“I wanna leave,” you mutter, eyes conveying just how difficult it’s been for you to put up this facade.

“Okay, let’s get out of here.” Michael would move the stars for you if asked, so fulfilling your request to leave this environment is far-too easy. With a curt nod to some of his followers, conveying that it’s their job to see the execution through, Michael takes your hand and disappears with you.

Michael doesn’t bring up the day’s events until much later, when you’ve both had a chance to decompress back home at the Sanctuary. You’re sitting at a vanity in the corner of your room, combing through your hair after your shower. When Michael comes in, holding two glasses of what you assume to be celebratory champagne, you smile.

“Hi,” you say quietly, turning your head to kiss him.

“Hi. I’m sorry about today.” You can hear the pain in his voice, and you frown.

“Don’t be, I’m the one who asked if I could do it.”

“Still, I should have known that this naturally would have been difficult for you.” Michael grabs your hand, pulling you up from your seat so that he can be sure you’re listening. “I’m proud of you, though.”

You can’t help but to scoff. “For what? Killing people?”

“No,” he says patiently, “for facing your demons.”

“Cordelia wasn’t--” even after all she’s put you through, you still find yourself automatically jumping to her defense. “How do you do it so effortlessly? Even in the Outpost, when I killed Ms. Venable, I still felt bad. She had done nothing but abuse me for eighteen months, and yet I was remorseful after I snapped her neck.”

“It’s because you have a conscience. You have a soul, that’s so bright and beautiful and complicated and you. Killing, my love, isn’t in your nature. Of course, you can do it when need be, but you’re not a monster like I am.”

“Don’t,” you say sternly, “you know I hate when you call yourself that.”

“Is it not true?” Michael retorts. “I’m a killer, (Y/N). I kill these people, and I feel nothing. Maybe some relief, or a sense of satisfaction, but nothing more. I killed almost all of the world’s population without blinking an eye, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. That’s what makes us so different.”

“But it’s also why we work so well together, isn’t it?” Taking the glasses of champagne from him, you place them on the table as his hands go to your hips.

“It’s why you’re my queen,” Michael concurs. A smirk spreads on your face, all thoughts of death and destruction gone in a mere second.

“Mhm, say it again?”

“My queen. My sweet, beautiful queen whom I adore to Hell and back again.” You giggle as Michael sweeps you into his arms, tossing you on the bed. “Nothing can harm us now, my queen. We’re unstoppable together.”

“We’ve conquered every obstacle we’ve faced, and we’ll continue to do so”

Michael begins to crawl towards you. “We won. This world is ours now, to see to it as we please.”

“There’s only one thing I want to see to right now,” you say suggestively, leaning back on your arms as he begins to lay over you.

“Why, you couldn’t be insinuating what I believe you are?” Michael says in mock-shock, and you bite your lip.

“Maybe...we christen this bed?” Michael’s lips finally meet yours, both of you humming contentedly.

“And after that, we christen the bathroom, and the other bedrooms, and my office…” With each new location, he kisses a different part of your face.

“The kitchen, and maybe the balcony as well,” you suggest, earning a kiss to your cleavage.

“Excellent ideas, but I feel as if those locales will have to wait for tomorrow.”

“Shame,” you muse quietly, allowing Michael to start tugging your dress off.

“A true shame,” Michael agrees lowly, nearly ripping your dress off of your body. In this moment, as you’re here with Michael and with no responsibilities, is one you’d like to bottle up and capture forever. “First…”

He gets up from the bed, leaving you frowning as he grabs the forgotten glasses of champagne and hands one to you.

“Setting the mood?” you tease.

“I believe a celebratory toast is in order.” Michael raises his glass, trying to think of a proper toast for this occasion. “To…”

“To…” you murmur as well, thinking for a moment. “To us, and the rest of our forever.” Michael nods, his wide smile making it almost impossible to kiss you.

“To the rest of our forever.”

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curserp · 4 years

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below the cut you can find the accepted characters from this round of applications ! all of these were INCREDIBLY difficult decisions for me to make, and every single app i read clearly had so much love and care put into it, and even though the choices were hard, i feel lucky that i got to make them at all !

to those listed below, please complete everything on the checklist page--- you have 24 hours to contact the main, but if you need more time, please let me know !

congratulations, JAMES “JJ” PALMER ! your curse has been successfully registered as #0272463 / ARACHNE !

when you feed a person’s ego so constantly of course they’ll become engorged and drunk on their own greatness. she’s only parroting what she’s been told, how can she be wrong for it ?

jj is exactly everything i was looking for with arachne. her struggle between power and pride is so evident, and it’s that fatal flaw that drew me to her--- she’s brilliant, dangerously so, and it makes sense as to why the gods feared her as they did. jj is smart, and she’s strong, and i can’t wait to see how she weathers everything that’s coming for her.

congratulations, LOURDES CLEMONTE ! your curse has been successfully registered as #0276372 / CASSANDRA !

the problem is, she will never be full so long as she continues to slice herself straight down the middle and allow everyone else to feast.

cassandra was one of the hardest decisions i had to make, but i just kept coming back to lourdes. your app was straight up art, and i’m in awe of how you’ve created her. she’s exactly the right sort i wanted for cassandra ; part tragedy, part unjust fates, part inevitability, and i got so caught up on her backstory that i forgot i was only reading an application.

congratulations, FRANCES “FRANKIE” RAMONA MARTINEZ ! your curse has been successfully registered as #0323357 / DAEDALUS !

you didn’t need them anyways. you were fine on your own. you had your own puzzles to solve, your own discoveries to make. you didn’t need anything else.

frankie took daedalus in a direction i wasn’t expecting, and for that i am honestly thankful. her story of loss makes perfect sense for this skeleton, and i loved your incorporation of the database into her life ; even here, now, she’s being used for her abilities in the way she’s grown used to. she incapsulates her curse and its classification so well, the echoes of loss all through her app, and i’m interested to see how she handles it all as she is brought in with the others.

congratulations, ISABELLA “ELLA” ABRUZZO ! your curse has been successfully registered as #0043536 / HELEN !

it was as if you’d been born amidst a storm, and ever since then, you were housing an unparalleled hunger for something you couldn’t have.

helen was one of the skeletons i was worried about, because even i wasn’t sure how they could be properly adapted into the right character, but you showed me right up. ella’s app is perfect, and as i was reading it i suddenly found myself wondering how i could have thought of helen in any other way. she’s got a multifaceted way about her that just works, and i can understand each choice she made, even as she ran--- she got stuck in my head, and i’m so excited to see more from her.

congratulations, CASPIAN BARDOT ! your curse has been successfully registered as #0052766 / JASON !

those who call you a traitor, cold, ruthless, are left behind in the wake of your victories, returning triumphant with your golden fleece in hand every single time. this may be the story of your victories, but make no mistake: it is also the mourning song of those left in your wake.

jason was a tricky one, for me. there’s this balance of heroism and ruthlessness, valiance and brutality, and caspian stuck that divide well. he’s lost plenty, and will likely lose more--- as is often the fate of a hero ---but still he’s fighting, keeping his head above water despite it all. i was worried i would find myself unsympathetic towards the jason skeleton, but caspian showed me otherwise. now i’m just curious to see how he’ll carry it all going forward !

congratulations, JANUARY ST. JAMES ! your curse has been successfully registered as #0063332 / MEDEA !

he promised you so much, the sun, the moon and the stars, if you would be his willing knife, and once he had no more need of knives and spells and war, he turned his back on the lowly desolate thing that had held onto him.

january blew me away, honestly. medea could have so easily been one-note, and yet you brought out a dynamic to her that had me rereading her story more than once. she feels very real to me, especially in all the care and additions to her app that really made her stand out--- even your take on a few of her connections had me excited to see where she’d go. january could take her curse, her future, in so many different directions, and i’m so interested to watch her do so.

congratulations, MERCY JONES ! your curse has been successfully registered as #0064327 / MIDAS !

tears in your mouth, you’d come to realize that besides ugly, the doll that had followed you from the shoebox to each and every monster house, you hadn’t a thing in the world that was yours. except your ambition. and you kept your ambition in a stash behind the pillows.

i adore mercy, and isn’t that just exactly fitting. your golden girl jumped out at me, from her origin to her prayers for a curse to her current handling of it all. her curse came to her not out of sheer greed, but desperation and some thoughtlessness, and the gods played a trick on her for it. she’s not selfish, in the expected way of the word--- just hungry, and wanting more. she’s so different than any other character i saw, and that’s perfect for midas.

congratulations, ADELAIDE WU ! your curse has been successfully registered as #0067466 / ORION !

maybe one day you’ll feel like a nebula once more, but for now you are a meteor, aimlessly floating in space, with nothing to do but sit and watch the way the moon is forced to surrender to the sun.

as you mentioned in your app, people have always loved the story of orion and it’s earned something of a cult following, and i can understand why, now. adelaide’s love story is inherently tragic, as any involving the gods will be, yet i never found myself thinking of her as foolish--- her whole story leads into her eventual affection for artemis, and i couldn’t help but root for them even though i know they’re both doomed--- and i’m curious to see how she manages this eventuality with artemis.

congratulations, THADDEUS BAILEY ! your curse has been successfully registered as #0072747 / PARIS !

thaddeus couldn’t control himself at all ; it just kept pouring out of him, and all he could do was let it. he left the building alive, covered in soot, knowing that he was responsible for his family’s destruction. alone, again. a killer.

paris was a tough call to make. thaddeus was unexpected to me, and at first i was hesitant, but the further i got into his app the more i fell in love with him. him being something of a plaything to hera, her using both him and his father, fit paris perfectly, and it makes thaddeus understandable to me--- he’s not a bad person, just dangerous, and confused, and used. i can’t wait to see his story unfold even further into this new chapter !

congratulations, SAINT GRAVES ! your curse has been successfully registered as #0777387 / PERSEUS !

in legends, heroes are often killers, and you are not exempt. not many people understand the toll that so much blood on your hands takes on you, even if it is the blood of monsters. it takes a monster to kill a monster : it’s what you see in the mirror, and no matter how many beg to differ, your curse is fact.

aside from cassandra, perseus was my most difficult decision, but i just couldn’t shake saint. his app was clean, well thought out, and i felt like i was reading a myth of his own. he suits perseus perfectly, which is honestly bad news for him, but made for such a compelling read, tragic as it was--- and i’m excited to see how he carries his fate into his future.

#curseadmin #accepted.

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meatclowntv · 4 years

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Fallout 4 OC BIO

Desmond

Tw: Mentions Animal violence, a bit of gore, blood, mentions of bulling, mentions of abuse, Mentions of suicide,

Basic Info:

Birth Name: Desmond

Gender: Male

Age(Before the war): 27

Race: Caucasian Human

Sexuality: Pansexual

Religion: N/A

Appearance:

Hair: Originally Pale White due to him being albino, however sometimes(especially when he was younger) dyes his hair black to fit in with a crowd.

Skin Tone: Pale White, this is also due to him being albino...

Eye Color: Red

Scars: Has had a lot of physical scars but most of them have already healed or aren’t than notable but, he does like to stitch his neck for cosmetic reasons to I guess that could count

Height: 5’5

Weight: 119 Ibs

(Current)SPECIAL:

Strength: 4

Perception: 2

Endurance: 9

Charisma: 10

Agility: 6

Luck: 2

Top 5 Favorite Perks:

Cannibal

Big Leagues

Sneak

Intimidation

Bloody Mess

Likes:

His (dead) wife(He doesn’t just like his wife but his wife is one and probably is his favorite person in the whole world and was the only reason he lived for awhile..) Melee Weapons, Meat(sense it’s one of the only things he like to eat), Dogs, The Institute mostly because of his son.

Dislikes:

The BOS, The Railroad, Anything that tastes too sweet, Guns(He just doesn’t like using them in a fight), The Sun due to his skin being sensitive to the sun, Not feeling in control, Showing ��unwanted emotions”.

Combat Style:

Style 1:

He Likes to sneak from behind while they aren’t looking and stab them with a knife(preferably the Sacrificial Blade or Pickmans Blade) while they aren’t looking

Style 2:

If Style 1 doesn’t work, he’ll attempt to kill them with absolute brute force and a knife by slicing them or bashing them in the head with a Swatter as much as they can. He doesn’t mind this option though.

Style 3:

If all else fails he’ll basically take a hit of psycho and beat the ever loving life out of the opponent in any way they can, if that means using a Fat Man, so be it. This isn’t his favorite way of fighting, but this will have to do for him.

Strengths:

Creative, Decisive, Determined, Passionate, Slow to Anger, Subtle, Skillful, Sociable

Flaws:

Extremely Private, Perfectionist, Always needs to have a cause, Can burn out easily, Somewhat sensitive, Manipulative, Cryptic, Ruthless, Slightly has a lack of emotions

Backstory:

Сhildhood:

Desmond’s Child hood was absolute hell to be completely honest with you, that’s how he viewed it at least, one overly sensitive and abusive father who always had a gun when he slept, a mother who neglected him every moment unless he was in trouble, his Older brother named Michael, who Desmond viewed as a coward, a pathetic coward that never helped him, and lastly Michael’s dog Rex. He looked so much different from the rest of his family due to him being albino and everyone else being blonde or brunette.. He was bullied somewhat but not a lot. No one really payed any attention to him and viewed him as that one kid who doesn’t like to talk, and that was the case. But he started to grow violent because of the constant neglect and abuse he’d endure when he was at home, this led to taking his violent needs out on small animals like squirrels and insects. One day however, when he was on the swing set of his elementary schools playground, crying, a girl sat next to him and asked him if he was okay. Desmond has never met such a beautiful person before. That’s when their relationship started to flourish. He found out her name was Nora, a blind girl who lived in the rich house down the street. She loved to listen to music. Desmond would alway help her if she needed any help getting around the elementary school or if she needed anything. This would continue onward and even their adult years.

Teen Years:

His Teen years we’re probably his worst yet best years of his life. Unlike his childhood years, his teen years had a lot of good in them to out way the bad parts. When he was in Middle school he was bullied quite more than in elementary school, he was beaten by his peers sometimes and locked in his very own locker, but to everyone’s surprise, he’d still keep that stupid yet creepy smile on his face even when he was bullied at school and harassed at home, this changed when his brother Michael and his “friends” (who are in high school) harassed Nora and pushed her around, but Desmond saw it all, and went to go help her as soon as he could. She told him about how they grab at her and called her horrible names that she didn’t want to say aloud, she stared to weep but Desmond held her tight and told her this wouldn’t happen again. This gave him a sickening plan... In the morning, two days after the incident, Michael woke up to see his dad was off to work as well as his mother, but Rex was no where to be found, he looked everywhere to find no trace of him, until he found his collar on the end of his bed side table, that’s when the stench began to grow from his old play toat that used to be filled toys. He hesitantly opens in, and to his absolute horror, the toat that was once filled with toys, was now filled with the rotting carcass of his beloved dog Rex.. He screamed in frightened horror and shock and that’s when Desmond walked in with that shit eating smile, Michael looked at him and the only thing that could come out of his lips we’re, “did..did you-?”. He pointed at his dog. Desmond responded with a yes and walked away. His parents soon found out and called the cops, but the cops didn’t have any evidence to point it to Desmond, this was because He already got rid of the evidence a long time ago. He got his revenge. This was, however, only one of many of his murders. In high school, Desmond started to dye his hair black to fit in with the others, this is also when Nora and him started getting in to a romantic relationship. This didn’t change the fact he still had his violent tendencies that grew in the passing days, he kept them under wrap sense he didn’t want the only person he truly cared about to leave him. He was liked at school and was some what respected by his peers for not being afraid to tell off a teacher or beat the snot some big jock who didn’t know when to shut up. He was the smartest person in the world and he would get in trouble from time to time, but besides that he was an average student to most of the teachers. In senior year he wanted to celebrate in the biggest way possible, he proposed to Nora when he was signing up to go to the military in which Nora started to cry happily as she nodded in pure excitement. They held each other for awhile. Now for his final step. He planned this for weeks, months and even years! And he finally got it set up, for the grand finale of his fathers life. It was late at night, his mother was out doing something with her gal pals, while her husband was tied to the bed by his most hated son. He successfully drugged his fathers alcohol. His father was stricken in fear, while Desmond started to laugh at him, reminding him in excruciating detail of how much he hurt Desmond, how much he suffered throughout his entire childhood and became “violent” in the process and telling him that this was all his fault he was in this position. His father yelled at him and told Desmond to shut up and to untie him before he’d kill Desmond, in turn, Desmond grabs the pistol from his dads side table in the room and shot him repeatedly in the head until he finally died. He got rid of the evidence, called the police and got the scene all set up. In the end, the police couldn’t blame Desmond for the crime, and blamed it on a drunken suicide attempt the ultimatly succeeded. His mother wept and cried saying it was all Desmond but the cops repeatedly said it couldn’t have been him. Desmond moved out shortly after to live with his future wife Nora in her house while he got ready to go join the military.

Adult Years:

In his adult years Desmond became married to Nora and a soldier in the war, while his wife was doing her job while pregnant with Shaun, his part took awhile to get done with and it got all of the violent feelings out of him, he went back home when he was aloud to and he was ecstatic to find out she was okay and Shaun was to. After Nora gave Birth two days after he felt so over joyed and cried happy tears for the first time in his life. He took really good care of them and did whatever he could to make them happy. He was finally just absolutely happy for the first time in his life with a family he can finally call his own. That all changed when the bombs fell.. He quickly grabbed Nora and Shaun and ran to the vault, not caring about anyone else but them. He couldn’t lose any of them. He just couldn’t. However they made it inside of the vault, he held Nora tightly in his arms like his life depended on it. Nora told him she was okay and told him not to worry, it wasn’t like she was going anywhere anytime soon. They soon grabbed their vault suits and headed to the cryochambers, he gave Shaun and Nora a goodbye hug and hoped that he would be able to see them soon once he was let out of his Cryo Chamber. He did, yes, but not in the way he wanted... As his Cryo Chamber thawed out, he witnessed this strange man start to take his son away, Desmond started banging on the Cryo Chamber he was stuck in, Nora struggled to let Shaun go, but in the end, the man put a bullet in her head. Desmond screamed in agony and started to punch the Cryo Chamber harder, and harder. But then he was frozen again. Once he was let out, not knowing or caring how long it’s been, he rushes to Noras Cryo Chamber and rapidly presses the button, she falls limp onto the floor. He immediately falls to the ground and hold her tightly not wanting to let go, not wanting to believe she was actually dead, the first and only person who gave him happiness who always longed for, gone, dead, he hesitantly let’s go of her, taking the ring off her finger, he kisses her goodbye and promises her he’ll find Shaun, he WILL find Shaun. He clutches the ring growing angry. Not looking back, he walks off to start his rampage across the Commonwealth, and no one will get in his way.

#fallout sole survivor #fallout 4 oc #fallout oc #fallout 4

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malumsmermaid · 5 years

Text

Redemption

Here it finally is, the conclusion of the universe I accidentally created.

If you haven’t been in on this universe read the first two parts of this beautiful accident:

Part One: Toxic Valentine* (Demon!Ashton)

Part Two: Attachments (Demon!Calum)

It’s a long one, strap in.

Word Count: 11,345

Warnings: None

Squeals echoed off the walls of Calum’s large house. They were followed by a thud as Calum rolled off of the couch, hitting the floor, his eyes crinkled up as he laughed, curling up as his girlfriend leaped off of the couch, running through his house, the blue Maine shirt that had previously been pushed up to expose her stomach to him now falling back down around her thighs. Duke hopped off the couch and took off after Rose, the hellhound just as enamored with his new mom as his demon father was.

Calum finally managed to push himself back to his feet, wiping the tears that his laughter had caused to fill his eyes away. His lips were still buzzing from the raspberries he’d been blowing on Rose’s belly and he chuckled to himself, fixing his sweatpants back over his hips before spreading his arms out, eyes closing as he scanned the house for where Rose and Duke had disappeared to. He smiled, finding them and quietly appearing in the room, right behind Rose.

She jumped slightly when his arms wrapped around her, his head finding home in the crook of her neck. She could feel him smiling against her skin, enjoying that he could still startle her occasionally, even after ten months officially together.

The ghost hunter sighed as her demon began gently kissing over the trail of love bites he’d left when she came home the night before, done filming the latest season of her show. Her team had learned about her relationship with Calum, the demon they’d met fifteen months ago now, while they were filming. Calum knew what locations they were going to and his job intersected with their’s one night, so he made good on his earlier promise to show up from time to time, helping to activate some of the spirits in the building with his own energy.

“Hey sweetheart,” the ovilus had droned as soon as Calum entered the room where his girlfriend was investigating with Violet.

“I thought you didn’t have the ovilus on?” Violet asked, wide eyed as she looked around the otherwise empty room.

Rose shook her head, leaning back slightly into the presence she was feeling begin to manifest around her, having a pretty good sense as to who it probably was. Sure enough, Calum appeared behind her, arms already around her waist. His eyes glowed fiery orange in the dark room as he cast his gaze to Violet, “Hi there.” He stated simply, smiling at the dark haired woman who instinctively backed away from him. He chuckled darkly before looking down at Rose, “Why’s your friend still scared of me? They still not know?”

Violet’s eyes cast up and down between Calum’s smiling face and Rose’s content one as she seemed to settle further into Calum’s chest. Her face shifted from fear to shock as she took in the couple, jaw practically touching the floor. Rose’s cheeks began to turn to match her bright red hair, hand gently grasping Calum’s arm that was around her waist as her gaze hit the ground, waiting for Violet to say something, but the usually talkative brunette was at a loss for words. Her grip on her camera loosened, the device nearly dropping, but Calum slowed its descent, instead placing it on a rickety old table in the corner.

He licked his lips slowly, scanning the room before saying, “Just letting you know I’m here. I’m going to go stir some things up for you now. Talk to you later.” Calum pressed his lips to the top of Rose’s head before disappearing.

Once the sun had begun to rise and the crew was finishing packing up all their equipment, Calum reappeared, walking over to his girlfriend of almost seven months, wrapping himself up in her arms with a sigh, it’d only been three weeks since she’d left to begin filming but he had missed her, being happy when he realized his latest assignment intersected with her travels. He hadn’t been able to tell her he was coming, Rose not particularly fond of all of Calum’s demon antics. But she did understand that he couldn’t not do his job. She sighed against his warm chest before looking up at him, “You here for work or did you just miss me?” She teased, fingers combing through the dark hair he’d been letting grow out.

“Both,” the demon admitted with a grin, leaning down to peck her lips.

Their bubble was burst as Violet cleared her throat, the rest of the ghost hunting crew staring at the couple, “You two have a lot of explaining to do.”

Calum was broken from his reverie at the sound of something in the kitchen. He pulled away, brows furrowing as Duke scampered out of the room and towards the noise. “Wait here.” He stated, giving Rose a gentle kiss before summoning his obsidian dagger, concern filling his face.

He’d started worrying about his relationship being discovered by other demons two months earlier, when they hit a year since the first time he’d run into Rose following their chance meeting on one of her shoots. It had taken him four months after their first tryst to admit to himself that what he felt for her was more than physical, tangled together in Rose’s sheets, her bright hair spread over his chest as she slept.

Demons weren’t supposed to have soft spots for anyone or anything but in the past fifty years, Calum had gained several. Fortunately those soft spots were two angels, another demon, and a hellhound, beings that could stand up against other demons coming after them, if they dared to do so. But now he had Rose, and she definitely couldn’t stand up to a demon who actually wanted to cause harm to her. So he crept down the staircase, holding his dagger in front of him as he scanned his surroundings. He looked down into the kitchen from between the railings and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Ashton, Angel, and Michael leaning against the counters, Luke’s large frame hidden by the refrigerator door.

He vanished the blade in his hand, turning around to inform Rose that it was safe, having voiced his fears to her late one night in her hotel room while she was still away. The couple made their way to join the four beings in their kitchen, seeing Duke encased in Ashton’s arms as he pet the hellhound. Angel smiled when they spotted the pair, bouncing over to wrap Rose in a hug.

“Glad to see you’ve put that knife away.” Michael stated, making his way into the living room, “You worried about something?”

“You’d be worried too if you heard someone banging around in your kitchen.” Calum replied, but the serious look Michael gave him in return told him that the angel wasn’t teasing him.

Calum finally actually looked over at Ashton, and saw that the older demon, who Calum sought out for level-headed advice when he needed it, looked extremely disheveled. His shirt was rumpled and there were small cuts littering his arms and cheeks. He was scanning the room, hazel eyes wide and cradling Duke and leaning on his angel like they were the only things keeping him tethered to the world. Calum let out a breath, only one thing could make Ashton look that shaken, and it was clear that what Calum feared was beginning to happen. The demon cast his gaze to Rose, standing next to Luke, her own eyes wide as she met Calum’s gaze. Calum nodded, “Yeah, I am worried.”

The six of them all gathered on Calum’s couches after he snapped his fingers, closing all the curtains in the house, which seemed to help calm Ashton a bit. Calum wrapped his arms around Rose, holding her close as he made eye contact with Ashton, asking simply, “What happened?”

Ashton sighed, nuzzling closer to Angel as Duke went to lay in the empty spot between him and Calum. They gave his hand a gentle squeeze and he nodded, beginning his story.

“Angel and I were coming back from breakfast and they were waiting for us. Well, they were waiting for me I guess. Said as soon as they saw us walking up to my house, ‘We were coming to check up on why you and Hood have been slacking off, figured if we went to you first it’d remedy him, but it appears that the problem is much bigger than we could’ve anticipated.’

So they took out their swords and I pushed Angel back and told them to get out of there and we started fighting. It was two on one but I managed to get rid of them both and now I’m afraid that I may have made the problem bigger than it originally was.” Calum nodded slowly, eyes taking in the wounds on Ashton’s skin. Angel was gently running their hands over his arm, muttering quiet incantations. Calum hummed, he’d known the sting of another demon’s blade several times before, and though he didn’t see what Ashton had looked like immediately after the fight, those wounds weren’t meant to heal as quickly as a normal wound would. He also had seen Ashton in a fight, so he knew that the demon hadn’t had any concern for himself as he fought off the other two, meaning he’d probably been pretty beaten up at the end, it had probably taken all three angels in the room to make his wounds appear only to be superficial cuts, something that Ashton would have normally healed from in a minute.

Rose and Michael seemed to share a look as Calum let out a sigh, shifting Rose out of his lap. “Ash, I’m gonna get you a new shirt to wear ok?”

Ashton only nodded slightly in response, his hand overtaking one of Angel’s, the two of them whispering back and forth, Angel’s face full of concern for their demon. Calum walked back upstairs to his bedroom, Michael quietly following behind him while Luke stayed to keep watch over the living room. Michael shut the bedroom door and gently grasped Calum’s shoulder as he stopped in the middle of his room. “This is exactly what you were worried about when you heard us appear inside without knowing it was us, isn’t it?” Michael asked, feeling the demon’s shoulders shake under his touch.

Calum nodded slowly, letting out a heavy breath through his nose as he tried to keep himself in check. “Does Rose know?” Michael asked, before tacking on, “That we startled you when we came in and that you’re worried about something happening to either of you?”

Calum sighed, turning to face Michael. “I told Rose that I was worried that someone would come after us a week after the thought crept into my head two months ago. We were both rattled when we heard you guys come in and bang around my kitchen. I told her to stay up here while I went to check it out. You know we’re not supposed to have soft spots for anyone or anything and I’ve got so many. First it was Duke and Ashton, then you and Luke, and now there’s Angel and Rose in there too and Rose is the only one on that list who can’t fend off a demon with ill intent without serious harm coming to her. So fuck yeah I’ve been worried and now that it seems to be coming to be true I’m scared. I don’t want to lose Rose.”

Calum stepped away from Michael’s hand, steadying himself as he made his way over to his closet, finding a shirt that Ashton could change into before speaking again. “Ashton’s lucky, his partner can actually defend themself against an attack from other demons, but I get why he wanted them to get away from the fight. It wasn’t just so he could protect them from the other demons, it was to keep Angel from seeing him like that, y’know what I mean, Mike? We’ve seen him fight, both with and without someone to protect. I wouldn’t want Rose to see me fight like that either.”

Michael nodded slowly, staying still in his spot as Calum shook his head and made his way back downstairs. Luke and Rose were talking quietly while Ashton leaned on Angel, eyes closed while they ran their fingers through his hair. Calum placed his hand on his best friend’s shoulder, handing him the shirt he’d retrieved before turning to look at Luke, the oldest being in the room, just beating out Angel and Ashton. Michael was only a few years older than Ashton, as far as Calum had figured in the years he’d known the angel, making Calum the youngest supernatural being in the room. Calum took a deep breath and started, “So, what’re we gonna do? I’ve told Mike and Rose that I’m scared of exactly this happening, demons seeing me out with my girl and using it against me for any reason. Do you have a plan Luke?” The blonde angel hummed, eyebrows creased as he asked, “Why do you think I have a plan?”

Calum’s jaw dropped, stunned by Luke’s question. “Well, I figured, since you’re the oldest and you’ve said that Ash and I aren’t the first demons you’ve befriended, maybe you’d have seen something like this happen before.”

If possible, Luke looked even more shocked than Calum just had, pausing to collect himself before stammering, “I mean, yeah I’ve known other demons and all, but I’m not the oldest Michael is…wait, did we never tell you?”

“Tell us what?” Ashton almost yelled into the quiet room, looking between the two angels, Angel doing their best to keep him from launching off the couch in search of answers.

Michael hummed, rising from his seat, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. His wings appeared behind him and he spread them to their full span, pure black ravens feathers gleaming under the lights. The two demons just stared, eyebrows raised, they had both seen angels with wings that weren’t necessarily the pure white dove wings that Luke and Angel had, and although Michael was the only angel they’d met with ravens wings, the two had never thought to question it. The angel sighed, folding his wings back closer to his body, fingers reaching out to fidget with a few of the black feathers, “Neither of you have ever wondered why my wings are so different from other angels you’ve seen?”

Calum and Ashton shook their heads while Rose just stared at Michael, having never seen any of the angels show off their wings. Michael smiled at her before sitting back down, repositioning his glasses before beginning to explain.

“So, when I became an angel, I chose these wings to remind me of where I came from, so I could never forget about my past.”

Ashton and Calum continued to stare, Rose leaning forward slightly in Calum’s lap, already invested in discovering where this was going. Michael rolled his eyes at the two demons before continuing.

“So, it started a little over 500 years ago, I got assigned to work with Luke on something. After that ended, much like 50 years ago when Lu and I worked with you two, our perfect little angel boy had gained his first demon friend.” Finally, Michael had gotten the reaction he was waiting for, Ashton and Calum’s jaws dropping and both demons babbling as they tried to figure out how this had never come up in the past 50 years. Michael’s green eyes gleamed and his wings fluttered as he took in their reaction, grin spreading over his face as he now knew that his two friends were sucked in, Angel even looking shocked as they turned their attention away from Ashton for the first time since Calum and Rose had first come downstairs. Michael finally held his hand out to silence the two demons so he could continue.

“We were friends for about 75, maybe 100 years when I came to Luke with some concerns I was having about things going on in hell at the time. I couldn’t complain to any of my superiors about those things to see if they could take it higher up the chain because, well, I only had one superior and he was the top of the chain.

I was hell’s lieutenant, and I worked hard to keep my title unquestioned and unchanged. That mindset changed after I met Luke, partly because the king was not happy that it had even been considered that angels and demons should work together and began changing things up. As I continued to meet up with Luke I realized that, not only did I not like these new policies, but I also didn’t like some of the practices that I had enforced, or the things that I had done in order to become the lieutenant.

Luke got back to me a couple months later. He had been doing some research and had discovered a scroll with instructions on how a demon could become redeemed. We both poured over it for hours and I decided that it was what I really wanted. It takes a week, and we need somewhere that the demons looking for you two wouldn’t know about where you can both lay low, that is, if you both want to do it. I can guarantee you, like we’ve been saying for 23 years now, you’re both beyond eligible for it.”

The room fell quiet and the two demons looked back and forth between each other and Michael, trying to read what the other was thinking before giving an answer. The two demons were close so Michael knew that if one didn’t want to give this a shot, it wouldn’t happen, at least not now. Ashton broke the silence after casting a glance to Angel, “I’m down if anyone has any ideas on where we could possibly go, like, do we have a whole plan in line for doing this?”

Rose spoke up as soon as Ashton finished his question, having been thinking over everything Michael had said on her own. “The demons that came looking for Ashton only saw him with Angel, they don’t know about me or where I live. I have a bunch of equipment at my house that we can use to surveil my house and get a warning if anyone comes looking, in case they somehow got a reason to do so.” Calum turned his head to look at his girlfriend, gently taking her hand in his. “Are you sure Ro? This could become dangerous if they find out that we’re at your house. I don’t want you to put yourself in any danger that we could avoid.”

Rose shook her head, turning in Calum’s lap so that she was facing him. “I’m sure. If this is something that you want to do I want to help in any way that I can, including giving you a safe place to stay and make sure that it stays safe the whole time we’re there.”

Calum nodded slowly, mouth slightly open as he listened to her talk, hands gently resting on her waist. She smiled at her demon boyfriend and leaned in, giving him a soft kiss, whispering “I love you, Cal.”

Calum was still in a state of shock as he processed those words, but a grin broke over his face as he leaned in and crushed his lips to hers again. He pulled away after a moment before whispering, “I love you too, Rose.”

Luke cleared his throat, “I suggest that if we want to do this, you guys better get packing so we can get somewhere safe before anyone comes knocking here, then we can discuss the redemption process further.”

Angel and Luke each held Ashton, disappearing back to his and Angel’s home to pack up their things, Ashton, though his cuts had all disappeared thanks to Angel’s diligence, was still drained from all the blows he had taken from demon blades, his power still having not recharged after the battle. Michael followed Calum and Rose upstairs to help them get Calum’s things packed up. Calum was carefully folding his clothes and gently placing them in his suitcase while Rose gathered chargers and laptops from around the house. When she reentered the bedroom to put things into the backpack that Calum had placed on his bed, Michael looked up at her. “You’re going to need to pack a bag when we get to your house too, in case something happens and we have to leave. Any other ideas of places we could go if that happened?”

Rose sighed, glancing at the other suitcase in the room. “Calum picked me up from the airport yesterday afternoon and we came straight here. I just need to do my laundry and then I’ll put it all back in here. I’ve been living out of a suitcase for the past few months, guess I can do it for another week.” Michael nodded, making the suitcase she’d looked at come closer to him. “As for other places, I suppose if it comes to it, it’s time my mother met my boyfriend.”

Her last statement got both their attention, Calum’s head snapping up from the shirt he’d been folding while Michael gave her a hard stare. “Rose, I can’t ask you to do that. I’m not going to let you risk your comfort for my safety.”

Michael nodded in agreement with Calum’s statement but Rose waved them both off before he could speak up, “It’s not just you Cal, it’s all six of us. Plus it’s only a last resort if they somehow find out about our relationship and where I live. It wouldn’t even be the whole week. I’ve lived in that house for longer.”

Michael sighed, accepting what she was saying. “It would be better if we had to go there anyway. If anything happens, you and Ash would be at your weakest. With this process you both have to stop using your powers at sunset tonight, we’ll formally begin the ritual at sunrise tomorrow and after that, no transporting yourselves anywhere, not even to the next room, no summoning a drink from the next room, nothing.”

Calum nodded slowly, getting to his feet and walking over to his girlfriend. He leaned down, kissing her gently, pulling her against him in a fluid movement. He rubbed a gentle circle on her lower back as his lips moved gently against hers. “Promise you’ll say something if it gets to be too much if we have to go there?” Calum whispered, voice filled with worry. “You don’t have to stay with us if you feel like you need to get out.”

“Just for a little escape. I’m not going to be able to leave you guys completely if we have to do that. C’mon, we gotta finish getting your stuff together.”

Calum gave her one last peck before returning to his closet, halfway through getting together the clothes he’d need. “One last thing,” Michael started, “so no one gets suspicious that you disappeared after Ashton got in a fight, I’m gonna do what I usually do when you two can’t come home due to work. We’ll have Duke with us, obviously, but I’m just going to show up here with him, and then take him outside for his walks while we’re gone.”

Everyone agreed, Duke’s head poking up from the pillows on Calum’s bed at the word ‘walk.’ Soon Calum had all of his stuff packed and Michael slung the backpack over his shoulders while Rose and Calum each grabbed their suitcases, Michael grabbed Duke and handed him to Rose before putting his hands on each of their shoulders and they went to Rose’s house.

When they appeared in the living room, Ashton, Luke, and Angel were already there. Rose quickly set Duke down and got his bowls set up in the kitchen before showing everyone where they could stay. She got her laundry started and then pulled down her personal ghost hunting equipment, pulling the other two male angels outside with her to help her put it all up. Luke went around the edges of her yard, putting down sigils that would keep unwanted guests off the property.

As Michael screwed in the final camera while Rose sat in the yard with a laptop, entering each camera into her software so that they’d be able to use their supernatural security system night and day without leaving the comfort of her house, Luke flew over, having put down his final sigil. He sighed as he landed next to Michael on the roof, leaning back on his hands while he folded his wings back behind him, looking up to the sky. “I’d like to put demon traps inside the house as well, but I imagine that would be more work than necessary with two demons actually inside, regardless of this week’s plans.”

Michael giggled as he moved to sit next to his friend, feet dangling over the gutters. “Hopefully there won’t be more than the two demons that are already inside, and your sigils and Ro’s cameras will be enough to get us through this week.”

Luke nodded silently, eyes scanning the edges of the property, as if he were already looking for any possible threat that could appear at any second. Michael reached out, rubbing the blue-eyed angel behind the back, “Calm down, master strategist.” he teased before pushing himself off of the roof, using his wings to slow his descent before sitting next to Rose, watching as she put in the final camera’s number to her computer, the image of the two of them sitting in the grass appearing on the screen, Michael’s image glowing in the infrared light. He smiled as she slowly rose, balancing the clunky surveillance laptop in one hand as she got to her feet. “So, this week, we need some plans that’ll keep our demon buddies calm while we go through this.”

Rose nodded, her eyes gleaming as she said, “I think the two of us need to go on a shopping trip, for supplies.”

Michael grinned, his dark wings disappearing as he followed Rose inside, Luke still sitting on the roof, staring into the sky. Rose set the computer on the kitchen table, plugging it in so that it would have constant power while they kept an eye on the outdoors. Ashton, Calum, and Angel hovered around her while she showed them how to click through the different cameras or how to have all the camera angles visible at once. Once they all understood she turned and gave Calum a gentle kiss, saying, “Michael and I are going to go out and get some food and other stuff I’m going to need for the week. Lukes still outside, text me if you need anything.”

Calum gave her a knowing smile, eyebrows raised as he looked down at her. She giggled, squeezing his hand in one of her own before gently pushing his chest, “Be good.” She said simply, giving him another kiss before turning to Michael.

Rose grabbed her purse and then pulled Michael out to her garage. She climbed into her car, switching on the engine and smiled as it purred while she and Michael buckled their seatbelts. The ghost hunter hit the garage door opener and put the car in drive, letting it close as she made her way down the drive, fondly running her hand over the steering while, “I missed you baby.” she said to the car, smiling as she pulled onto the open road, pressing down on the accelerator as she began the familiar drive to the store.

Michael followed Rose around with the cart once they’d entered, keeping up with the shorter human’s pace as she beelined for the grocery section. “Ash and Cal are going to actually get hungry during this week, and Luke will probably raid your fridge if he gets bored in the night. Just something to think about while we’re here.”

Rose nodded in response to Michael’s advice, picking up a few packs of chicken and ground turkey and placing them in the cart, producing hand sanitizer from her bag as she turned to peruse the produce. Her eyes were on her phone, looking through the list she had been making before Calum began tickling her sides, before their peaceful morning together had been interrupted. She shook her head and led Michael methodically through all the grocery aisles, grinning once she’d gotten all the food she needed for the week and darting across to go to the board game section. “No Ouija boards.” Michael joked, smiling as he followed her.

Rose snorted, “I only use spirit boards if the location calls for it, and even then I try to stay out of it, haven’t used one personally since high school.”

Michael giggled as Rose went down, grabbing Monopoly, Life, a couple card games, and a LEGO set, happily depositing each into the cart. As she was about to cut through the center of the store, a young girl poked her head out of one of the toy aisles. Shyly she spoke up, “Are you Rose? From Paranormal Travels?”

Rose smiled, nodding and the girl grinned. “I love your show! Do you have any idea when the next season is going to come out?”

Rose hummed, saying, “We just flew back home from filming our last round of locations yesterday. We do try to spot edit in the hotels when we have the time, but it’s still gotta go through some more editing, and I’ve got to go in and do some voiceovers, so it’ll be at least a few months before we can start talking dates.”

The girl nodded and hummed, “So, any plans now that you’re back? I’m guessing the guy behind you isn’t Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome?”

Michael looked down at his pale arms in fake shock and Rose giggled, gently pushing the angel. “No, this is our friend Michael, TDH is back at the house getting set up for a get together we’re having with a few of our close friends this weekend. Michael and I are in charge of food and activities.”

She giggled, humming and looking up at Michael, who shook his head, “I don’t do ghosts, bad experiences with ‘em.” He said with a smile at the girl.

She nodded slowly, slightly disappointed, but turned back to Rose, “Can I get a picture before my mom needs me to leave?”

Rose nodded, Michael taking the girl’s phone as she happily tucked herself into Rose’s side, both of them smiling for the camera. She thanked Rose quietly once Michael gave her the phone back, smiling before walking back down the aisle she’d appeared from. Rose hummed, before Michael interrupted her thoughts, bringing her back to the situation they were in. “We better finish up and get back to your house.” he said, sighing as he looked into the cart.

Rose nodded, turning down the center aisle and weaving through the store to the cosmetic section. She grabbed a few sets of face masks, nail polish and her shampoo and conditioner before going to the checkout. Michael helped her load up her trunk and they went home, where five pairs of hands made unloading the car and stocking the kitchen go quickly.

Once everything was put up, Luke, Michael, and Angel went upstairs to talk quietly, Ashton still laying in his room recovering his energy from his fight. Calum wrapped his arms around Rose, leaning into her and swaying slightly, head buried in her neck. Rose sighed, leaning back into him and closing her eyes, hands resting on top of his. “Not gonna be your demon much longer, sweetheart.” Calum mumbled, arms tightening around her.

Rose hummed, reaching one hand up to run through his dark curls. “Mike says you and Ash are gonna be hungry this week.” she whispered.

Calum hummed, nodding quietly, “Figures. Speaking of being hungry, you haven’t eaten since breakfast, you good?” He fixed her with a stare while he waited for her to answer, his grip loosening slightly as he moved his hands to rest on her waist.

She sighed, pulling away from Calum, saying, “Help me cook dinner, gonna make enough for you and Ash too. It might help him recover, and get you ready for this week, it’s gonna be a long one.”

Calum chuckled, shaking his head and followed his girlfriend around the kitchen, helping her get everything together and started chopping.

~~~~~~~

Rose was woken up at the crack of dawn by hushed voices. Her bedroom was still dark save for the glow emanating from Luke, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Give a guy some warning.” Calum’s voice was saying, the demon having jolted when the angel suddenly appeared.

“Get downstairs, it’s time.” Luke said simply, crossing his arms as he waited. “Wake Rose as well.”

“Already done.” She grumbled, pulling the sheets tighter around herself.

Calum gave Luke a look, “We’ll be right there, just give us a minute.”

Luke nodded, walking out the door, leaving it cracked behind him. Calum sighed, leaning over and giving Rose a gentle kiss, “C’mon sweetheart, let’s get dressed, then you can go right back to sleep, ok?”

Rose nodded, sitting up and letting the blankets fall to her lap, stretching slowly before rising from the bed. Calum watched her for a second before he forced himself out of bed, only pulling on sweatpants, holding his hand out to Rose once she’d pulled her pajamas back on, leading the way downstairs. Her living room was lit only by candles, and she sleepily mumbled, “Be careful when you blow those out, don’t want my smoke detector going off.”

Ashton laughed, already sitting on the couch, some of his color had come back since they’d first seen him the previous morning, the rest and dinner had done him good. Angel was seated at his side, holding his hand tightly, so Calum sat on his other side, leaving room for Lily to sit next to him. She molded herself to his side as Luke and Michael stepped forward, ready to begin. Each angel had a small bottle of silver paint in their hand, Luke crouched in front of Ashton and Michael in front of Calum. “I’m going to need you to hold still, ok Cal?” Michael stated calmly, green eyes meeting brown. “The paints gonna feel cold, and then once the symbols are each completed it’s not gonna feel great. But you’ve got Rose to keep you grounded, that’s going to help a lot, believe me.” Calum nodded and Michael turned to Rose, “You can hold onto him, but I’m going to need that arm in a bit, ok Ro?”

She nodded too and Michael dipped his finger into the paint, careful to not drip any of it on the floor or the couch before touching it to Calum’s chest, slowly forming a symbol over his skin. Calum tensed as Michael finished the first symbol, gritting his teeth and trying not to curl in on himself. Rose shifted, running her fingers through his hair and whispering gentle praises in his ear as Michael began on Calum’s right arm. She kissed his cheek and Michael looked up, “It’s going to get better as the week goes on, be less uncomfortable each morning.”

Calum just nodded in response, squeezing his eyes shut as Michael completed the next symbol. Rose gently pulled his head closer to her chest, looking over the disheveled curls to see Angel doing the same to Ashton. As Michael completed the third symbol on Calum’s left arm, his form flickered slightly, Rose held him tighter, whispering, “It’s ok baby, I’m right here, it’s ok.”

She felt a warm blast of air hit them both, Michael drying the paint before placing his hand on Calum’s chest, whispering an incantation Rose couldn’t quite pick up on, too focused on how tense Calum’s body felt in her arms. She continued to coo to him, quietly whispering a combination of soft praises and sweet nothings to her boyfriend until Michael removed his hand.

Calum opened his eyes, completely black, but they were no longer the opaque lenses that seemed to suck whoever was staring into them into nothingness, they had become more translucent, lighter in color. He shook his head, brown eyes returning a moment later, and looked down, the silver paint had disappeared from his skin. He scrunched his eyebrows, looking up at Michael, “So we have to do this every morning? Same time?”

Michael nodded solemnly, “Like I said, it’s going to get better each time we do it, hurt less.”

Calum sighed, nodding and leaning over to kiss Rose. “Thank you sweetheart.” he mumbled, squeezing her hand in his own.

She simply nodded, looking over at Ashton, who seemed to be coming out of his own experience fine, slowly looking around the living room while Angel ran their fingers over his chest. “Back to bed now?” she whispered to Calum and he laughed, gently scooping her into his arms.

“Of course princess.” He mumbled, rising and slowly making his way back up to her room, Duke at his heels.

~~~~~~~

The week continued on in the same way, Ashton and Calum took turns helping Rose make dinner, in the evening they’d play games to relax, day one was monopoly, day two life, on day three it was karaoke and day four had been self care, all six of them lounging around the living room with face masks on, Rose painting Calum’s fingernails gold. Luke and Michael switched off walking Duke, Luke taking the hellhound back into Calum’s house in the morning to leave for the walk, Michael doing the same in the evening. Everyone would periodically go over to the laptop on the kitchen table to check the cameras. Everything so far had been going according to plan. Day five was when it went wrong.

On day four when they completed the dawn ritual, Calum and Ashton’s eyes had been completely normal, all trace of black gone. On the fifth day, their eyes seemed to fog over, a translucent white beginning to form over their eyes. The rest of the day went on as usual, Ashton, Calum, and Rose went back to sleep, they ate, and everyone split up to do different things around the house. Rose didn’t have to do anything for work, so she and Michael were sprawled over the couch working on their co-op farm they’d been building in Stardew Valley.

Around five, Michael sat up, scooping Duke into his arms and vanishing to go over to Calum’s to take the hellhound for his evening walk. As he was walking up the drive back to Calum’s front door to end the walk, he noticed someone lurking. The angel frowned, pulling Duke in closer and walking closer. As he got closer, the figure stepped out of the shadow he’d been part of and Michael froze, jaw dropping as he looked up at the King of Hell.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Clifford, I was wondering if you could potentially show me to the location of Hood and Irwin.”

Michael sputtered, struggling to find his voice as the small hellhound hid behind the angel’s long legs. Lucifer chuckled lowly as Michael tried to take a step back. “Come on Michael,” he said, “You and I both know that they’re not out on an assignment. It will be so much easier for all of us if you just let me know where they are. Don’t make me command you.”

At that Michael stiffened, face scrunching into a snarl, “I don’t have to answer to you, it’s been 400 years since I had to answer to you. I’ve changed, become a hell of a lot better and I’m not telling you anything about my friends.”

“Pity.” Lucifer responded, shaking his head as the angel continued to stand his ground. The devil stepped forward, hand grasping Michael’s arm before he could reach for his blade, pulling forward the images of Rose and her house against Michael’s will. He nodded sagely as Michael ripped his arm from the devil’s grasp, letting out a guttural yell as he lunged towards Lucifer, sword drawn, but before the blow could connect he easily cast Michael aside, shaking his head as he did so. “Now is not the time for that, Michael. I will not concern myself with this matter any further. Even if you move them now, I know of this ghost hunter girl, it will not be hard to find them again. Farewell, Michael.”

Lucifer disappeared and Michael groaned, getting to his feet and scooping up Duke and disappearing back to Rose’s house. He scampered through the front door, eyes wide and panicked as he froze under the stares of everyone, opening up the night’s board game in the center of the living room. “We need to leave. Now.” The angel said, clutching Duke to his chest as he stared down his friends.

Rose was the first to move, grabbing Calum’s hand and pulling him upstairs to grab their bags. Ashton exchanged a glance with Angel before getting up and following Rose and Calum upstairs. Luke and Angel made their way to their fellow angel, Luke asking, “What happened, Mike?” his face filled with concern for his oldest friend.

Michael took a breath, hand reaching up to rub over his face as he gathered himself. Luke reached forward, noticing an angry red handprint on Michael’s skin, right where Lucifer had grabbed him and forcibly took the information as to Ashton and Calum’s location. The angel pulled his hand back before he had even gotten hold of Michael’s arm to examine the mark, it was letting off so much heat.

Michael flinched as he looked down at the handprint, carefully setting Duke on the ground before saying, “He was waiting at Calum’s house when we were coming up the driveway at the end of Duke’s walk. He asked me to just tell him where we were staying, but I refused. Then he grabbed me before I could get the jump on him and pulled up the house and Rose. Said he wouldn’t personally bother with this issue any further and left.”

Luke turned to look out the kitchen window, to the sigils he’d painted out earlier in the week before nodding in defeat. “If they’re coming straight from him those aren’t going to hold for long.”

Just as Luke finished his statement, Rose, Calum, and Ashton came downstairs, bags in hand and eyes wide as they looked at the three angels’ grim expressions. Rose noticed the handprint first, running over to Michael. As she was reaching for his arm, Luke pulled her hand away, “I couldn’t even touch it, it’s too hot.” He stated firmly, Rose’s eyebrows pulling together in confusion as she looked up at Michael.

He shook his head, sighing before saying, “I’ll explain when we get to your mom’s place.”

With that he wrapped Rose in his arms, Luke grabbing Calum and the bags next to him, Angel doing the same for Ashton before they all left her kitchen, right as a small brigade of demons began finding their way into her front yard.

The group appeared on Rose’s mom’s back porch. As Rose pulled away from Michael’s chest, she stood on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder, seeing that her mom’s car was gone. She sighed, stepping away and grabbing her bag from Luke before stating, “Going to need my car here for my cover story.”

Luke nodded, snapping his fingers and her car appeared, thankfully empty of the visitors that were trying to find their way into her house. Rose hummed in appreciation, turning and leading them into her mother’s house, grabbing a key from under one of the trinkets by the door that led inside from the screened in porch. Calum followed behind his girlfriend, carrying Duke, as she led the way through the small farm house. “Calum and I are going to stay in my old room, here,” she pointed through the doorway, then down the hall, “Ash, you and Angel have that room down the hall on the left. Luke, Michael, pick a couch to pretend to sleep on I guess, and I’ll get blankets and pillows for them.”

They all nodded, everyone splitting off as Rose went to lay down in her old bed, Calum following after her, closing the door and letting Duke find a spot on the bed to curl up as he moved the suitcases into the corner. “Haven’t been in here since I left you that note, much smaller than I remember.” he stated, wrapping her up in his arms. She let out a tired giggle, cuddling closer to him. “Can tell you’re already starting to feel bad about being here, love. It’s late here, we can just go ahead and stay in here if you want. Not have to see your mom until breakfast.”

Rose sighed, “She’s gonna see my car as soon as she comes home, not to mention Luke and Michael in the living room. She’ll come straight in here. It’ll be fine, it’s just two days.”

Calum sighed, gently running his hands through her hair as she resigned herself to that fact, slowly getting up to get the blankets she’d promised the two angels. She set a pillow against each couch’s arm, throwing a large soft blanket over the backs as well before turning to Michael, grabbing his injured arm. He gasped as she touched the handprint, “Ro, that thing is red hot!”

She scrunched her face, “No it’s not. It’s maybe a little warm, but like a sunburn more than what you’re claiming. You said you’d tell me what happened.” Michael sighed, nodding as she stared up at him. The blonde quickly recounted what had happened at the end of Duke’s walk, Calum frowning in the corner as he listened in. Once he finished, Rose hummed, rising and going back into her room. She went into the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and slowly pouring water from the bottle she’d produced from her suitcase into the fabric. Carefully she reentered the living room, making her way back to Michael and putting the wet cloth on his arm. He hummed as the pain dissipated, staring when Rose removed the cloth and the burning handprint was gone.

She smiled, “Packed holy water when we got back to my house. Had gotten into a habit of carrying it more often when Calum wasn’t around anyway. Figured it might help you out.”

Michael grinned, while Luke laughed, looking over at Calum, “Found yourself a smart one Cal.”

Calum beamed over at his girlfriend following Luke’s comment, “Sure did.” He said, stepping over to pull Rose in for a gentle kiss.

She smiled against his lips until they heard the door to the porch open. Calum moved, pulling Rose to sit on the couch between him and Michael, arm wrapping around her tightly as they all waited for her mom to come inside.

“Rose Anne!” She cried as soon as she stepped into the kitchen and saw Rose sitting in the living room. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

Rose took a deep breath before saying, “It was a last second decision. My friends and I decided to go for a road trip and today we were getting a little tired from being in the car and I figured we could stop here. Also figured that it was a good time for you to meet my boyfriend. Didn’t realize you would be out.”

Rose had casually breezed by the fact that she had a boyfriend, having not told her mom anything about Calum in the last ten months, but her mom picked up on that statement and glued to it. “Which one is he? Why haven’t I heard about him?”

Rose cringed slightly, but Calum easily took it upon himself to do introductions. He stood, gently squeezing Rose’s hand before walking towards her mom. “Hi, I’m Calum. We started dating a few months before she left to go film for this season of the show. We kept in touch throughout her being away and when she came home we decided to do this to make up for the lost time. These are our friends Michael and Luke, our other two friends, Ashton and Angel, are in the back room sleeping, they were both pretty tired.”

Rose’s mom was beaming as she listened to Calum speak, nodding along. Michael and Luke had each looked up and waved when their names were mentioned. She grinned, reaching up and pinching both of Calum’s cheeks between her fingers, “Well aren’t you just a little cherub!” She squealed, glancing over at her daughter before saying, “How did you two meet? I want to hear all about it.” Calum let out a nervous laugh, staying quiet a moment before speaking up again, “Our paths crossed for our different jobs one day. We got to talking at the hotel cafe during lunch and then we kept bumping into each other a few times after that and we figured maybe the universe was trying to tell us something. Come to find out we live like ten miles apart and never ran into each other before that because of our schedules. But like Rose said, we’re all pretty tired, we were just waiting up to say hi to you.”

She nodded, beaming at Calum as she waved them all off, “Of course, go get your rest, we can talk more in the morning.”

She made eye contact with Rose at that last statement and the red haired woman nodded solemnly. Calum passed by her, reaching for her hand and holding her to him as they went to go get ready for bed.

Luke and Michael woke the couples at dawn yet again for the sixth day of the ritual, quietly going through it since Rose’s mom was still asleep down the hall. When Calum and Rose crawled back into bed once the paint faded from his skin again she looked up at him from where her head rested on his chest. “Cal, I’ve got a question for you.” He hummed, raising his eyebrows as he glanced down at her. “Why did you let my mom pinch your cheeks last night? I tried that one time and you immediately pinned me to the bed.”

Calum let out a loud laugh at her question, hands flying up to cover his face as he continued to laugh, his body curling around his girlfriend as he tried to regain his composure. “I’m serious Cal!” Rose pouted, watching as Calum wiped tears from his eyes.

“Sweetheart, it’s just, one, your mom isn’t you, my girlfriend. Two, it’s better for both of us if your mom likes me, right? And then third, I’m supposed to be being good now, can’t go pinning people to the nearest surface over something like them pinching my cheek.”

Rose giggled slightly, cuddling closer to Calum, pout disappearing from her face as she whispered, “I guess that makes sense. Still sad I can’t do it though. Your cheeks are so squishy!”

Calum chuckled, lowering his head to her reach, “One time, alright? While I’m not supposed to be doing anything about it.”

Rose’s eyes lit up, gently taking one cheek between her fingers, giving it a gentle squeeze before leaning up and pressing a kiss to the other cheek. “Happy now, babe?” He asked, brown eyes glittering in the early morning light spilling into the room through the blinds.

Rose nodded, snuggling to his chest, hiding from the sunlight as she tried to go back to sleep for another hour.

She awoke to the smell of breakfast cooking. She smiled, shaking Calum gently, “Babe, I know you’ve gotta be hungry.” He laughed quietly rolling over and pressing a kiss to her lips before nodding. They both got out of bed, walking into the kitchen where they found Ashton talking with Rose’s mom while Angel sat with Michael and Luke. Rose gave her mom a quick hug while Calum snuck a quick bite of the cheese Ashton had been shredding, looking at the omelette that was in the pan. “Figured veggie omelettes would be a good call since I don’t know what everyone likes.” She stated, and Calum nodded, shooting her a smile before pulling Rose to sit down. They all sat around the large kitchen table, quietly eating the omelettes and Rose was happy that her mom’s attention was focused on the other guests, staying close to Calum as everyone else spoke. She left to go to work not long after breakfast, Luke and Calum jumping up to gather everyone’s dishes while Michael began milling about picking up the two pans and the cheese bowl and washing them. The day went smoothly from there, Rose taking Calum for a walk around the farm with Duke, greeting a few of her cousins that they saw driving down to the shop to get the tractors out and start working the fields for the day. After that she and Michael went into town to get the groceries her mom had written out so she could serve six extra people. At dinner that night the talk was easy and they all went to bed early.

When the seventh dawn ritual was complete, Michael spoke up, “So, to get your wings you either do something super valiant today and they pop out, or we just do this again tomorrow morning, which is more likely to happen given our situation.”

Both former demons nodded at the angel, understanding what he said and they were about to all go back to bed when Rose’s mom appeared. It was a Saturday, so she didn’t have to go to work, but she did have to help her brothers and their kids out with some of the tasks. She jumped when she saw the group of six already up, having not heard anything, but she gave them all a tired smile, offering them a list of breakfast options, though she couldn’t cook due to needing to get going. They all mumbled their assent, telling her it was ok and that she could get going. She fixed herself toast and left and Rose sighed, walking into the kitchen and reaching into the cabinets above the microwave, grabbing a box of cereal for herself as she began making her own breakfast, Calum and Ashton following after her, the three angels happy to not have to pretend that they actually had to eat for at least one meal.

Rose and Calum took Duke out for his morning walk again, Ashton and Luke joining them this time and they all chatted about the situation as everyone else was in the barns so there wasn’t anyone to overhear. Lunchtime was when everything began going downhill.

They were all sitting around the table again, eating sandwiches when Rose’s mom said, “It’s been so long since I’ve met anyone you dated Rose, I’m glad you decided to bring Calum by for a couple days during your road trip.” Rose swallowed the bite of her sandwich, Calum placing his hand on her thigh as she responded, “I’ve brought my last two girlfriends here, mom. I didn’t date anyone between Anya and Calum.” Her mom’s face twitched slightly and Rose pushed her paper plate away, now only covered in a last bite and some chip crumbs, “I know you like to pretend that when I say they were my girlfriends that you like to pretend that I just mean it like when you say that you went out for brunch and mimosas with Brenda and Jan, but I don’t. I mean it in the same way as when I say Calum is my boyfriend. You like to ignore every time that I’ve told you that I’m bi and think that it’s a phase. It’s not, and yeah, I’d love to spend the rest of my life with Calum, I love him, but I also don’t want you getting disappointed if I don’t end up with a guy.”

At the end of her tirade she pushed her chair away from the table, storming out to her car and speeding off into town. Her mom got up in a huff too, screen door slamming behind her as she walked off to her car, disappearing to the barn again. Calum looked up at Michael, eyes wide with worry for his girlfriend. “I’m gonna give her an hour, thirty minutes for the drive into town, and another thirty for her to be in town, then I’ll go check on her, promise, Cal.” The angel said, patting his shoulder. “Like you told her when we were packing, if she needed to get out of the house, it was fine. Besides, they’re after you and Ash, not her. I didn’t notice anyone suspicious when we were out yesterday anyway.”

Calum nodded, taking deep breaths to calm himself before picking up his and Rose’s plate, throwing them both away and going into her room, curling up with his hellhound.

True to his word, an hour later, Michael popped into town, in the alleyway he’d spotted Rose and Calum from over a year ago. He was hit with a wave of déjà vu when he saw Rose sitting at the same table with another demon, but this one wasn’t friendly. He felt cold as he began running across the street. The demon grabbed Rose, pulling her in front of his body, giving Michael an evil grin. “Think I’ll finally get a promotion for bringing this one in, huh Lieutenant?” He teased, running his pale hand through Rose’s bright hair.

Michael recognized the demon, not by name, but he had been around before Michael had been redeemed. He had always been trying to make rank with the least amount of work possible. He hadn’t moved very far that way, and it seemed nothing had changed in the past 400 years. Michael drew his sword, though all three of them knew he couldn’t actually do anything with it without risking hurting Rose. “Let her go.” he commanded, green eyes staring down the demon holding her.

“Don’t think so. Hood will do anything for her, I’m sure of that. Taking her is just as good as finding him.”

Just before the demon disappeared with Rose, she locked eyes with Michael and he got the message she sent to him loud and clear in his head.

Go back to my mom’s. I’ll take care of myself until you guys find me. I can handle this.

With a loud crack the demon disappeared and Michael stared where they’d just been standing before going back to the house.

He spilled the story to everyone and the fire in Calum’s eyes told him that they had to go find her right then. He tucked each Calum and Ashton under his wings after they’d each procured their swords from their bags, focusing on the signal he was still getting from Rose. The angel had masked Calum and Ashton’s appearances since everyone in hell was on the lookout for them and began leading the way towards where he felt like Rose was. He almost ran into her. She was running, dragging the demon who’d taken her behind her, their wrists linked together by a pair of handcuffs. She gasped, wrapping her free arm around Michael before she recognized Calum through the disguise Michael was using for him. “You guys wouldn’t believe how dumb this idiot is.” She laughed out, “Guy tried to get me to have sex with him, I poured holy water on his dick. Said it was lube, but obviously, our friend here isn’t feeling so good. He’s complying so long as I don’t hurt him more. Idiot didn’t think to search the ghost hunter for anything that could be used against him.”

The demon she was attached to groaned and Michael tapped the links with his silver sword, the cuffs disappearing completely with a hiss. He then lifted the sword and ran it through the demon, “Help no longer needed.” He snarled before removing the sword, watching the demon dissipate into smoke.

Calum wrapped his arms around his girlfriend, ready to go when a female voice carried down from the ceiling. “Well that worked out much easier than I thought it would.”

Calum, Ashton and Michael shared a look as the voice fell over the room, which had fallen to a hush. “I whispered in that little demon’s ear what I thought would work to get the three of you here, didn’t actually realize how fast it would happen. It also appears I didn’t account for how feisty Calum’s girlfriend was, but oh well.”

Ashton let out a harsh laugh after she told them what had happened. “You whisper a lot of things in a lot of people’s ears Lia, not a care for what happens to them in the end.”

Lia let out a giggle as she appeared, a hundred feet away from the group. “You didn’t seem to mind when I was whispering in your ear Ashton. Too bad you stopped visiting me, found yourself a goody goody angel, did you?”

Her voice played through so many different emotions and Calum held Rose closer to him. “Don’t listen to anything that succubus says, we’re gonna get out of here, one way or another, it’s going to be ok.”

Rose nodded against his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her tightly for a moment before going back to back with Ashton. It was a familiar position for the two of them and they both drew their swords. Michael still had his sword ready and he pulled Rose to stand against his back as they all began to fight through the crowd surrounding them. Rose sprayed holy water at any demon who got too close to the group. At some point Calum and Ashton’s swords changed from blurs of shadowy obsidian to match the bright light of Michael’s silver sword.

The room was grey with the dark mist of the fallen demons and they’d made it to where Lia was blocking the way back to Earth. “Boys, please—“

“Really always were more of a talker than a fighter, weren’t you Lia.” Michael said, twirling his blade before shoving it through her chest.

She gasped, but didn’t dissipate like the other demons they’d been fighting. She grabbed at the sword, even when it burned her fingertips, but Ashton and Calum moved quicker, letting their own now silver swords pierce her. She wailed before turning to red mist. They knew they didn’t have long before someone else came running, so Michael tossed Rose over his shoulder, leading the way through the tunnel in front of them.

They exited the tunnel, ending up in some woods somewhere, but before Michael could bring the three of them back to the farm, both Calum and Ashton cried out, crumpling down. Rose looked around in worry, and Michael set her down. “It’s ok, they’re going to be ok.” he said, but she still ran to Calum, crouching next to him.

Michael looked around before sending a message to Luke, that they were ok, and that they were in the same woods he had been in 400 years earlier when he was redeemed. The two other angels appeared seconds later, as Calum wrapped his arms around his girlfriend. “Baby, baby, baby” he whimpered over and over, blunt fingernails digging into her shoulders as he held her tightly.

She wrapped her arms around him, running her fingers through his dark hair while Angel ran over to Ashton, doing the same to him, their white wings enveloping him. Michael and Luke were standing off to the side, watching as the two former demons began sprouting wings. There was an explosion of black and white feathers from both of them, the pair of brand new angels gasping as the pain disappeared, carefully giving a few slow test flutters. Rose stared at her boyfriend’s wings, slowly reaching up to touch the feathers. He smiled, turning his head slightly to look at them. Looking at him from the front, his wings looked like an interesting mix of black and white, though from the back some of the feathers looked more brown. Ashton’s wings were almost totally black, but along the edges of his body and where they attached to the main structure of the wing, they were white.

Luke nodded as he looked them over, “Osprey and Condor. Definitely different from other angels that exist, but they fit you both.” Luke set Duke down and he immediately ran over to Calum, jumping in his lap and wagging his tail. “Had a favor done for you by the way. World’s first heaven hound. He’s going to be around for many, many more years.”

Calum beamed as he pet his dog, cooing to him and grinning as Rose leaned into him. She was smiling proudly as she wiped at her eyes. Angel grinned over at her, standing from their spot at Ashton’s side and walking over to Rose. “We also have been told that once your time here is done, you get to come up with us, spend all of eternity by Calum’s side.

Rose’s eyes widened, staring up at Angel while Luke smiled over at them, Calum’s eyes wide too as he tried to take in the new information. “Boss knows you two are going to be together for a long time, saw the way Rose fought down there. Figured that you deserved some sort of reward when your life was over.”

Luke nodded when Angel finished giving her the news, stepping over with a folded up piece of paper. “They said they think that these will suit you when the time comes for you to accept them.”

Rose stared up at the blue-eyed angel, gently taking the paper from his hand and looking it over, staring at the gradient of purple, blue, and pink in the feathers on the wings. She gasped, staring at the paper, new tears forming in her eyes. Calum shifted, pulling her closer as he looked at the mockup too. He grinned, squeezing her shoulder before kissing her gently. “Let’s get you home sweetheart, we’ve got a lot of time to process this. Talk more about it later.”

Rose smiled, cuddling into Calum’s side, holding him tightly as they all disappeared from the woods. Calum and Rose appeared back in her living room, their bags at the door, her car in the garage, and everything back in its proper place following the demons’ search for Calum and Ashton which had trashed the place.

It was just the two of them and Duke, Calum’s osprey wings folded around her body as he continued to hold her to him. His eyes were closed as he enjoyed being there with her. “Marry me.” She whispered against his chest.

Calum jumped, but he smiled, “Of course Rose. Anywhere, and anyway that you want to do it. I’m ready to start our eternity now.”

She giggled, smiling up at him and he took her left hand in his, a silver ring encrusted with a large ruby and small bits of amethyst now adorning her ring finger. She gasped, staring at it, before looking up at him. “I proposed to you though!” she scoffed, but he smiled, a dark band appearing on his own left hand.

She hummed in content as she looked at it, “Call us married then.” She smiled, looking up at him.

“Suppose so.” he replied, scooping her into his arms and disappearing up to her bedroom, a ghost hunter and her angel, partners until the end of time.

Tags: @irwinkitten @dammitbands @calpops @gorgeouslygrace @empathycth @sweetcherrymike @cakesunflower

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

A love that never leaves (10)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. SMUT, 18+ please.

A/N: Bucky’s reaction surprises her, Sam Wilson might bitch slap Steve Rogers, Bucky makes my favorite sandwich in the entire world because he is a skilled chef, and they have a memorable night together (please stop by if you would like a smut free recap).

But of course, you guys know me, so…I am sorry...

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

She mourns for Henry and the tragedy of his fate. Loving a soldier was one thing she never expected and the experience nearly killed her. The war trudges on, and sometimes soldiers pass through the village; while she always puts her nursing skills to good use, she keeps her distance.

Sometimes she sits by the creek, washing clothes in the cold water and thinking. She wishes she had the power to scrub her own brain clean, but no.

This is her penance, the one she will pay from now until the end of time.

To remember.

*****

MISSION REPORT

BOTH TARGETS UNEXPECTEDLY INFILTRATED BASE. UNABLE TO SEPARATE AND ADDRESS INDIVIDUALLY. WILL CONTINUE HOLDING PATTERN UNTIL OPPORTUNITY ARISES.

What did they find? Sweat beads along his scalp, freezing drips wetting pale hair. He needs to know, he searched that base from top to bottom, but he knows they found something. The Soldier was skittish, and her - well.

Something happened.

They will tell him. That he can promise.

All in due time.

*****

No one knows this, but sometimes when Bucky can’t sleep, he likes to draw.

Between the two of them, Steve is the real artist, no contest there. For Bucky, it’s not about drawing well, it’s about drawing something that helps him connect with his past.

So occasionally, when the nightmares are really riding his ass, he wanders to the roof of the tower with three things: his pink notebook of “Bucky Facts”, a blank pad of paper, and Steve’s Prismacolor colored pencils. He flips through his notebook and finds something he’s struggling with - and he draws it. For some reason, when he can transpose the memories from a bundle of echoes into a colorful sketch, it cements the idea in his head.

A paint by number puzzle. Words and colors swirled together to reimagine the past he's so desperate to remember.

Now, he sits on the coffee table in front of a woman who has no need to ever remind herself of the past. No need for clumsy outlines and careful colors; the endless infinity of memories locked behind her haunted eyes speaks of every color in the universe and Bucky wonders if he had to paint her memories, what colors could ever convey the horrors of her past.

He thinks she and the Soldier would have a remarkably similar color palette.

God, he hates that fact.

Her voice is hoarse from talking and she keeps swallowing, stubbornly pushing down the lump of tears threatening to melt in her throat. He understands why she was reluctant to tell him, why she said those ridiculous words.

I don’t think you’ll like me very much, when you know.

Everything about her seems so much clearer now. The hesitancy to reveal her past; the strange collection of items he found stashed around her home; her fear he would be angry when he knew her ability. Bucky gets it, he really truly does, but here’s the thing.

It makes no god damn difference.

He loves her. Nothing will change that.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” he hears her whisper and that’s it.

Scooting forward, he drops from the coffee table to kneel before her. Wiggling himself between her legs, he wraps his arms around her waist and gazes into her miserable expression.

“Listen to me. Do you remember when you told me not to apologize for what happened to me? That is wasn’t my fault? It took me years to even start believing that, but the moment I heard it from you, it finally made sense. You did that for me. So right now, I need you to remember those words and repeat them back to me, alright?”

“I can’t -”

“You can,” he says firmly. “What happened there, what you did - it was not your fault. Do you understand that? It was not your fault. Say it back to me.”

The words are lead in her mouth. It takes several stumbling attempts, but Bucky is patient.

“It wasn’t - it wasn’t my fault,” she finally says, her cold fingers clutching his forearms. Bucky rewards her with a huge smile and buries his face against her belly. He hugs her tighter.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeats, his voice muffled in her sweater.

"It wasn't my fault," she says one more time. Threading her fingers through his hair, she drags her nails lightly over his scalp and Bucky leans contentedly into the touch. They sit in silence and let the minutes drift along until he finally feels her tension subside.

A peculiar thought occurs to him, then.

“The base in Poland, where you were held. I think I know it,” he says cautiously. “Awhile back, we got a distress signal from there. I saw that chair, the one you mean. I, um, sort of broke it. Went kinda nuts and tore it apart. They stuck me in rehab after that, but - totally fuckin’ worth it.”

“Good,” she says fervently, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm. Bucky reaches up and catches her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and trying to lighten the mood.

“Well hey, so - you met Carter then,” he says with a grin. Her lip trembles slightly, but she tries to smile.

“I did,” she confirms.

“Wish you could’ve met under better circumstances, you would’ve had a lot in common. Steve loves telling people how often she’d bust my balls.”

Bucky tickles her and she huffs out a breathless laugh and squirms away. He feels a thousand times lighter when he hears a playful note return to her voice.

“Something tells me you probably deserved it Sergeant.”

“Won’t argue there,” Bucky agrees and stretches up to plant a firm kiss on her lips.

*****

The sun is setting when she asks if she can have some time alone. Bucky can see the struggle in her face - reliving nightmares is exhausting.

“I’ll just be outside,” she says quietly, shrugging into her coat. “Need a few minutes to - think, I guess.”

“Hang on,” he says. Going into the kitchen, he flips on her electric kettle, pulls her favorite purple mug from the cupboard, and plops a teabag inside. Grabbing her biggest quilt, he fluffs it open and wraps it tight around her shoulders; once the kettle sings, he hands her the steaming mug of Earl Grey and drops a kiss on her nose. “There, now you’ll be warm.”

For a long moment, she stares at him. Bucky watches her bite her lip, steeling her nerves to speak. He waits expectantly, his hands running lightly up and down her arms to warm her, but nothing happens. Whatever she wanted to say disappears and she looks down.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“Anytime,” he says softly and opens the door for her. She steps onto the cold porch and sinks onto the top step, tipping her face toward the setting sun. Bucky shuts the door with a click.

Everything changes.

Stalking to the kitchen counter, white-hot rage fills his chest. Snarling at the offending photos, he snatches his phone and dials Steve, and before the phone finishes the first ring, a blond head appears.

“Whaddaya got?” Steve asks, as he rummages through the fridge.

“Are you ever not eating,” Bucky scowls and Steve grunts.

“I’m a growing boy. So?”

Rubbing his forehead, Bucky tries to organize his thoughts and figure out where to begin. The clink and clatter of silverware keeps coming through the phone and then Steve’s piling leftover containers in his arms and dumping them on the counter and out of nowhere, Bucky loses his shit.

“Steve, can you - can you just - I need you to - god fucking dammit Rogers, sit the fuck down!”

Steve jerks to a stop when Bucky’s voice scales up. Considering him for all of three seconds, Steve dumps the mess of leftovers - which all have THESE ARE SAM’S DON’T TOUCH written on them in black marker - without a word and walks away, sinking into an armchair.

“Sorry. I’m listening.”

The whole thing is insane and Bucky has no clue how to begin.

So he just starts talking.

About the woman who saved his life when he was bleeding out in a blizzard; how she called him Soldier and brought him to her home and sewed him up. How he shoved a butcher knife to her throat in thanks, before she told him the story of how she met him years ago. How her words helped him remember that bloody night in Paris.

He tells Steve about deciding to stay, about her potato soup, about how he remembered Steve telling him about the letters he got from his girl during the war, and how it felt when Bucky realized he was the Jimmy she wanted that night. He relays the story of how they met during the war and Steve sucks in a shocked breath. Bucky tells him she kept all his letters and how she let him read them again and how he asked her to marry him the last time they were in the village and if he sees tears fill Steve’s eyes, he forces himself to ignore it.

He keeps talking.

About discovering the information at the base, photos and information about the original soldier trials and how there must be someone who fired up the signal, because Bucky found recent blood and a clean black glove. He tells Steve about her ability and what Hydra did to her all those years ago and he can hear Steve’s teeth clack together, can see the furious tick in his jaw.

It smooths away for a moment, when Bucky recounts the story with Peggy. Steve always was a sap.

Bucky tells him almost everything, but saves some things for himself; he figures he deserves to have a few memories that are all his own.

Well, not just his. Theirs.

When he finishes, Steve is silent. Bucky can see the thoughts swing dancing through his brain as he works it out. Finally, Steve clears his throat.

“Okay, that’s a lot to unravel. I’m gonna have some questions, but for now I’m just gonna go with it. Sounds great.” Bucky snorts and Steve just shrugs. “What can I say? It’s fuckin’ weird, but we’ve seen weirder. I trust your judgement. Tell me what you need.”

Yes, Steve Rogers can be a massive pain in the ass, but Bucky sure fucking loves him.

“Alright. The first distress signal we got was that base near Krakow, where she was kept,” Bucky says. “They were testing soldiers there and I found more evidence here - it can’t be a coincidence. I think there’s something or someone connected, I just haven’t found the link.”

“Let’s assume you’re right,” Steve says. “What next?”

“I’m going back into town tomorrow to see if I can dig up anything else. Can you look into that Hydra fuck who was chasing her? See if there’s something we’re not seeing?”

“Got it,” Steve answers. “Say the name again?”

“First name Wilhelm, last name Richter, Romeo-India-Charlie-Hotel-Tango-Echo-Romeo,” he rattles off. “I vaguely recognize his face, but I was still new when he disappeared, and those early memories are shit. I think the story was that he deserted, but that’s all I got.”

“Going to the lab now,” Steve heaves himself to his feet and walks swiftly toward the elevators. Smashing the button, he waits impatiently and then looks down at the phone, his expression softening. “Hey Buck?”

“Yeah?” Bucky says distractedly, craning his neck to see out the window. He can still see her sitting on the steps, gazing pensively into the coming night.

“You got your girl back. I’m - hey. I’m really fuckin’ happy for you.” Surprised, Bucky looks down at the phone and sees Steve giving him a crooked grin. “You deserve this. Don’t forget that.”

Bucky nods, feels his face grow warm. “Yeah. Thanks man.”

“I’m coming out to see you both, soon as we get this sorted,” Steve warns. The elevator in front of him dings and Bucky barks out a happy laugh. The idea of his best friend staying at their house like they’re an ordinary couple, with a boring life and annoying friends who crash on their couch - it sends cozy domestic tingles skittering up his spine and he can’t fight the idiotic grin.

“You got it.”

Steve gives him a goodbye salute and the elevator ends the call.

*****

“I was thinking,” Bucky says an hour later.

Dressed in his old sweatpants and ratty Captain America t-shirt, he’s slouched against the arm of the couch. Curled tight against him, her head is tucked into his shoulder. She musters a tiny smile when she looks up. “Should I be nervous?”

“Hey,” he pouts. “It’s like you assume I’d have crazy ideas or something.”

“When the shoe fits,” she murmurs, poking him.

“Very true.” Placing a finger under her chin, he tips her face up and gives her an exaggerated kiss. “But it’s not that crazy. How about I make you supper?”

She perks up at the suggestion, her strained smile morphing into something real. “I’d love that.”

Scrambling from the couch, Bucky grabs her hands and lifts her up. “Come keep me company,” he urges, guiding her to the kitchen counter. Tugging a blanket tight around her shoulders, she shuffles with him and hops up on a barstool. Even through the layers of sadness, he sees a glimmer of happiness spark in her eyes, and honestly?

That’s all he wanted.

Digging through her drawer of kitchen towels, he finds a green polka-dot apron and ties it around his waist with a flourish. Pulling a hair tie off his wrist, he coaxes the strands into a messy bun, and then cracks his knuckles for good measure.

“You definitely look the part,” she compliments and Bucky winks.

“Alright, so this is a Bucky specialty,” he says confidentially. Rifling through the cabinets, he sets a skillet on the stovetop and starts assembling the ingredients: bread, butter, honey, peanut butter, and three bananas. “I make excellent cereal, exceptional frozen pizza, and this - fried peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwiches.”

She wrinkles her nose skeptically. “That doesn’t sound like a real thing.”

“Darlin’,” he says, reaching over and tapping her on the nose with a spatula, “where’s the trust?”

Finally. Finally, he gets the sound he wanted.

A small laugh escapes.

“You’re right. Sorry Buck,” she says, and when he sees the adoration in her eyes, he thinks his heart might explode.

Ten minutes later, he slides the gooey sandwich onto her plate and if she still looks skeptical, she gives him the benefit of the doubt. Taking a small bite, she chews for a moment and looks up in surprise.

“This is fantastic!” she exclaims. Bucky grins and takes a huge, messy bite; peanut butter drips onto the plate, a bit of honey gets stuck in his beard, and a few bananas tumble out.

“Got lots of hidden talents, just you wait and see.”

*****

One bottle of wine, and four sandwiches later, Bucky sees her stifling a yawn and proclaims himself exhausted and ready for bed.

“You go on up,” he tells her, “I’ll be there in a sec.”

While she makes her way upstairs, Bucky does a methodical loop around the small cabin. He checks, double checks, and then triple checks every single lock; every window and every door, even the fireplace flue, gets a thorough review. Once he’s satisfied, he flips the lights off and stands at the living room window, letting his eyes adjust. Feathery snowflakes are swirling again and as he glares into the moonlit night, he finds threats lurking everywhere.

The wind whistling through the trees beyond the front door. The shadows beside the weatherworn walls of the woodshed. The meandering flow of the icy creek down the slope. Before it felt peaceful and idyllic - now it seems harsh and sinister.

It infuriates him.

What does he have to do to have a normal god damn life with her? Why is there always something standing in their way?

“Whoever you are,” he mutters, “and whatever you want, you stay the fuck away from her.”

But the night keeps it’s dark secrets. With a vicious sneer, Bucky heads upstairs.

*****

Flickers of blue and orange dance merrily in the fireplace, casting a warm glow around the dark bedroom. Padding silently to the doorway, he stops.

And he drinks up the image hungrily, slotting it into his newly built box of favorite memories.

Huddled on the bed, her knees are drawn up to her chest and she gazes thoughtfully into the flames, her chin cupped in her palm. When he clears his throat, she looks over with the ghost of a smile.

“Hey, you,” Bucky says quietly. Walking to the foot of the bed, he waits nervously. For what, he doesn’t know, but it feels like the right thing to do.

Sitting up on her knees, she leans forward and skims her hands lightly up his chest, circling his broad shoulders and trailing down his arms. When her fingers brush over his hands, one a little sweaty, one always cold, she picks both of them up together and drops a kiss on his knuckles.

It nearly makes him cry.

Instead, he curls a wide hand behind her neck and finds her lips. The kiss is deep, his tongue rubbing gently against hers and it feels like heaven, sizzling hot and full of fire. God, her kiss could bring him to his knees.

But rather unexpectedly, she breaks away.

And Bucky feels his entire world tilt when she sheds her t-shirt, before eagerly meeting his lips again. Frozen in surprise, he feels her guiding his hands over her body, until his fingers are splayed across her bare skin and this time he breaks the kiss with a strangled groan.

“Are you sure?” he says hoarsely, staring intently while he struggles to keep his hands from roaming. “We don’t have to do anything, I don’t expect - “

“Please, Bucky” she interrupts softly, her cool hands skimming down his chest and he tightens his abs reflexively. “Please?”

There’s no way on earth, he’s telling her no.

Cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over her nipples, Bucky moves in for another kiss. Metal and human, his fingers circle her breasts, pinching and rolling the sensitive skin until she’s panting into his mouth and he drinks down the sweet sounds. He feels her bunching up the fabric of his shirt, wordlessly asking him to remove it, and he wants to feel her skin on his more than anything, but then his stupid head gets in the way again.

“My - my scars and everything, they’re not - it ain’t pretty,” he warns. “I know you saw them when you fixed me up, but this is different. I know that, you don’t have to - I mean, I can leave the shirt on, if you - you know, if you want.”

“No,” she says fiercely. “I want you, Bucky. All of you.”

The words are magic and Bucky sags with relief. Taking a deep breath, he crosses his arms and and he shakes only a little when he pulls the shirt off. It drops from numb fingers, and the web of thick scars looks surreal in the firelight, smooth and dark pink. He watches her eyes find the pattern carved into his skin, five ropes of raised tissue clearly outlining his attempt to claw the damn thing off in some past life.

Fucking Christ, he hates this part of himself, he really fucking does.

But of course, it doesn’t faze her.

Bringing her mouth to the joint of his shoulder, she presses her lips to his scars, and each line Bucky unwittingly scratched into his body, she memorizes with her tongue. On and on, her mouth moves against him and when she finally stops, the puckered skin feels warm for the first time in his entire life.

In disbelief, he stares at the unfiltered love in her face and he feels the faint burn of tears pricking his eyes.

How the hell did he ever got so god damn lucky?

With a rush, he slants his mouth back over hers, and pushes her back into the fluffy blankets. Crawling hurriedly over her, he settles between her legs, never breaking the kiss, while he reacquaints himself with everything. The tiny noises she makes, the feel of her body beneath him, the insistent way she rolls her hips against him. Every bit feels perfect and Bucky loses himself in her, time immaterial as he does his best to take her apart.

Because if she really does have to remember everything, well - Bucky's damn well going to give her something incredible to remember.

When her fingers trail down and hook in the waistband of his sweats, desire zings straight to his dick and he’s so close to just going with it, he really is, but god dammit, he’s a moron who’s unable to let himself be happy, so once again, he breaks the kiss with a reluctant hiss.

“Fucking hell. Wait, wait, before we do anything, I’m sorry, but I need - I have to tell you, I gotta be honest,” he rasps urgently, cursing himself in every language he knows. “There are - there were - there have been others. Through the years, I’ve been with other people. During - when I was with them. And then a couple others since I came back.”

Okay, maybe Steve Rogers isn’t a cockblock after all.

Maybe Bucky Barnes is his own god damn idiot cockblock.

Shame wells up and he tries to look away, but she immediately turns him back.

“Bucky, no. Don’t. I assumed. It was seventy years. Of course, there were other people,” she gives him a crooked little smile. “There were others for me too, sometimes. When I needed to - to cope. With the loneliness.”

There’s a wild flash of anger at her words, not directed at her, not even directed at the nameless lovers in her bed, but directed at the circumstances that put them on this path; they deserved better than this. But regardless, he needs her to understand something.

Something that shapes everything they are together.

“It was only ever you though,” he promises heatedly. “Deep down inside, it was only you. It’s only ever been you. I need you to know that.”

“I know,” she says, and she tugs him down for another toe-curling kiss.

This time, finally - he goes with it.

“I want to memorize every single inch of your body,” he murmurs. “Don’t want to ever forget again.”

So he starts at the top.

He kisses the curve of her shoulders, the delicate skin over her collarbone; he licks and sucks at her nipples until her skin feels chaffed from his rough beard. He pulls down her sleep shorts as he moves lower, fumbling awkwardly with his own sweats and tossing them both over his shoulder. At first he skips what he really wants, and instead searches out the fragile bones at her ankles, traces the smooth muscle in her calves, nips the skin behind her knee.

He holds himself back until he can’t take it any more.

And then he buries his face between her legs with a groan.

She tastes like heaven. Fuck, how did he live this long without having her on his tongue every single day? He feels her knees tip inward self-consciously and he gently pushes them open, keeping them pinned to the bed because he’s planning to stay here forever if she'll let him.

Looking down, she finds him watching intently. His dark hair tickles her thighs, his bright blue eyes burn her from the inside out, and her entire body begins to tingle. Fingers flex, toes curl, her breath comes fast and rough, and then Bucky sucks her clit hard and pushes two thick fingers into her.

Strung out and floating, she grab fistfuls of his hair and moans.

Bucky grips her leg tight and breaks away for a split second to speak.

“Come on honey, let go for me,” his voice is a low growl and she glances down to see him grinding his hips into the bed, searching for his own relief, and it’s that flex and roll, the way his muscles bunch so beautifully, that tips her over the edge. With a cry, she comes hard, clutching his face to her as the orgasm shivers through every cell of her body.

“Oh god,” she rasps, “oh god, Bucky.”

It thrills him beyond anything, the sound of his name like a prayer on her lips.

“So good,” he murmurs, still continuing the light strokes of his tongue. “You taste so fucking good.”

“That was - that was - god, Bucky” she mumbles, tripping over the words. Mouthing at the curve of her hip, he hums delightedly.

“Just getting started. Can you turn over for me?” he asks gently, and she blinks slowly, before her smile follows. Rolling to her stomach, she stretches languidly, wrapping her arms around a pillow. “I hope you have another one in you,” Bucky says lowly, giving her bottom a playful squeeze.

“I think I can manage,” she says, her voice muffled, and Bucky huffs a laugh. Planting a kiss at the base of her spine, he works his way north, his tongue tracing every bump along the way. Up, up, up, his lips cover the knobs up her back and his fingers follow, warm flesh and cool metal walking up her ribcage, until he reaches the back of her neck. Licking a slow line up, he mouths at the smooth skin behind her ear and her body twitches at the feel.

Nudging her legs open further, he shifts his hips and reaches a hand down to grip himself tight. Willing himself to stop shaking, he rubs himself between her legs, and finds her so wet and so slick from the orgasm he gave her just moments before. With his lips at her ear, he whispers his favorite words in a low rush.

“I love you,” he tells her, before he pushes himself inside.

At the feel, he goes utterly still.

It rattles him down to his god damn bones, this love he has for her - she can feel him trembling above her and she glances over her shoulder to meet his wide-eyed stare.

“I love you too,” she breathes, and her voice is the anchor he needs. Blinking rapidly, he dips down to kiss her cheek.

And he starts to move.

All Bucky knows in this moment, is her. The tight feel of her on his cock. The way her skin holds a hint of salt. The way she shudders every time he bottoms out. Every nuance of her body that he must have memorized in his past life.

Sliding his hand beneath her, his fingers find their way between her legs and he strokes her clit with every slow rock of his hips. Against the backdrop of dim light from the crackling fire, the room fills with the delicious sounds of pleasure, quiet grunts and the sharp catch of breath and the rustle of fabric as a body slides over silky sheets.

Dropping his mouth to the pulse at her neck, he sucks gently, insatiable for the thrumming feel of her heartbeat laid bare on his tongue. When he hears her breathing harder, sees her hands gripping the bedsheets tighter, feels her body beginning that faint tremble again, he abruptly changes his mind.

“Wait, please wait,” he begs, pulling himself carefully from her body and rolling her onto her back. Wide eyes meet his and time stops.

Spread out beneath him, she is sheer perfection.

Before she can speak, Bucky captures her lips again and shoves himself back into her.

And maybe it’s the strangest thing, but even without the memories to guide him, that muscle memory branded into his heart knows what to do. Just like their first time together, Bucky pulls her leg up and hitches it around his waist, thrusting into her harder. Unable to speak, unable to even look away, they watch each other, both devouring the small bits they find, in case god forbid, they ever lose each other again.

When her fingers curl around his neck, drawing him closer, he rests his forehead against hers.

“Bucky,” she whispers, his name catching in her throat, “Bucky.”

“I’m here,” he pants above her. Every thrust comes faster and his control begins to slip. “I’m here, I lo-love you, god I love you so fu-fucking much, never leaving you again, not ev-ever,” he grits out.

Anchoring his knees to the mattress, he slams himself into her again and again, hitting every nerve ending just right and suddenly she finds a universe of stars. Clutching his shoulders, she clings tight to him as her body tenses and she comes one more time.

Bucky stutters out a wrecked groan when he feels her body gripping him, and that familiar tingle hits his belly. Burying his face in her neck, he gives one last, hard thrust and then grinds himself against her, a strangled growl ripping from his throat when he follows her into that blissful oblivion.

Breathing hard, he keeps his eyes shut tight against her, willing his heart to slow. Against her neck, he sucks a wet line up her throat, back to her lips. Warm, lazy kisses ease them both back to reality and their racing hearts find a new rhythm.

One that beats together.

Muscle memory, in the purest sense.

When you cut to the heart of their story, there’s a simple truth: they’re so different from who they were together in 1944. Both have lived multiple lifetimes, filled with all the tragedy and heartbreak the world could dish out; it shaped each of them in ways the other has yet to discover.

But even though time has reshaped them into something new, there are some things that will never change.

Each touch buzzes with forgotten familiarity, the way she trails her fingers up his sweat-slick bicep, like something he remembers from a hazy dream; the way his breath catches with every slow thrust of his hips is a sound she could follow in her sleep; the way their bodies fall easily into a rhythm together, an unconscious muscle memory.

Bucky wants to run into the snowy night, wants to shout his happiness to the heavens. This right here, this is what the poets sing about. Every line, every song, every beat of a lovestruck heart. Here in her arms, he finds everything he ever hoped to have and in the fading firelight, he holds fast to the one truth he knows above all else.

Love like this, is worth any cost.

“You’re the love of my life,” he whispers, and she lays her cheek against his chest and kisses the sweaty skin above his heart.

Right there, Bucky knows he’s the luckiest man on Earth.

*****

The sun is just beginning to creep into the eastern horizon, but he’s been awake for hours.

Laying between her legs, his head is pillowed on her stomach. The sleep shirt she wears is tissue thin and satiny smooth; it smells just like her and keeps taking deep, cleansing breaths, trying to embed that scent into his memory. Bit creepy maybe, but oh well.

Dim rays of light begin to slip into the room, filtering through the tall pine trees flanking the window, and as the world begins to wake, she follows. Like a touch-starved kitten, Bucky nuzzles into her, wordlessly asking for affection and when she scratches her nails along his scalp, it feels so damn good, he gives a blissful little groan.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and she hums.

“I love you,” she mumbles sleepily and there’s a pleased rumble in his chest at her reply.

“Won’t ever get tired of hearing that,” he sighs happily.

“I’ll never get tired of saying it,” she answers with a yawn.

Still half asleep, he feels her relaxing, the comforting strokes of her fingers getting slower, heavier, and he knows she’s drifting back to sleep. Maybe he should let her, but there are these words he’s been practicing under his breath all night long and he’s getting anxious and he just wants to say them, before he loses the nerve.

“Darlin’?” he asks quietly, folding his hands across her chest and resting his chin on them.

“Hmmm?” she says, her voice a bit slurry as she opens her eyes. Bucky fleetingly thinks every bit of light in the world must be concentrated on her, because she’s the only thing he can see.

Heart racing, he tamps down the nervousness and wets his lips. He wants to do this right, wants to make sure it’s perfect.

“Would you do something for me?” he says carefully, choosing those words, borrowing that phrase he gave her back in 1944 and god, he hopes he’s returning them in the way she remembers.

At first, she doesn’t catch it, simply running her fingers down his arm, but her words are so naturally reminiscent of the past.

“I’d do anything for you.” Bucky says nothing, simply waiting. She’s confused by his silence, until he tilts his head and a slow smile curves his lips. Her eyes widen and she blinks slowly. “Bucky -“

The staccato thrum of her heartbeat is suddenly flying against his hands and his blue eyes are so bright, overflowing with emotion when he completes the question.

“Would you marry me?”

Time, normally an unending commodity, freezes. They stare at each other, Bucky holding his breath as he waits, desperate for the same answer she gave him in 1945, knowing it’s a risk, he’s taking a huge leap here, but unable to do anything except go for it.

“I want to marry you Bucky, I do, I want - I want it so - god, I want it so much. You’re all I ever - this is the only thing I’ve ever wanted - “

Blowing out a huge breath, Bucky starts to laugh. Bouncing up, he cuts her off, peppering her face with happy kisses, sloppy wet trails down her forehead, over her cheeks, on her nose, up her neck. Every inch of skin he can find he marks with excited lips.

“Shit, thank god, ugh thank god! I mean it this time, I’m getting you that ring. Soon as I get back to New York I’ll get it, you come with me, we’ll pick it out together, anything you want. Hell, I got decades of back-pay from the army, and I mean, I hate to brag, but I’m sorta rich now.”

“Bucky -“

“Whatever you want for a wedding, I’m game. If you want something big, that’s great. Something small, even better. Only thing I need is to have the team there, and Steve’ll flat out murder me if he doesn’t get to stand up with us, he’s a real bitch for attention sometimes.”

“Bucky -“

“And we can live wherever you want, doesn’t matter to me. I’d love to just stay here if that’s okay, if you don’t mind, I mean it really feels like home and I ain’t had one of those for so damn long, but if you wanna live in New York or hell, anywhere, I can make it work, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Bucky, I’m - “

“And I’m done with work, that’s it,” he laughs exuberantly “Stark’ll be pissed, he just made me this new arm, but I don’t fuckin’ care, I got you now, I’m staying put unless they get really desperate and -“

“Bucky, stop!”

The panic in her voice is like a wave of ice water. It shuts him down instantly. Silence hangs heavy in the room before he blows out a long breath.

“Shit,” he says softly, embarrassment pinking his cheeks. “Dammit, that was - was that too much? M’sorry, I got carried away, I just - shit, I’m sorry.”

Sitting up on her knees to face him, she reaches up and tucks his messy hair behind his ears and cups his flushed face in her palms. “No, it wasn’t too much, it was - it was perfect, that’s not it.”

“Okay. Okay, so - was it something else I said?”

She says nothing, but instead she searches his face, her eyes slowly roaming over every feature and Bucky thinks for a moment that she’s memorizing him. Licking her lips, she rubs her thumbs lightly over his sharp cheekbones and she swallows hard.

“Shit,” she says under her breath. “Shit, shit, shit. Fuck.”

“Hey now, thought I was the one with the potty mouth here,” he jokes weakly. She doesn’t crack a smile and Bucky feels his stomach swoop uncertainly. “Darlin’, what - what’s the matter?”

Still, she says nothing. Longing is so heartbreakingly clear in her face and Bucky can’t reconcile it. Suddenly, she surges forward, pressing her lips to his and he catches her, folding her up in his arms. She kisses him desperately, twining her arms around his neck and Bucky still has no idea what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter. All he wants, is to soothe whatever terrible thought is upsetting her, because this is his job, this is what he does.

He loves her, no matter what.

When she finally breaks the kiss, he tries to smile. “What was that for?”

Breathing hard, she closes her eyes.

“Just in case.”

With those words, she extricates herself from his arms and climbs from the bed. Walking to the fireplace, she slots her fingers into a tiny groove on the bottom of the third stone above the mantle. It takes no more than a gentle tug, and the stone comes away easily. Setting it carefully on the floor, she reaches into the black space it reveals.

Another hiding spot.

Whatever she collects, she stares at it for a full minute, before clasping it to her chest. Turning slowly, fearful eyes lock on his face and for a fleeting moment, Bucky conjures the morbid image of someone walking to their own execution. Climbing back onto the bed, she sits back on her heels and he sees her clutching a small silver box.

“I want to marry you Bucky Barnes. I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you, because I’ve loved you every single day since the moment we met, and I hope - I need you to know that.”

“I know, honey,” he says in absolute confusion.

“You’re the love of my life. Please remember that,” she whispers, and she sets the silver box on the bed. The lock has five numbers, and she spins each dial until it pops open. Fingers shaking, she picks up the small piece of fabric inside and holds it out for him to see.

It’s the strangest thing.

In her hand, is a ripped piece of faded blue cloth, with a familiar gray patch sewn into it; smudgy rust-red splotches color the edges like fingerprints.

Wings. Gray wings. Nostalgically familiar, because back in the war, each of the Howling Commandos wore one on their left sleeve, a mirror image tribute to the one painted on Steve’s helmet.

Including Bucky. Who wore one on the left sleeve of his coat.

The left sleeve of his blue coat.

Now, he stares uncomprehendingly at the piece of cloth. “What - “ he starts, but his voice fades. Small shivers are running through her body as she watches him, her face filled with dread. Taking a shaky breath, she whispers.

“There was one other time we met.”

*****

Next Chapter

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #altnl

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nightmare-circus · 4 years

Text

Serica | Reaction 4/4 | Ode to…

When: Second motive, when their surroundings were not these ephemeral islands but a quiet village. In the midst of suffocating fear, after she had committed to holing up in her room, before he had come to stay with her.

Where: On their mirrors. Due to aforementioned self-isolation.

Who: One conspiracy theorist, one nurse. Just friends, for now.

What:

( > seriously though i dont want to find you dead )

> then don’t go looking

( > how could i not? )

Why:

IX. Yamamoto, Deacon

Was it her fault, for trying to make concrete plans for the future?

( “Deacon Yamamoto, I will do everything in my power to make sure you and I can leave here, that I will find you and bring you home and we’ll spend days just sitting on the couch watching terrible sitcoms, riding on the subway gossiping about tourists, walking through the park hand in hand…“ )

No, that was stupid.

Serica may have been a woman who believed in more than the average person, trusted in platitudes and jinxes where others would scoff, but even in the midst of the unthinkable she was dimly aware this wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t his fault. It was…. someone else. Someone else’s fault.

A someone else who she needed to find. But, she found herself once again incapable of meaningfully investigating. Not this time for exaggerated pain and weakness, but of a pure inability to move forward both physically and psychologically.

She’s done this before. She had just forced herself to shallowly rationalize and pack away the deaths of Miles, Juniper, Tatsuya, Elise. One more couldn’t be bad. She was great at compartmentalization wasn’t she? She was able to laugh and have drinks hours after poisoning a man, she was able to pretend to be a victim when only half an hour before she had killed one Danny Ostergard with her two hands. If she approached this from a distance, with the veneer of a woman who had nothing to do with the dead man before her, with the objectivity of a woman who simply was trying to figure out what was going on… she could do this, right?

Let’s begin.

How does she even begin to explain Deacon Yamamoto?

(Ah… he’d probably like that reference, wouldn’t he?)

u/BoysBBUGS || u/aviary23

Head mod of Fanatical Ravings of the Disappeared, he(?) had a lot of theories that she didn’t necessarily subscribe to, but saw his contributions interesting to pick at. Ships passing through the night on the world wide web ocean.

IX. The Hermit || XI. Justice

A neighbor of a neighbor, though she hadn’t seen him around much. Does he keep to himself? Why the mask?

Cockroach & Serica

A riot of a man, able to make her laugh to hysterics at their first meeting. Supposedly 32 years old, supposedly unable to bath for fear of chemicals, supposedly with child with a man he had just met. Willing to have himself come off as incredibly unreasonable in public. Despite all this, clearly intelligent, clearly possessed a mind that had a voracious appetite for information and was wonderful to bounce theories on. An asset, despite it all.

( “I’m Serica by the way!” )

[…]

“They gave me the name Cockroach. Fucking COCKROACH Ser. What kinda joke is this shit?”

“I have a dumb fucking gift and Cockroach might as well be my real name since I doubt I’ll ever hear my original one ever again.”

Roach & Riccy

Slippery in every way, but not so unreasonable as he seemed. Logic was a great way to combat him, and any answer often had to be weaseled with either heavy theorizing (her specialty) or with a tango with some off the cuff roleplaying (decidedly not her specialty). She wouldn’t be so cocky to say that he changed his habits for her but… she thinks she had a hand in convincing him. He really wasn’t so bad, if you gave him a chance, and he’d surprised her more than once with acts of care and thoughtfulness.

Dee & ██

A friend for sure, and one who seemed to have a genuine loyalty. No qualms at seeing her drop a stun gun in front of him, no reservations when she admitted tentatively that she slept with a knife, no judgements when she casually brought up murder once more. Morals in the traditional sense didn’t seem to shackle him, which was very convenient to incorporating him into her tentative plans. 26, not 32. A New Yorker, as well though rather than any borough, his car was his home. Given his life he had become a stranger to hugs, to positive affection, but once he had a taste he was hungry for more. For all his mock lovers and public swooning, he was dense to actual subtle flirting.

( “My middle name. Aka, no risk of harming me if a faelien hears it. ██.” )

“I don’t have a middle name. I’d tell you if I did, swear. You can call me Dee though. It’s a part of my first name and you already know the first letter of it when I fucked up that one time. So Dee is a pretty good substitute then, yeah?”

Deacon & ███

Incredibly cute. A true newcomer to being hit on, to being told he’s handsome, to being kissed, to being in a relationship. A strong backbone even as she herself wavered in the days leading up to the decisive moment. Determined, stating possibilities as if they were facts and refusing to acknowledge her agonizing over the worst case scenario. Through everything, an unwavering support, a hand on her back, a shoulder to lean on. A good singer of lullabies, in her opinion.

( “███. My name is ███.” )

“Deacon.”

Deacon Yamamoto & ███ ██ █

Did not hold himself in the same concern he showed her. Makes a fuss in the public chat about the wrongs done to him but brushes off the severity when questioned by his own girlfriend. Still a liar, still a master of faking a smile.

( “I won’t remember much but i’ll know your name, your, that you helped me so much in escaping that, that you mean the World to me–” she’s just babbling “I probably will believe myself if, if I actually try to find your information or maybe your drivers license– maybe if I put you in as a missing person or– But oh no will you believe me? What if I just show up at your car and you just think I’m a scam artist or–” )

“My license plate is HGO789. Deacon Yamamoto. I’ll believe you. I’ll always believe you.”

( “…█. My last name is… █.” )

███ ██ █

There once was a man upon whom was foisted a change. Upon his rise to a breathing dream, he was stripped of his taste and stripped of subsequent limits. Immune not only to the aches of poison but the salve of saccharin, the burn of capsaicin. To match with his steel stomach was his mercurial tongue, not gifted but cultivated carefully. Silvery and poisonous with every other word, it was at the command of a mind that paralleled in fluidity. It was as if he was a maestro, and his instrument of choice was a dictionary, phrases and scenarios slung with such rapidity that all who listened were on guard for constant whiplash.

So, it meant something when words became actions.

Anyone can say anything. He especially was able to say anything, a master class perjurer of the highest degree. The sun was about to peek through the sky at any moment, he was a Staten Island woman in an unhappy marriage trying to hook up her hair dresser with her son, he was fine, he was going to be okay, he was going to get out of here–

…

There is a difference, between telling someone that you will take consideration for the situation, and spending precious currency to fit yourself with a weapon.

There is a difference, between telling someone that you will help them, protect them, and taking the extra mile to pull down the mattress of a woman who’s waking hell of a gift would not let her climb up the steps otherwise.

There is a difference, between telling someone that you want them to live and helping them plan and execute the death of another person.

There is a difference, between telling someone that you want to live and…

…

(She was failing miserably in this task).

…

No one who looked at his body, at the stagnant ichor dripping out of his head, could understand the potential for warmth like she would. His fingers combing through her hair, pulling out loose tangles and tucking locks behind her ear so she could look at him unfettered. A grin, not sharp and pulled taught, but gently reassuring, murmuring soothing phrases to ease her anxious hands. Irises, bright not with the promise of information to unravel but with unbridled emotion that made his eyes crinkle, a devoted gaze meant for one.

One person, who stood here alone.

“And it’s not like I need it, yanno? I kinda wasted my life away before all of this. Not sure if I want it back.”

"I won’t die. Not yet at least. I have some things that need getting done."

“I mean I’m not gonna let myself die after I break a leg like some racehorse. I wanna be useful, not a damn trigger happy martyr. ” He had snorted. “I’ll still make a valiant effort to get out of here Rics. But if it comes down to me and you? Well.” He had shrugged. “As a consolation prize I will say, you do make me wanna become someone worth living again.”

"I was impliiiied my dear, of course I’m making it out of here with you. What would the point be otherwise. I was trying to make it seem all badass and broody, adding a technicality to it all would’ve been underwhelming.”

“You’re going to be stuck with me until the end of times.”

“You’re getting out of- we’re getting out of here. You were wonderful.”

“Yes I know. I will. I’m going to get out. With you.”

“Of course, █. We can live a life worth living together out there.”

“It’s going to be alright █.”

“I love you █, please. Trust me, things are gonna be fine.”

“One day at a time.”

One day at a time, she had repeated.

One day at a time, she repeats, staring at his face, flesh frozen in the way that only a cadaver could. She’d never forget the first time she had touched a dead body, and was forced to confront the jarring dissonance, the coldness, the stiffness, the pallor of the skin that had been warm, soft, pliable, just hours before. Only a child, forced to confront the concept of lives ending for the first time. Since then she had seen more than her fair share, from work, from this place, before her very eyes.

Joints creak and echo through her body as she moves, finally. To fold her knees under herself, sit at his side, hand hovering indefinitely, torn between not having to face that final moment of confirmation and wanting to just hold him once more. Before she would have to be torn from him for hours, before they returned from a useless trial and his body would be gone, before she’d have to trudge to their caravan, who’s emptiness would threaten to collapse on her.

“There is nothing worse than not knowing.”

( “No, there’s nothing worse than not living.” )

#ch4 #serica #submission

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buffyversefanfiction · 4 years

Text

Twisted Tristan

Chapter 3 - Our City (Volume 3)

Warnings: I do not own or claim to own the original content to “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, “Angel”, the comics or any of the original characters from the “Buffyverse” all rights belong to Joss Whedon.

15 plus, displays of Violence, Gore, Torture, M/M, F/M, F/F.

Drusilla and Darla found themselves walking down a dark alleyway in Los Angeles laughing sinisterly amongst themselves when they suddenly came across a baby boy wrapped in a jacket, Willow’s jacket to be precious and the baby in question was none other than a much younger Tristan, Buffy’s biological son.

“And here was me thinking about having a little something to eat.” Darla said to Drusilla while ascending her vampire face.

“No mummy this child is far too precious to be wasted as a snack.” Drusilla told her off before lifting the quiet baby child before showing the boy her vamp face which amused him as he smiled at her much to Drusilla’s delight.

“Drusilla the last thing we need right now is for you start getting sentimental about killing babies.” Darla snapped at Drusilla who began rocking the baby back and forth.

“I see a great darkness set to descend within this child a bitterness that will only ripen with age and an incredible amount of chaos he’ll inflict on this world.” Drusilla replied joyfully while dancing with the baby boy in her arms.

“Drusilla, I don’t have time for these games ever since Angelus set us alight last week you’ve been acting even more like you than normal.” Darla moaned as her face returned to its normal state.

“Mummy don’t be mad this baby will be the answers to all your prayers one day,” Drusilla revealed to her while continuing to keep her eyes on the baby with pure adoration. “This little child will be the cause of Buffy’s downfall once and for all finally the preppy little cheerleader will get what’s coming to her.”

“You get all that from holding a child?” Darla asked her. “How can you be so sure?”

“I see a future where this child is fully grown a future where he will inflict immense pain onto others especially little miss Buffy, and I will have great joy in seeing it unfold.” Drusilla promised her vampire grandmother/granddaughter.

“Hm, I still say we eat the little rat just in case what your saying is just another of your episodes.” Darla replied. “Besides I’m really hungry.”

“Buffy sunk her pretty little manicured nails into my father Angelus taking him away from you and then she came for my darling Spike,” Drusilla moaned as her face returned to normal while she continued to cuddle into the child. “It’s no fair that she still lives but if we spare this baby she won’t be living for much longer.”

“So, you’re seriously telling me that if we spare this little rodent than we ourselves will be having a hand in that perky bitch’s demise?” Darla asked her interest in the child being more than just a snack rising. “Well I’m not bloody raising the thing vampires were not made to be mothers and quite frankly I can’t think of a ghastlier task.”

“All we have to do mummy is deliver him to the right destination and then just wait as he grows to be the man who destroys Buffy’s entire world.” Drusilla made herself clear.

Tristan and Dante stood behind the counter of their somewhat restored demonic dive bar with new demonic, monstrous and vampiric clientele filling their pub as the two lovers made out passionately while groping each other as a vampire bartender walked around the bar handing out drinks and weapons to the customers making it clear these two were getting ready for a big battle in their own way.

Dante feared this fight would be his and his lover’s last, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to get the love of his life what he wanted. They often say that without a soul a vampire can’t love but that’s never been true.

A soulless Drusilla and a soulless Spike were in love for centuries until a still soulless at the time Spike fell in love with Buffy, a soulless Darla was besotted with Angelus for centuries even somewhat loving Angel in her own way and a soulless loved Dante with every inch of his un-beating a heart and if that meant dying to give him what he wanted then he was ready for it.

Tristan was a truly twisted violent man who cared for very few but Dante was his other half, Dante not only understood the darkness residing within him but he loved it and because of that Tristan truly loved him but there was something Tristan loved even more than his vampire boyfriend and that was the fight.

Faith pulled out a rucksack from underneath her bed opening it to reveal a bag full of weapons while she stood in her motel room with Angel and Illyria as Faith pulled out her infamous knife from season three of Buffy looking the blade up and down with a sense of nostalgia and euphoria that you’d easily be fooled into believing that blade was first Faith’s first love.

“Do you need some time alone?” Angel asked her before the three of them were shocked by the glass on the window of the motel room exploded into pieces onto the ground as the curtains fell to the ground forcing Illyria to rush over to Angel and push him into a corner of the room which was shadowed from the glaring sunlight now coming into the room.

“Your more than welcome.” Illyria said to Angel while Faith walked over to the shattered window to see a vampire standing outside her room in thick black robes protecting him from bursting into flames because of the sunlight.

“My masters have told me to inform you of their disappointment for you Faith Lehane they expected far better things from you and yet you align yourself with the treacherous vampire and a former goddess.” The vampire informed her instantly igniting Illyria’s fury.

“There’s nothing former about me you blood sucker,” Illyria snapped at the vampire. “I have no trouble in showing you that.”

“My masters want you to return to the place where all this started tonight.” The vampire continued to tell Faith while ignoring an infuriated Illyria before he began to remove his robes and by doing so his body caught on fire the flames quickly beginning to burn his body. “Dante will drink from the bloody of the redeemed rogue slayer while Tristan will burn this city to the ground.”

Faith, Illyria and Angel watched as the vampire’s body which was on fire quickly turned to nothing but dust.

“I guess the dramatic flare clearly runs in the family,” Angel scoffed. “My evil self-taught Dante more tricks then I realized.”

“Ugh, why do vampires go out of their way to be more dramatic than humans,” Illyria moaned while rolling her eyes. “This world was so much easier to enjoy when humankind was enslaved, and blood suckers were kept as pets.”

Dante and Tristan sat alone in their bedroom on the edge of their bed above their demonic dive bar the curtains were closed due to the fading daylight which would set Dante on fire but what you could see of the window you could tell the sun was setting and the battle was drawing nearer.

“I know our plan is to wipe all slayers and obviously Faith’s one of those said slayers, but I can’t help this feeling inside that is yelling at me that this isn’t going to end well for either of us.” Dante admitted his fears to Tristan. “If we run now Drusilla herself wouldn’t even blame us, they have a freaking goddess on their side.”

“Dante my darling we have fought for years to get to where we are now, we can’t just give up and let these people take it from us.” Tristan replied as he stood up from the bed. “After everything I’ve been through everything, we’ve been through I refuse to just run from the storm I am going to embrace it with or without you by my side.”

“I will ride out any storm with you my love you know I’ll never leave your side.” Dante said as he stood up from the bed to face his lover trying to reassure him of his loyalty. “I want nothing more than for you to get the revenge that you deserve but not if it means you killing yourself in the process.”

“You know I love you Dante I’ve loved you from the first moment met.” Tristan admitted to the undead love of his life. “You found me when I was lost in darkness with no-one by my side and you taught me how to master that darkness but as much as I love you, I can’t walk away from this. This is everything I’ve lived for everything I stayed alive for and I won’t stop fighting until my last breath is taken from me.”

“I will stand by your side even if it means it will lead to our deaths and then I will stand by your side in the flames of hell.” Dante promised him before kissing his love one last time before they got ready for the fight of their lives.

Faith, Angel and Illyria were stood in the alleyway outside of Tristan and Dante’s demonic dive bar ready to deal with their New York problem right there and then.

“You guys can take whoever you want but I want Tristan.” Faith told them as they noticed large groups of vampires, demons and creatures appearing from out of the bar, out of the shadows and around the corners.

“I am very displeased with these opponents they have chosen for this fight it’s going to be far too easy to the point where this battle could bore me.” Illyria informed her teammates as Dante and Tristan walked out of their demonic dive bar ready to fight. “So, to accept your request Faith I can only agree to leaving them till last and if you’re not done by then I’ll simply finish them all.”

“Okay ladies let’s stop discussing our kills and actually get to the killing.” Angel told them before the trio charged towards the army of evil that was determined to kill them all.

Illyria wasted no time in taking down vampire after vampire by ripping their heads of before going for the demons and ripping their hearts out with such ease as Angel launched himself towards his foes that proved a little harder for him but in fairness Illyria was an all powerful goddess so in any other fight Angel’s strength would be considered rather impressive and still was holding his own with the goddess herself.

Meanwhile Faith wasted no time in charging towards Tristan beginning a fight between the two of them that they both had been waiting for since their first meeting. Tristan managed to hold his own against the reformed slayer for quite some time, but it was clear she was gaining the upper hand before beating him to the ground leaving the twisted man with little fight left.

Dante noticed from afar that his loved one was in fatal danger at Faith’s hands and charged towards the slayer only to be stopped in his tracks by Illyria who grabbed the vampire by his head at the same time Tristan had sucker kicked Faith to the ground and jump back on his feet just in time to see Illyria ripped Dante’s head from his shoulders turning Tristan’s vampire lover to dust.

“No!” Tristan screamed completely devastated by what he just saw causing the war in front of him to instantly stop as he ran over to the remains of his loved one and fell to his knees holding the ashes of Dante in his hands while he began to sob uncontrollably. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this you were never supposed to leave me.”

Angel continued to finish off the remaining of Tristan and Dante’s evil army while both Illyria and Faith stood still while watching Tristan continue to sob into the ashes of his fallen lost one and in that moment Faith realized this man no matter how twisted was in fact just a man a heartbroken man to be exact.

Following their battle against Tristan his vampire lover Dante and their army of minions Faith, Angel and Illyria were victorious Dante was dead and Tristan was defeated but Faith couldn’t help but feel sorry for the young raven-haired man.

She found herself reluctantly forming a strange bond with him from the start and she knew how much Tristan loved Dante which made her feel guilty for being part of taking him away from Tristan.

Things were far simpler for Faith Lehane when she just killed without caring and never had to answer to anyone but at the same time she had something now that she never had before friends which helped her come back from the darkness the same darkness she was determined to pull Tristan out of knowing he was human and believing like her he could be redeemed.

Faith, Illyria and Angel kept Tristan hostage in Faith’s motel room until Rupert Giles arrived at the motel with several female slayers who took Tristan from Faith’s room and into the back of the truck before chaining him up and sitting down with him before closing the doors as Faith, Illyria, Angel and Giles stood in the motel parking lot next to the truck in which had just become a high security prison for Tristan.

“I’ve got to admit when I saw a truck I got immediate flashbacks to the watchers council G but I suppose having slayers on side to handle slayers it’s a bit of a step forward even if you are still following some of the council’s rules I’m glad your making it your own because quite frankly most of that council were asses with too much power.” Faith admitted to Giles. “If anyone can handle us girls the right way it’s going to be you.”

“Thanks Faith it really means a lot that you of all people agree with what I’m doing because no slayer should or will ever be treated the same way you and Buffy were treated by the council.” Giles promised not yet noticing the irony of those words.

“So, what exactly happens with Tristan now?” Angel asked, clearly nowhere near as trustful of Giles as Faith was. “I mean how do you redeem someone slayer style when they’re not even a slayer?”

“Well I like to believe that anyone can be redeemed as long as their willing to seek out redemption and if not when then precautions are in place a prison of sorts you could say for unreformed slayers.” Giles admitted quickly losing Faith’s trust in the process with Faith not exactly being too much of a fan of prison following her stint in the place.

“This mere mortal is not a slayer why are we treating him like one?” Illyria asked Angel, Faith and Giles. “If you ask me you should’ve let me eliminate him straight after I eliminated his lover.”

“I’m well aware that Tristan is not a slayer yet somehow he requires many of the training and slayer like strength strong enough to take down several slayers in fact.” Giles reported to Illyria. “His origins will probably reveal how he is the way he is, but he is still human, and every human has a soul which means he has a chance of being redeemed.”

“Redemption is a lot harder than it sounds,” Faith admitted before going on to say. “I’ll need to check out this rehabilitation center of yours sometime G and not as a patient before anyone gets any ideas.”

“You’re more than welcome anytime.” Giles told her with a sincere smile on his face.

Angel and Faith remained standing in the motel parking lot long after Giles drove off with his slayer bodyguards and the twisted Tristan and long after Illyria made her own way out of New York City in search of her next battle.

“This was some seriously good nostalgia for the good old days when you and I were a team.” Angel admitted to Faith.

“You, Illyria and I do make quite the trio I’ve got to admit but what’s the latest on Fred is she still in there because I couldn’t help but notice she never made an appearance the whole time Illyria was here.” Faith wondered, worrying about her Fred’s fate.

“Don’t worry Fred’s still in there they’ve kind of come to terms with the whole-body sharing dilemma and it seems to be working out quite well for them both.” Angel explained to Faith about Fred and Illyria sharing the same body.

“Yeah I’m sorry but that whole situation is never not going to be weird.” Faith admitted with an awkward laugh. “I do miss you too big guy.”

“I’m not going to pretend I don’t know what your about to go and do Faith.” Angel told her with a sincere smile. “You’re going to check out this rehabilitation thing Giles has going and check up on your little frenemy Tristan.”

“Here the kid clearly has some issues but if he can be the upset for Dante’s death, he must’ve loved him which means he feels something other than just his murderous tendencies.” Faith said in defense of the slayer killing man.

“It’s not often you like anyone this little psychopath must be pretty special to break Faith Lehane’s armor.” Angel teased her before sincerely admitting. “With you on his side I’m sure his soul will be saved in no time.”

“Don’t be calling me a hero or nothing I’m not exactly the saving type.” Faith replied, attempting to brush off Angel’s compliments towards her.

“You saved me from myself when everyone turned against me for my actions as Twilight.” Angel admitted to the redeemed slayer. “Not to mention the time when you literally almost killed yourself in order to take down Angelus without killing me.”

“Yeah well you saved me first I was just returning the favour.” Faith scoffed before Angel kissed her much to her surprise.

Faith looked at Angel for a moment as she looked at him the two realizing in that moment the feelings that had grown between them over the years all leading to this very moment as they gave into their emotions and began passionately kissing within the motel parking lot.

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stusbunker · 5 years

Text

Featuring: MoC!Dean x Demon!reader, Original Female Character, Castiel, Charlie, Crowley, Rowena

Summary: Our reader’s back and there’s gonna be trouble! Charlie brings back the Book of the Damned and CC asks Castiel for something he doesn’t want to give.

Warnings: This is super long, possession, show level violence, rough sex, face fucking, oral sex (male and female), hair pulling, dirty talk, dub!con smut.

Series Masterlist

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March 30, 2015

Munich, Germany

The city was old, streets wrapping around buildings at harsh angles and in varying stone. But that was what you needed, age, wisdom, answers. At your sendoff, Crowley had given you a name, occupation, and a proverbial pat on the head. You didn’t know why you complied so easily; until you heard the first peal of laughter from a stranger on the sidewalk. Humanity. To be surrounded by life was worth the mission. Language and social niceties came back quickly, adjusting from vessel to vessel as you navigated the foreign byways.

It was easy to forget your time with Dean here; to imagine yourself something newly minted in this different world. The power you found during your initial escape in that lonesome field painted with bull’s blood, was nothing compared to the possibility of redemption. It taunted and teased you with that naïve hope only Crowley’s goading could coax from your battered mind. He hadn’t mentioned your previous time running his errands, nor the Winchesters, but he didn’t have to. He had your number, and once you started stacking the clues together; you had his.

The shop was warded to the nines, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t watch from the café across the street. You handed the server a fifty Euro banknote and asked to be left alone, freeing your table for the lunch hour and beyond. Hell, the teacher of eternal patience had left you with nothing to do but absorb and endure. So, you did what you knew; you waited. Eventually, the shopkeepers eased from the side door, their business hours long faded into the setting sun.

They each cast a hasty glamour once they spotted you. Too late; you had their scent now. Carefully you rounded the building the opposite way they had headed, the alleys were dark and narrow so much more inconvenient for the humans you tailed. Their hurried footfalls remained unmasked, up and over the next embankment. You didn’t flinch as they separated, trying to confuse you further. They only managed to spread their magic too thin and soon you had gained on the rasping breaths of the one that had decided to go north.

“I’m not after you, you know. I’m looking for someone else,” you said in blunt German.

“I know who you work for,” the rough voice answered in accented English.

“Then you know it is easier to give me the information than wait for the consequences.”

His middle-aged face appeared as he dropped his last barrier from your shining black eyes. He pushed off the brick wall and squared his stance, hands dangling and fingers working in distracting movements. You pulled the handgun from your waistband and met his bluff. No one expects a cowboy duel in the Fatherland, but nothing about your afterlife made sense.

“You want to draw a little more attention to yourself there? Bullets don’t scare me, demon,” he spat out the last word as if he was some holy man, some saint worthy of a judgement.

“Witch killing bullets might slow you down a tick though, yeah? Witch.” You said it how it felt best on your tongue. You spoke over your shoulder to the one who had rounded back, failing to trap you, “thanks for joining us. All I need is for one of you to talk and then we can all go home. Easy peasy.”

“What does it want?” The one still hidden from sight demanded from the one staring down the barrel of your gun.

“Information,” you answered evenly.

“On who?”

The man shook his head at his partner; the name in your head reaped more fear in the witch than Crowley. The silent conversation dragged between them and you decided incentive was necessary at this point. If Crowley’s reputation wasn’t enough, enforcement needed to make up for it. You pulled the hammer back and aimed.

“Alright, alright, what do you need to know?”

“Give me everything you have on Rowena MacLeod.”

*^*^*^*^

April 1, 2015

Inside Man

If Dean was avoiding CC, then he was. If CC was avoiding him, he had no idea. It was almost too easy to be with her in the quiet library or even the cavernous garage, now. Maybe it was the non-human thing, but Dean didn’t really notice her anymore. A chameleon in any room, there, only when she wanted to make her presence known, otherwise she had become as peripheral as furniture. So, it was with the same regard as to a bookcase that Dean called Rudy, begging to be his back up on a case. Sam had his mime movie thing and Dean had his cabin fever. Bupkis it was.

He slipped into the driver’s seat and headed to nowhere in particular, the purples and greens of twilight kept at bay with Baby’s headlights. Dean needed something normal, something expected, something as easy as his hands on the wheel and his cassettes in the deck. This was where he belonged, where he was himself and how he could make sense of things. Now with what the Mark and the world had done to him, he needed it more than ever. Without Sam’s constant vigilance and CC’s over accommodating methods; Dean needed to feel like Dean again, even if it was just for the forty-mile drive to a douche filled sports’ bar.

He switched to the radio about twenty minutes down the road, letting a familiar snare walk and bass line fill the car. He started singing along, drumming his fingers on the downbeats. Dean let himself sink into the music, the carefree joy of belting out crescendo after crescendo. His voice cracked on a lyric and he stopped to swallow as it all hit him. He missed her. He fucking missed the demon. He finished the song, words hitting him harder on the other side. He ignored the tightness in his chest and the shake to his hands. Thinking it made it real and the reality of longing for something, someone like that made his stomach pitch. But it wasn’t disgust, it was grief.

Dean yanked his thoughts out of the depths and brought them back to surface survival as he pulled into the parking lot. The faux neon signs reflected on the Impala’s freshly waxed hood. The meager groups were congregated around the pool tables and Dean decided to try his luck.

A few beers and a pool hustle later; Dean realized he should have stayed in for the night. Rowena had set a pack of rabid frat boys on him and he had to reign in every ounce of his control to stop from gutting them all.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean had the tiny woman pinned to the bar after her spell failed to even give him a nosebleed.

“Saving my son!”

Dean’s confusion was dwarfed only by his surprise. “Your son?”

“Crowley,” she challenged him, adding another shock to the moment.

“Crowley Crowley?!”

“My son is a king! A god, or he would be if you didn’t—You snap your fingers and he comes running like a wee lapdog.”

Dean started to back away, missing whatever blame he held in this scenario. “Lady I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a good influence on him. That’s why you need to die!”

“Well, sorry your little light show didn’t work,” Dean held her fast, he wasn’t going to underestimate her now.

“Oh, I’ll try again,” she whispered the promise that sent a chill down his spine.

“What, you think I’m just gonna let you walk outta here?” Dean matched her menacing smirk.

“I think, you’re a hero. You could have killed those men, but you didn’t. Because they’re innocent.” She winks at him then, taunting him even with the knife to her very pale throat. “Cuz, you’re the good guy and you want them to live. But the spell I cast will DEVOUR them from the inside out, just like it did that girl.” She knew exactly how to use her powers and wiles against him. “I’m the only that can save them. What’s it going to be, HERO?”

Dean recoiled, releasing Rowena as he stepped back to allow her the chance to reverse the damage she had caused. “Fix ‘em up and go.”

“So civil, aren’t you?”

“Lady, I think I’m being the, bigger person here? You did just try and kill me.”

“Well, bigger isn’t always stronger, is it? Brains are a muscle you might want to, strengthen?”

Dean rolled his eyes behind her back. Lithely, Rowena whispered into each of the dude bro’s ears, pulling hexbags from their pockets.

Another bar, another drink with another MacLeod

“Who’s the liar now?” Crowley looked at Dean a little too knowingly. Dean scoffed and took a drink. “She says I’ve gone soft.”

Dean chuckled, because damn if the red head isn’t right, “you have. What? Yeah, maybe it’s all the human blood that Sammy pumped into you, you know? Maybe it’s, uh, I don’t know. I don’t know. But the old Crowley, he would have come in here with hell hounds and demons and he would have blown the roof off the joint. Now? You didn’t want to fight. You wanted to talk. And maybe I’ve changed too. Here I am playing Dr. Phil to the King of Hell. Never saw that coming.”

“Maybe we’re getting old,” Crowley waxed mortally.

“Never saw that coming either,” Dean agreed.

Dean let go with Crowley, explaining the backbone of who he is and how he had made it this far. Family. Then he shoved the piss poor example of a mother Crowley was clinging to, back into the demon’s face. “Does that sound like your mother?”

Crowley knew better, but he was feeling generous. Dean had become his Achilles’ heel after all. “You know I may have seen it coming. Might have had someone digging up all her years of indiscretions since I’d last seen her.”

“Well, good, can’t be too careful,” Dean takes the last pull from his glass, smacking his lips together.

“She’s kind of a wildcard, but I think she’ll get the job done. Who knows, maybe it’s just me getting soft. But I do love an underdog,” Crowley’s eye sparkled back at Dean as the suspicion creeped through the man’s features.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dunno,” Crowley stood. “Just, uh, let me know if you want her number? Might be worth the dime.” With little segue, he vanished. Dean groaned and slid Crowley’s drink over, holding back the fruit and ice before taking the leftovers as payment for not offing the guy’s mom.

April 16, 2015

Book of the Damned

The Bunker after the Cabin

“Whoa,” CC muttered just as she felt Castiel arrive. She looked across the War Room table to Sam who just walked in from whatever he had stashed in his room. “We’ve got company.”

“Hello, Sam, CC.” Castiel joined them, filling in the details of their plan to get information out of Metatron on the Mark behind Dean’s back. Castiel explained in guilt-laden detail how his original grace had been restored. CC felt an ease in the Angel’s eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. Sam did his best to placate Cas, while CC started guessing how a being like Metatron on the loose was going to come back to bite them all in the ass. A stone started to worry in her gut over the words of a never forgotten dream.

“You did the right thing. That book needed to be destroyed,” Castiel’s reassurance brought CC back to the present. “We will find another way, Sam.”

The creaking of the entry door turned everyone’s head skyward.

“We’re back bitches!” Charlie’s spunky return continued to brighten the mood as the evening moved forward with genuine ease in the air. CC never saw Dean smile as much as he did when the red head was around. Something about her tenacity and unabashed nerdiness brought out the teddy bear in him, which CC liked to see, even from a distance. The hacker had become part of the family in a way she never had, despite living with them for this long. Thoughts of a lonely childhood and her looming solitary eternity caused CC to call an early night, leaving only a weary Sam to notice her exit.

April 18, 2015

Manhattan, KS

A summons.

Though the hope had betrayingly crossed your mind, more than once, you never thought he would actually do it. Now that you stood before Dean Winchester once more, you weren’t sure if it was to kill you properly or to fuck you senseless. His glare was that gloriously intense. You welcomed either outcome, if it was at his hand.

“You rang?” You smirked in greeting, hoping the vessel was moderately appealing. The timing of the spell didn’t really give you many options, she was a petite Latina in her early forties, though her genetics hid her age well. You weren’t in the Bunker, but what appeared to be the storage area of an old basement. Mildew and old masonry evident as you gathered any detail that held potential of his intentions. Secrecy abound; you were very much alone.

“Y/N?” Dean didn’t break eye contact, his voice cracking as your eyes misted at his acknowledgement. You only nodded, the emotion of seeing him again began to break through.

“I wasn’t sure you remembered,” a whispered confession.

Dean looked down, shame falling over his usually steadfast features, “Yeah, well I had to do some digging.”

“So, you still don’t know who I am?” Realization knocking you down a peg once more. Geez, drag a girl across the world and you still can’t put the pieces together, some great love he was. And yet he was, damnit.

“I don’t think I know anyone the way I know you.” Dean chided himself, biting at his lip and tsking his tongue. He stepped closer, eyes searching yours. You unconsciously mirrored his movements, taking you to the rim of the red spray paint on the cellar floor.

“I suppose that is the best I could ask for.” Your arms longed to be around him, to feel the weight of him against you, to feel his heart beat. You didn’t know what he wanted from you, but you knew it was your last chance at honesty. You answered his call and raised him with your shared history.

A heavy breath escaped your chest and you let your eyes go black. “I first met you, centuries ago. Before I was a Demon and before you were the infamous Dean Winchester. When you were just some kid who sold his soul for his much more promising brother. Before you knew of your destinies and long before you gave Heaven and Hell the finger.”

Dean’s shoulders straightened, one hand in his pocket as his head cocked with mild amusement.

“I remember the first day Alastair strapped you to his table, the way you screamed and challenged him. I still heard it some nights back home: your voice in agony and me powerless to stop him just outside the door to his favorite torture room.” You began to pace inside the trap, working through the memories both cherished and painful.

“How long did he leave you there?” Dean asked, arms crossed over his chest now, brow furrowed.

“I was left outside your sessions until the day you took the deal,” you stepped forward as he shook his head in disbelief. “I heard him, every day, ask you and I heard you every day, even after hours of anguish, refuse. I begged him for the same opportunity, but I wasn’t special. I wasn’t you. And then I finally saw you face-to-face.”

“The First Seal.” Dean closed his eyes as it all came crashing back and into focus.

“I never blamed you,” your voice fell, hand raised trying to comfort him. He stood just beyond the barrier of his own devising. “Of course, I would have done the same, had I been given the chance. But it wasn’t until your Castiel rescued you, did I feel Alastair’s final torment.”

“Just stop, okay?!” Dean pleaded suddenly; he thumbed the Mark of Cain which seemed to be throbbing over all of the blood he had shed in Hell. The hunger that threatened his humanity once more. You flinched at his words, your stories had brought you back to that vulnerable human soul who had witnessed her schoolgirl crush and torturer ripped from her plane of existence. “You’ve only ever seen the worst of me. Why didn’t you just kill me?”

He kept his eyes down, but you saw how perplexed he felt; you were not a predictable demon and bless him for trying to understand. Your face softened, the endearment you felt catching him off guard. “I was just getting to that part, dumbass. Love. Alastair’s final torment for me was an unwavering and unrequited love, for you.”

“We had very different experiences with Alastair.” Dean’s face broke into a smile, the slight blush on his features. He was such a dork, it hurt to watch him like this.

“Yeah, well, according to Crowley, it wasn’t Alastair at all. He wasn’t ‘that sophisticated with the emotional aspects of the job’.” You shrugged.

“He has a point,” Dean relaxed, walking a bit as you continued to speak.

“Where’s Chloe?” You asked nervously, “And Sam?”

“Chloe? She’s still kicking ‘round the Bunker, but, well, too much water under the bridge.”

“That’s our girl.” You knew she would move beyond this ordeal better than most, yet somehow you still worried for her wellbeing, even after she extradited you. Fucking symbiotic relationships.

“And Sam’s fine. Ornery and trying too hard to make me listen to reason–”

“A lost cause if there ever was one.” You teased, Dean smirked, toeing the line that separated you.

“I’m done fighting the Mark, Y/N.” Dean let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not strong enough, either I go hermit-style like Cain for as long as I can, and people die. Or I just give in.”

“That seems a very narrow list of solutions to a very new problem.”

Dean’s whole torso twitched at your candor, “Well, the Book of the Damned was our last lead and that’s toast. Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

You stepped closer; tips of your pointed shoes frozen against the magical wall of the Devil’s Trap. “I’m what you would call an ‘entry-level demon’. I got out on sheer dumb luck the first time, Dean. They don’t share the great mysteries with the cesspool. Honestly, I think Crowley has been honest with you about the Mark since you became his trusty Knight in Shining Plaid.”

“Yeah, well, worth a shot.” Dean tried and fell just below gracious. He was truly desperate. It carved at you to see him so defeated.

“Is that the only thing you wanted from me?” The pain you couldn’t hide from your words, returned to you in his aching glance.

“It’s not like that.” Dean swallowed. “You know it’s—”

“It’s better left unsaid.” You nodded, trying for the stiff upper lip, sniffling against his stubbornness. “But tell me something else?”

Dean head shot up, waiting for your next question.

“If you’re done, if you’re giving in to the Mark. Why the trap? Afraid I’d get out or just afraid I’d touch you? And you’d really turn? If there’s really nothing to lose, why don’t you—”

Then he was kissing you, Dean Winchester had stepped inside your cage and welcomed your darkness as if it was his only salvation. Though you couldn’t save him; you needed to show him everything words were unable to convey. How you wished he could see how perfect in his imperfection he was, how his self-sacrifice never ceased to take your breath away, how with just the sound of his voice you could withstand a hundred years in the Pit. How much he was loved and needed and how he deserved so much more than a worthless hell-spawned wretch could offer him.

The height difference sent you spinning, he was everywhere, broad shoulders and strong hands, clutching at your now smaller body. The danger Dean accepted by stepping into the circle gave you a rush, your core tightening as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly, you were weightless, he lifted you up, your legs quickly opening to lock around his waist and before you knew it you had tugged open half the buttons of his shirt. When you pulled the tee shirt up from where your thighs had pinned it to his sides, Dean broke the kiss, with heavy breaths he rested his forehead against yours. It had been years since you had tasted him and never with this tongue, but somehow, he still knew how to kiss you.

*^*

Dean could have stayed in that moment forever; the oasis of Y/N’s arms was something he hadn’t known he had missed until he found his way back home. Her hands were now delicate and soft, her legs shorter and waist impossibly narrow, but she still moved the same, with Y/N it felt right. His cock twitched against both his jeans and her impossibly sheer leggings. She rolled her hips against the movement, causing him to groan before leaving a fierce trail of nibbles down her jaw, her skin spiced and smooth beneath his chapped lips.

*^*

The heat growing in your belly intensified as Dean’s mouth wandered lower, his teeth tearing at the lowcut top, you pulled down the shirt and lace covered bra, freeing your aching nipples for his hungered mouth. Balancing one hand tightly on your back, Dean’s free hand kneaded your left breast before teasing the puckered flesh with the warmth of his tongue. You clamped down against the emptiness inside, overwhelmed with each affection Dean gave you.

You grinded harder against him, whimpering, letting your hands snake through his hair, your fake nails digging in as he switched to the opposite tit, pulling that nipple between his straight teeth. He watched you grow needier beneath his every touch, the desire in his eyes making you more desperate. You pulled yourself up, flush against him as you worked off his shirt. The anti-possession tattoo utterly elementary compared to the ancient curse on his arm.

You took over, your kiss demanding his submission as he backed you against the invisible concave wall. The barrier, though intangible was strong, and you used it to rest against as you slid down Dean’s body to remove the clothing restricting you from taking him fully. You wiggled the trim hips from the thin material, tossing the drenched lace to the side among the bunched pant legs. Dean had kicked off his boots, thumbing his shorts and jeans off with a swift dip. He was simply gorgeous, solid and bowlegged, but stunning all the same. Lust battled the emotional appreciation of his nudity and all too soon you were sinking to your knees. Tiny fingers raked up his calves and over his sturdy quads, heavy lashes fluttering over your cheeks as you waited for his impatience to get the best of him. Your face so close you could smell the tang of his heavy balls, eyes lingering on the drop of want leaking from his menacing tip.

Every inch of him seemed larger than before, perspective was in the eye of the beholder and for this vessel Dean’s cock was downright intimidating. The trim legs held you up, the abundant chest brushed against his leg as you silently dared him to make the next move. His hand came down hard on the crown of your head, thick fingers lacing in the dense black locks, he slid through until yanking at the nape of your neck. As he snapped your head up your mouth opened automatically from the jarring tug. In his other hand Dean fisted himself, “You don’t get to tease me, or I’ll send you back. You understand?”

You nodded, tears forming from the intensity of his grip on the base of your neck.

“Sorry?” Dean tilted his head, dramatically inviting you to speak up.

“Yes. Yes, Dean, I understand.”

He sucked air through his teeth, green eyes darkening as he released his hold on your hair, his rough thumb dragged down your jaw to circle lazily around your pouting lips. Instinctively, you licked them before he paused. “No teeth, Y/N. I know that was you and I mean it.”

“Whatever, you liked it,” you hissed before taking him into your smart mouth. Dean’s hand fell away from the base of his shaft as you worked him deeper and deeper with each test of this mouth. The lips were fuller, plush against the veiny length of him. He repeatedly tucked your hair back, keeping your face on full display as you sucked and mewled over him. As your tongue lapped from underneath, your core clenched, once again, over nothing. The gagging girth of him quickly made you lightheaded.

“You want it so bad you’re gonna choke on it, aren’t cha?” Dean crooned down at you as you looked back up at him, his fat bottom lip clenched between his perfectly white teeth. You slid back to lock eyes with him completely, delicate fingers massaged his balls as he called out into the night. “That’s it, that’s my dirty little demon slut. Hmmm,” Dean huffed and suddenly the Mark took over. His massive hands planted themselves on either side of your fragile skull and suddenly he was thrusting back into you. His dick deepened to puncturing your throat, your stomach rolled, saliva building as he growled with the fierce snap of his hips.

The pressure on your temples increased alongside his speed, delicious and terrifying. Then you began to cough, Dean finally slowed, which allowed you to swallow against the thick mucus that had gathered in your esophagus, tender and stretched wide. You dragged her nails back down his legs before letting him go with an audible pop. Then Dean did the hottest thing you had ever seen, he crouched with those damned bowlegs, lowering his pulsing cock to the generous cleavage in front of you. In a frantic whimper, you tugged your breasts apart for him, tips of your fingers teasing the dark areolas before holding the fleshy globes tight against his spit-slicked cock. Once again, his strong digits weaved into your hair as he fucked your tits. His every muscle worked to dominate you, the Mark of Cain ragged against his pale forearm, his abdomen tense behind the soft layer his other vices supplied, all overloading your senses with his power, his lust for you and just how far you would push each other.

You teased the ruddy head of his cock with the tip of your tongue, his salty juices seeping out to aid in the rough friction. Your nipples ached as your pussy sopped with emptiness.

“On you back, Y/N. I need to eat some of that before I am done with you.” Dean growled, tugging as his cock as he tried to step back from the brink. “Fucking smell you from here, you know that?”

You didn’t reply, just slowly sat back on your bare ass, the cold floor sent shockwaves through your overheated thighs and straight to your folds. Your nipples puckered impossibly smaller. Dean spread out his large shirt behind you, before leaving a tantalizing kiss on your shoulder. Then his lips took over, he sucked and nibbled and decimated the teak colored skin. When his hot breath hovered over your nipples you thought you were going to cum on the spot. Each sensation barreled into the next, your legs were shaking by the time Dean spread your knees wide.

“Now this view, Y/N? I have got to hand it to you, hmmmm, nice choice,” Dean’s eyes glinted as his thick tongue found your swollen bud. It gave a dizzying jostle before licking broad strokes up and down your lips. Spreading you wide, Dean gathered your juices with his skilled fingers. You half laughed and half moaned when, at long last, your trembling cunt earned its fill. Dean’s fingers worked into you as he sucked gently on your bursting clit.

“Is it sweet enough,” you teased back, watching him lavish you, drunk on your sex. His scruff shown with your arousal, his whiskers adding roughness along your tender apex, further blurring the lines of pain and pleasure.

“You know what’s the most messed up part?” Dean whispered, sliding back to watch his fingers disappear inside you. “I don’t know this chick and I don’t care. I am just fucking you. Not Chloe, not anyone else. Right now, it’s only us. And I should care and I’m sure I am going to hate myself tomorrow. But that feeling of not caring?”

“I’d call it freedom. Best kind of bittersweet.” You sighed, reaching up to stroke his temple. His closed his eyes and you finally saw how bone-tired he was.

“I hate being this scared, Y/N. It’s not who I am.” His fingers never stopped; his mouth ghosted over every sensitive crease as if the act alone was penance for his confession.

“Dean?” Your voice hitched.

“Yeah?” Dean placed tiny pecks along the inside of your thigh, his voice impressively soft.

“I really need to cum. You make me feel so good, but I can’t—” you broke off into a gasp as he added a third finger inside you, his tongue pressed wide and forceful against you. You didn’t know if it was his admission or the added effort once you begged for it, but less than two minutes later and your climax overcame you. Waves of heat flooded your system as everything contracted. Then the break and you fell: unwinding with the stuttering pulses. Dean pulled you through it, his fingers’ pace slowed in calculated increments. Just as he slipped from your clutches, he made sure to nuzzle your mound before easing up to his knees.

With a tempered swat at your knee, you caught his drift, rolling completely over you rocked back to give him another angle to admire. You arched your back and shimmied your shoulders to stretch out the tension that had settled as you braced for your orgasm. You couldn’t see him, but you knew Dean was centering himself behind you, his damp fingers coating his length as it returned to its full glory. You squared yourself, knees below hips and shoulders over splayed palms, ready for whatever he would give you.

Dean nudged your knees farther apart, causing your upper half to lower onto your elbows, the cold stone floor stiff beneath your thin joints. Ass bared and ready. “I want you to tell me, who I am.”

“Deeeeeeeeannnnnnn.” You keened as he stretched you open, even his fingers couldn’t prepare you for the heavy steel of his cock.

“And?” he slowly rolled his hips, barely hitting that secret spot, as if by accident. He was fucking vindictive.

“Dean fucking Winchester.”

“That’s more like it, Y/N.” Dean built up his rhythm.

“Hunter.” You mewed.

“What else?”

“Mark Bearer?”

“And?” His teeth were clenched now, the words strained and menacing.

“Knight of Hell!” You screamed as he smacked your ass, pounding into you with constant shallow thrusts.

“Who am I?”

“The Righteous Man!”

Dean growled at the old title, the darkness of the Mark at war with his true nature: protector of the innocent. As his other hand connected with the opposite cheek you tensed, unsure of what else he wanted to hear.

“Michael’s Sword!” your voice was high and whiny as everything that was holding you upright began to weaken. He took both of your hips in his palms now, dragging out of you slowly before popping his pelvis back in, forcing you to press back into him or crash to the floor. He hummed in appreciation as he spread you wider from behind, his thumb pressed against your puckered hole, adding to the building pressure throughout your core.

“That’s mine, just like this pussy is mine. You hear that, Y/N? You’re mine.”

“Always have been,” you replied plainly without even registering what it all meant. “My Seal Breaker.”

Dean liked that one, because he raised one knee up and began to work you over again. You tossed your head back to watch him over your shoulder, bending nearly in half. He was breath-taking, his mouth open and panting, skin dewy and tense, uncountable scars and freckles randomly yet perfectly placed to outline this impossible man.

“Come on, baby, let me see you,” Dean coaxed, your eyes burst open, the inkwell pools staring back at him as he thrust harder into your luscious depths. “Hmmm, Y/N, you know how good you feel? So. Fucking. Sweet.”

“Better than her?” You half-whispered, half-begged.

“Every ti–.” Dean broke off on a moan, your body pulling him as deep as it could, and suddenly you crested again, muscles spasming as a howl escaped your mouth. Dean gave you only two beats before slamming back into you with wild abandon, reveling in the tightness and the added slick. The slap of his balls against your clit and his strong hips against your firm ass an erotic symphony.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum so hard in that borrowed pussy, you want that?”

“God, yes, Dean. Fill this tiny little thing up,” You whined, tugging at your nipple as Dean began to add an extra roll of his hips between his thrusts. Damn, he knew just how to move, your channel quaked against him, another orgasm looming just out of reach. Dean slid one hand from your waist to palm the small bubble of one ass cheek, fingertips digging so deeply they’d leave marks in the morning. He brushed your g-spot over and over again, everything was vibrating, but it grew too loud. As soon as you felt the next wave approaching Dean froze, spilling inside your wanton cunt. Hot, thick and delicious Dean’s cum slipped from your lower lips as he eased his spent cock from your shaking walls.

He wouldn’t stop touching you, his hand on your hip as you slid down to curl on your side. He let his breathing regulate as he perched back on his heels, his well-built body on full display, the base of his multicolored pleasure trail glistened with both of your juices. His mouth a perfect pink “O” as he blew out a chilling stream against your lolling breasts. You groaned and rolled back up to all fours, biting his delicious thigh as you snaked up his body to steal another kiss. His arms encased you, pulling you in a painfully tight squeeze, the Mark of Cain, hotter than the rest of him, pressed against the lower curve of your ribcage.

He nestled his nose against yours with a satisfied hum, “Now, THAT, was not something I never thought I would do.” Gesturing to the sigils beneath your bodies.

You laughed, “Come on, not even when you were the demon?”

“Okay, maybe once, but Sam was in the room, no way he was getting a free show.” Dean winked down at you, which you eye-rolled away, letting the black slip away for effect. This was it: you felt the inevitable end approaching like a derailed train. You couldn’t look away or sidestep the onslaught, you just had to let it happen. If Dean would let go of the brakes, it would all be over soon.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” You asked softly, letting your hand rest just below his tattoo, head against his collar bone.

He shook his head, “Not a clue, but I had to see you again, in whatever way I could.”

“Well, you could have come to me,” you teased, “I’m pretty sure Knights get all access passes.”

“I’d much rather come in or on you, sweetheart.” He grinned, what an ass. You shoved him away playfully, setting these carefree moments to memory. Even if you were both shit at coping, but professional at bullshit, at slapping on a mask for everyone else’s benefit. Well, Dean the later at least. You didn’t care much for anyone other than yourself, him and CC, if you were being honest. Which you weren’t.

“I don’t think I could handle if you went back, you deserve better than Crowley’s crap-dom.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I can’t die then.” He kissed you gently. “And won’t be going on another karaoke tour anytime soon.” There were so many things you wanted to say and none of them sounded like what he needed to hear. So, you sat there in silence, naked and blissed out upon the grimy floor of a forgotten warehouse in Dean’s arms.

***

He had fallen asleep, with his flannel as a pillow and his jeans thrown back on, unzipped and rumpled, he snored lazily at your side. It was some surrealist painting unraveled, he was raw and clammy with every spare patch of skin reaching across fictitious distance between you. He grumbled senselessly as you watched him, the vessel’s pleas growing with each passing minute. You kept your exploits from her, but she still knew she wasn’t safe there. The wrongness of losing perspective fostered the alarm churning inside your shared head. You savored every second you spent watching Dean dream, which was all the more precious because it was brief. Fleeting as a heartbeat, gone as quick as a wink. Nothing gold can stay.

Once the awe of it all wore down into undeserved contentment, she pushed harder and your willingness to ignore her thinned. You had work to do, a King to please and a vessel to free. You may have been a demon, but you weren’t cruel. CC had taught you how to be honest, even when it cost you everything. You wouldn’t look him in the eye and offer a true goodbye. You didn’t want to hurt him, and you couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t as pained as you.

Which is why you left like a thief in the night. The trap meticulously scratched through with the switchblade Dean always kept on him. Hastily, you left a note, prying a strip of vellum from the spell book he had used. Sam would have a bitchfit about it later, that you were certain. You couldn’t just disappear after experiencing an ecstasy of his choosing. Dean deserved more than you could offer, but you muddled through. With an air of melancholy that would make a Victorian widow proud, you staggered away on feet too swollen to be shoved back into her tiny boots.

*^*^*

When Dean woke up, everything hurt: his pride especially.

He hadn’t planned beyond summoning and facing her, but once he was inside her vessel with her; Dean had found what had been missing all those months. Dean saw his mirrored half: damned and deceitful, surely, but beautiful and blossoming all the same. He started to laugh when he fully came to, a deep belly laugh that brought tears to his eyes. Here he was, left half naked in a devil’s trap and somehow felt like he was the one doing the walk of shame. Either way, they both were. Figured.

He started gathering his spell materials as his phone went off.

“Dude, where are you?!”

“I had an errand, Sam. I’ll be home before noon.” Dean plucked a folded piece of paper from the middle of the old grimoire he had stolen from the Bunker’s collection.

“Everything alright?”

“I haven’t killed anybody, if that’s what you mean.” Dean read the note carefully before tucking it into his breast pocket, phone pinched between his shoulder and ear.

“That’s not what I— You know what, forget it. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Not if I see you first,” Dean replied ad nauseum.

Sam barked a forced laugh. “Nice.”

“Yeah, well, you too.” The brothers both hung up, allowing Dean to finish clearing the basement of everything but the mangled sigils ringed in red. Before Dean started the Impala’s engine, he pulled out the thin scrap and reread the words she had left him.

Dean-

I’m sorry to do this like this, but this one needs to get back to her life. I’m still on a job in Europe for the time being, but thanks for the one-night vacation. You were, as always, incredible. I hope you know you can call me; whichever way works best, anytime. Just, don’t do anything stupid. O.k.?

Always yours,

May 1, 2015

After Angel Heart

If Castiel had known Chloe Collins her entire life, perhaps he wouldn’t have been surprised by her request. Maybe, if he had known her without a demon’s influencing their entire history; she would have built up to this massive deceit with more finesse. Though angels were known best for being direct, unless one considered Lucifer and Gabriel, of course. Every way he regretted their tumultuous past; it still didn’t make answering her any easier.

“No.” Castiel glared at CC like she had suggested he trade the trench coat for Bermuda shorts.

“Castiel, please? This is really important and now that you’re fully you, you can show me how.” CC hated asking for favors, especially of the Angel, but this had gone too far.

“I don’t understand why you think I would do such a thing.”

“Because it is for their safety, Castiel. Sam and Dean are in danger with this hanging over us. We ALL are in danger from the truth getting out.” CC moved further from the backdoor of the Impala, drawing Cas out of earshot.

“Why?”

“Because, ‘Heaven’s eyes will never be far from you now and the minions of Hell will seek you out as a fortress against the light.’” She huffed in exasperation, eyes locking onto his impossible blues as the warning resonated between them.

“Whose words are those?”

“Mine, or my granddad’s, I don’t know. I had to make a choice to comeback from being comatose, Cas. I chose to live with the knowledge of my birth, of what and who I am. So now; I am a target. Dean doesn’t need another cross to bear, his plate is full. And Sam? Sam’s already walking on thin ice.” She stopped before she could expose every dirty secret she had learned from her months of hiding.

“Why are you only telling me this now?”

“Claire. You did the right thing, even if it hurt like a sonofabitch.” CC gave him an impressed eyebrow as he took what she said as the compliment she intended.

“You trust me?” Cas looked at his hands then back to CC, who’s own were tucked into her back pockets.

“Us Heaven rejects need to stick together, right?” Her smile pulled one out of him.

“If I agree to this, when would we even be able to do it?”

“As soon as possible. I need to get back at it, especially with the Steins still out there.”

“And you’re sure this is the only way to ensure Sam and Dean’s safety?”

“Fuck no. This is the only way to ensure Sam and Dean’s blood isn’t on my hands. Those assholes don’t do safe, you know that.”

Castiel nodded into a shrug, still playing at considering her offer.

She stepped forward, dropping a heavy hand onto his shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t care about them, Cas.”

He noted her repeated use of his nickname from Dean and the physical contact that they had never shared before. “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll erase the knowledge of your lineage from Sam and Dean’s memories.”

“And Charlie’s,” CC added.

“And Charlie’s, of course.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” CC reached her opposite hand out and shook Castiel’s hand, solidifying their agreement. Cas took her hand and her anxiety in his, sensing she needed the peace of mind as much as she needed the escape.

*^*^*^*

Next Chapter: Finale: Just One of the Many

#known series #moc!dean #dean winchester fanfic #dark fic #demon!reader #dean winchester smut #moc!dean x reader #spn dark fanfic #spn fanfic #spn fanfic series

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spine-buster · 5 years

Text

Alone, Together | Chapter 4 | Morgan Rielly

A/N: Thanks again for all the positive comments, likes, and reblogs. Please know my messages are always open for you to scream about something to me. Smut will come later. I have to be in the ~mood~ to write it and I wasn’t in the ~mood~ . Just know it will come later.

TW: mention of alcoholic parent

Morgan was back. Bee told him he could come to her apartment for dinner. She was going to cook fish tacos. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Morgan’s two weeks in Vancouver were rejuvenating. Though he’d been back during most of the summer, he had voluntarily decided to come back to Toronto intermittently to get some extra training with his skating and defense coach before training camp and pre-season started. Being back in Vancouver always made him feel relaxed, tranquil, peaceful. Being back in Toronto always made him feel diligent, industrious, energetic. Two different vibes, but he loved them both equally.

And then he met Briony.

Hockey had always taken up so much of Morgan’s time. Even in the summers, he was constantly training so he could come back better than the year before; make more of an impact in a game he knew he could master. Almost all he thought about was hockey. Almost all he did was in relation to hockey. Almost all he talked about was hockey.

And then he met Briony.

A girl that liked to talk about books. A girl that liked to talk about Toronto. A girl that liked to talk about her Master’s. A girl that liked to talk about anything else besides hockey.

Was he guilty that he hadn’t told her about his job yet – or that she hadn’t figured it out? Partly. But it was a nice break. So many people in the city – so many girls – would approach him, cozy up to him, bat their eyelashes and bite their lips at him because he was Morgan Rielly. It was exhausting. While some of his teammates revelled in the attention, soaking up every risqué DM, every eyelash bat, and every bite of the lip, he cursed it. Not to say that he didn’t partake in the occasional eyelash bat, bite of the lip, or risqué DM – he was by no means a saint. But for the most part, he just wanted to be left alone. His mother had always commented on how much he liked to be alone. Even his teammates always commented on it.

He wasn’t that person. It wasn’t his thing.

Then that damn book by Friedman happened. Morgan always loved to read and his friend Jake would always tease him about how much he read on team flights or on the team bus, but he would always shrug it off. But it was somehow Friedman that led him to somebody playing a prank on a girl and her accusing him of doing it. And she didn’t know who he was. He wasn’t Morgan Rielly. He was just Morgan Rielly.

Why wouldn’t he want that?

He knew he would have to tell her sooner or later. He knew he could only keep the charade up for so long. To be quite honest, he was surprised his supposed anonymity lasted this long. He was lucky he didn’t get recognized in the restaurant in the first place, and even luckier that during the night at Cibo, Briony didn’t hear him say his name out loud to the hostess or hear Ben refer to Auston Matthews. He was walking on eggshells and he knew it – but he also knew eggshells didn’t hurt as much as coal and he could walk on them some more.

And now he was finally, finally back in Toronto. The only other time he’d ever been this excited to be back in the city was for the start of training camp every season. Briony had left him hanging before he left, having that make out session on her porch and then denying him saying he had a “flight to catch”. Please. He would have stayed up until the flight if it meant spending time with her.

As he approached the old Annex house, he was overcome with a sense of urgency to see her. He carried the groceries he promised he’d buy in both hands. He remembered two weeks ago when he was here, on the same tree-lined street, except he wasn’t able to see its true beauty since it was night. In the day time it was even more beautiful, the sun poking through the leaves of the trees, the faint sound of children playing in backyards, the hum of the cars on Bloor Street providing the perfect background music. He could see why she liked the Annex so much, despite describing her own place as tiny and cramped.

He rang the buzzer like she asked him to, for Apartment 1. He waited patiently for a response, watching the buzzer. Soon, he heard the front door unlock and Briony’s head poke through. “Hey,” she smiled immediately, giddy like a little kid who just found their parents’ candy stash. “Come in.”

He walked into the foyer, painted an off-white, which had two doors – one leading to her apartment, he assumed, and one leading to the other that took up the remainder of the main floor. There was also the giant staircase, definitely kept from the original house, but it had been painted over. “How’ve you been?” he asked.

“I’ve been good. How was Vancouver?”

“Marvellous,” he exaggerated, walking towards the door. “Spent a majority of my time with Maggie, so, you know, that’s the best.”

When Morgan stepped foot into Bee’s tiny, cramped apartment, he smiled at what he was presented with. It was small – Bee wasn’t lying – but it felt immediately, completely, like a home. The furnishings were what he expected of any “starving Master’s student” as she referred to herself: a small two-seater couch against a wall; a storage unit opposite the couch presumably being used as a TV stand although there was no TV; a basic white L-shaped kitchen in a corner with butcher-block counters; tattered and worn hardwood floors, definitely original; one of those giant cubed shelving units from Ikea separating her bed from the rest of the space; a big bay window looking out into the leafy, tree-lined street. He loved it. He immediately loved it.

“Sorry it’s so small…” she mumbled as he slipped off his shoes.

“This is great,” he said, still taking in the room. “This is so great.”

“You don’t have to be nice,” she said. With two steps, he was in her kitchen and setting the bags onto the countertop. “It’s tiny. And basic. And to be honest, cold most of the time.”

“I love it. So much more character than the condos downtown,” Morgan said. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Seriously…I love it.”

Bee couldn’t bear to see the smirk on his face any longer. He was too cute and too earnest about loving her small, antiquated Annex apartment that she turned her head back to the groceries and focused on the spring onions poking out so she wouldn’t break out into a blush. “So are we gonna make these tacos or what?”

“Before we begin, there’s one thing I need to do.”

“Washroom? It’s right over --”

“No,” he interrupted her. He turned to her and held her face in his hands before leaning down to kiss her. It wasn’t a small kiss either – no no – it was the same type of kiss they left off with two weeks ago. When her hands rested on his arms, he moved his hands to her waist, slipping them underneath her shirt. The touch made her press her body against his, and he used the opportunity to back her up against counter. They kissed for a while, until Morgan deemed necessary, because Bee didn’t seem to want to stop anytime soon. When he broke the kiss, Bee’s eyes stared back at him, his body still looming over hers.

“What was that for?” she asked, breathless.

“For leaving me hanging two weeks ago,” he said, taking his hands off her waist and backing away from her.

She bit her lip. The absence of his touch was cold. “Touché,” she said, watching as he turned away from her with a smile on his face before he started to unpack the bags. She turned away and bit her lip. He had some nerve doing that to her. “You wanna put on some music?” she asked, trying to forget about it. If she kept thinking about it she wouldn’t be able to last the night.

“Music?”

“I can’t cook without music.”

Morgan giggled. “Your neighbours must think you’re a delight.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I blast Metallica.”

“What are you blasting then?”

Bee was proud of her taste in music. If she could fall back on anything, or when she was stressed and thought ‘What the fuck do I even have going for me right now?’, the answer was always her good music taste. She didn’t care what others thought. It was one of the only things she had growing up, and it was hers to curate and hers alone. “Have you ever heard of Born Ruffians?”

He snorted. He couldn’t believe this was happening. “Born Ruffians are one of my favourite bands,” he revealed. He’d even given them seats to a few games last season. Same books. Same music. What the hell was next?

“Seriously?” she was shocked. She turned away from him because she was blushing again. “Alright. Born Ruffians it is then.”

Morgan watched as she started prepping the cutting board, chopping knife, and bowl. She maneuvered around the kitchen with such certainty Morgan was intimidated to interfere. “What am I supposed to do here, sweetheart?”

She looked over her shoulder, eyebrows raised mischievously. “Just sit there and look pretty, darling.”

Morgan laughed. “No, seriously. What do you want me to do? I’m not the best cook but I can help…I don’t know, chop an onion or something.”

“Just sit back and relax…it’s okay,” she reiterated. “I’m being serious. Crack open the bottle of wine if you want to and pour us a glass. I love cooking. It’s my hobby. But I don’t want anybody else in my kitchen bothering me while I cook.”

Morgan couldn’t help but smile. She dug into her pocket and thrust her phone in his direction, not looking at him. “Here. Music. Go wild.”

When all was said and done, Bee placed a plate of three fish tacos in front of Morgan, who had kindly set the table and was the perfect DJ to accompany her cooking. By the time they actually sat down at her small coffee table to eat, they were half a bottle of wine in. “There’s more if you want it. I’ll lend you some Tupperware to bring home too. Don’t be shy,” she said, crossing her legs to sit down.

Morgan took his first bite out of the fish tacos and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Holy fuck,” he said, savouring the taste in his mouth. He could see Bee had a proud smile on her face. “What the…where…how did you learn how to cook this well?”

“I don’t know. Trial and error, I guess” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Fuck, I wish my errors turned out this good,” he mused. “Usually it’s burned chicken or over boiled pasta.”

Bee snorted. “How the hell do you over boil pasta?”

“Listen,” Morgan said curtly, only causing Bee to giggle more. “Don’t trash my cooking skills.”

“You just trashed them yourself!”

Morgan thought about it. Maybe the wine was already getting to him. “Whatever, Briony. You still didn’t answer the question. How did you learn how to cook this well?”

He watched as she took a sip of her wine. “Like I said, trial and error. I’ve been cooking since I was ten. There have been a lot of mistakes over these last thirteen years. But I learn from my mistakes.”

“You’ve been cooking since you were what?” Morgan asked. “I wasn’t even allowed near a stove…why?”

“Alcoholic mother, Morgan.”

He sobered up really quickly when those words left her mouth. They hung in the air, but it wasn’t awkward. Bee said them so casually, like her situation was normal – like it was normal a ten year old had to learn how to use a stove to feed herself and her mother. “Briony…”

“Please don’t say anything dumb like ‘I’m sorry’. It’s not your fault my mother was an alcoholic. I dealt with it. I became self-sufficient and stronger because of it,” she said.

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh…okay, sorry,” she blushed. “I just…that’s all I’ve ever heard when someone’s found out. It gets…I don’t know…tiring.”

Morgan shook his head. “I don’t feel sorry for you. We’ve already established I think you’re a badass because you were able to accomplish all this,” he motioned to the apartment around him and the food in front of him, “all on your own. I was uh…I was going to ask you a question. Since we’re on the topic…sort of.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“It’s a bit…personal,” he warned.

“That’s okay.”

“When we went out to Cibo you mentioned your scholarships. How…how many do you have?”

Bee smiled. “I’m on four major ones. I have the Richard Xi Grant from Rotman that covers $35,000 worth of my tuition, and a Rotman Academic Scholarship worth $15,000 that covers the rest of tuition. There are two other grants that U of T offers that basically cover my living expenses – they’re $12,000 each. One and a bit goes to paying my rent, the rest of the other pays for food, my Presto card, and any other expenses I might have, like my cell phone bill.”

“So you…”

“So I get by on just over twenty grand a year, but fourteen of that is rent…so uh, around six grand,” she knew his mind was calculating the numbers. The wine was making it difficult, she figured. “My tuition is fifty grand, but luckily that’s paid for. There’s also what I earn from being a TA, but because I have the grants, most of that goes directly into my savings, thankfully.”

She knew from the way he hesitated he wanted to ask how much that was. She didn’t mind sharing with him, because she was being open and honest, and he had been open and honest about the fact that he grew up in West Vancouver with membership at a country club. She was starting to learn that they grew up in very different worlds. Country clubs, wine bars, and private schools versus public housing, food pantries, and counting pennies.

“Thanks for opening up to me, Bee,” he said, unable to find any other words to say. He knew he sounded stupid but it was the only thing he could think of. He was wearing an $8000 Rolex watch on his wrist and she was surviving on $6000 for an entire year. The harsh reality was a quick slap in the face.

“Did you ever end up finishing Friedman?” she asked suddenly.

“Yeah. I finished it on the plane ride to Vancouver, actually,” he said, grateful for the change in subject. “I didn’t like it as much as I thought I would. I mean it was good, but like…I don’t know. I was expecting more.”

“Me too,” she nodded her head, taking another bite into a taco. “The only chapter that stuck out was the one I mentioned when we first met. Everything else was just…blah.”

“I’ve moved on, too. Well, trying to. My mom recommended this book that is very much similar to Friedman, but I don’t know if I want to read it.”

“You should real Ali Smith,” Bee suggested, taking a small sip of wine. “She’s like…my favourite author right now. Well, she has been for years.”

“Why?”

“She’s just so good!” Bee smiled. “Just…her narrative and her prose are phenomenal. She is the absolute master of the dual narrative and I just wish someone would give her the damn Pulitzer and Nobel already. She beyond deserves it. You read fiction, right?”

“I mean, I can.”

“She is just…ugh, she is so good. I know my brain is more analytical and into numbers but I think I forced it to be that way. If I could have any wish granted it’s to be able to write like her. She’s working on a series right now – this sort of post-Brexit set of novels named after the seasons – and I mean she’s only released two, Autumn and Winter, but my God the way that she’s writing and the way she’s tying storylines together, the way her words just punch you in the gut…I…UGH!” she exclaimed. Morgan laughed at her outburst. “You need to stop me now or else I won’t shut up about her. Seriously.”

“You seem to really like her,” he commented sarcastically.

“Oh come on! There has to be a writer that you love as much as that?”

Morgan shrugged his shoulders. He loved reading, and his teammates made fun of him for it, but he didn’t really have a favourite author. He didn’t really admire an author’s entire body of work. Perhaps he didn’t read enough to be able to do that. “Not really.”

“Okay, well, after dinner I can show you what I have. You can borrow something…you know, if you want,” she added nervously.

Morgan looked at her and said nothing. He could only smile.

The rest of dinner was spent with Morgan making googly eyes at Bee. He couldn’t help it. Whatever they talked about had him on his knees begging for her to keep speaking and he had to keep pinching himself for how lucky he was that this girl was sitting across from him, giving him the time of day. Cooking him food. Willing to lend him a book.

He insisted on washing the dishes as she packed half of the leftovers into a container for him. When she was done, she leaned against her countertop, finishing her glass of wine. She watched as he placed the last plate on the drying rack before cleaning up the sink and washing his hands. He turned to her when he was done, an undecipherable look on his face.

She was getting nervous again. She couldn’t believe he could make her feel this way. “I uh…there’s a small dessert in the fridge,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“No,” Morgan said plainly, shaking his head. Taking his time, he sauntered over to her, standing right in front of her, his body looming over hers.

She looked up at him, unable to breath. “Hi.”

When he kissed her, he tried to take his time. He tried to make it last. But the attempt was futile, because the second he felt her body pressed against his, he was a goner. His kisses became more frantic, more passionate. He couldn’t help himself. His hands slipped underneath her shirt again and he was shocked when she tugged at the belt loops of his pants.

“Let’s go,” she whispered hurriedly, breaking away from him and taking his hand, pulling him towards her bed.

#morgan rielly #morgan rielly imagine #morgan rielly fic #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs fic #alone together series

158 notes · View notes

shleepys · 4 years

Text

Summer Tones

This story can be found on my Archive of Our Own! I recommend going there and reading the notes I’ve left. Any feedback (constructive criticism or support) on either platform is highly appreciated. :)

TRIGGER WARNING : mentions of abuse and suicidal thoughts.

Chapter Six

Ch.1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5

- - - - - -

June 5th, 1985

Amber

The Next Day

The front door latched shut with a quiet click, silence rummaging about the house as the three left. Neil, Susan, and Max. Gone. Off to go do something together without their ‘son’ after he had made excuses as to why he couldn’t go out. But in reality, he just didn’t want to go out, especially if Neil came along.

Amber stretched across the hardwood floors in a subtle sway, shining through windows marked with drawn curtains and white blinds. Yellow accented the walls with its warm hue as the sun danced across Billy Hargrove’s face. He stared up at the ceiling, quietly waiting for the roar of Neil’s truck to break the silence and slowly disappear down the road. Eventually, the rumble came and went as the distant sounds of terrible memories and hate fled and allowed him to temporarily embrace safety. A few hours to himself to contemplate the night before and what Neil would have done to him this morning if he wasn’t back at the house before he woke up.

Guilt toyed with his decision to leave without telling Steve goodbye, but he didn’t want to wake him up. Maybe he would reveal why he left the next time they met up, or maybe Steve would reveal the terrible shit that his parents have pulled in the past. . . or maybe they would pretend that the night never happened.

Like Billy never managed to get up to Steve’s window and knocked on it, like Steve didn’t grab his wrist and cry into Billy’s button-up after hugging him, like they totally didn’t sleep in the same bed together and Steve cuddled up to Billy in his sleep.

Billy sat up from his bed, brushing back a few stray curls with his hand as his attention focused on his cassette player. He blinked. An urge spreading through him as he remained there, completely motionless, almost as if he were waiting for something to suddenly happen. As if him sitting there and thinking would cause the cassette player to start up.

He exhaled through his nose before standing and sluggishly moving towards the electronic box. Billy stared at it for a while, noting how the scratched chrome showed his vague reflection and the white glare of the sun made it seem as if he was glowing. He sat down in front of it, never taking his eyes off of the inorganic thing until he dragged his vision towards the several boxes of cassettes hidden catty-corner behind his mirror.

He moved to all fours to reach it, sitting on his knees as he backed away with the container and opening it with hesitation. Inside laid several tapes, all twirling with the gold glow of the room as their colors popped against the black box. Carefully, he pulled one out. Billy stared at its cover, discomfort raking its nails down his back as the person on it seemingly stared right back at him. Like it was trying to pluck parts of his soul out of him through his eyes but reassure him that all will be alright. The title bolded in red above, ‘10cc The Original Soundtrack’.

He pulled his legs from under himself, sitting with them spread rather than uncomfortably on them before pushing the button to open the player. Billy slid the cassette inside, a frown twisting at his lips. And with a quiet click, he closed the little door and pressed play.

At first, the music swept him over softly. A faint pleasant tune providing him a sense of blissful ignorance and a way to ignore the hellscape thrashing about in his mind. But then it began to crumble. Bit by bit the barricades were ripped away allowing the music to turn sour and pound at his temples. Increasingly getting louder and louder until his eyes stung and lip quivered. A lump of self-hatred was caught in his throat, tightening the airway until he felt like he couldn’t breathe before he broke into a broken sob. His heart had drifted and burned a pit in the bottom of his stomach.

He didn't have a word - a phrase to describe what churned in his chest and prodded at his mind last night. The feeling was so familiar yet so out of his reach. Something rested its hands on his shoulders and whispered sweet little nothings about Steve into his ear. That something poured kerosene onto his skin and gave Steve the match to ignite it, to set his wrist on fire when he grabbed it and spread through the rest of his body in waves when he begged him to stay. The one that gave a devilish smirk behind Steve when he hugged him like he was never going to get to see him.

That something turned out to be Eros, and he in all of his grace had accompanied them under the pale moonlight, his wings engulfing them both with a sense of security that no one was going to interrupt this precious moment. And when the deity had to leave, he pressed a bittersweet kiss to Billy's lips to lock his fate and let him know for sure that he, Billy Hargrove, was in fact falling in love.

But it wasn't just with anyone, oh no, it was with Steve fucking Harrington.

Billy stared at himself in the mirror, fear flooding his eyes as he combed his fingers through his hair and yanked. His chest felt like it had been set ablaze while the rest of his body tried to fight the sobbing and somehow turn his mind back off.

He’s afraid, terrified. He let someone into his life, let them into his heart while simultaneously trying to keep it fully guarded. Steve had somehow made it past the barbed wire and bombs defending his mind, his emotions. . . him. His greatest fears danced around him and blurred his vision with every taunting step and scream as they kept reminding him of reality. How Neil wouldn’t hesitate to kill his ‘faggot’ of a son, how Hawkins would gladly shun him despite also having feelings for women as well, how no one has any remote amount of respect and care for him in the whole world other than Tommy Hagan because. . . well, he and Tommy had done some things. Confidential things.

But, what about Steve? Steve, he wouldn’t abandon him, would he?

Surely after everything they’ve done so far, all of the emotions that they’ve revealed and support they’ve given one another, surely Steve wouldn’t just leave him. Maybe he would just be uncomfortable. That or maybe he would never want to see him again.

But at the party, with what Steve had stated so calmly to him, like if it were a life long promise or pact that they would keep between one another. That he’s here for him, that he can help him.

Surely that wasn’t some stupid fucking lie that he said just to make him feel better. Surely the laughs, cries, and screams weren’t all a sick joke constructed against him. He tried to laugh through a cry, hum little bits of the song that was waging warfare with his thoughts, but it did nothing to ease the lump in his throat or the burning, stabbing, pain in his chest.

Emotional turmoil had been waiting for when the time was right to strike a jaded Billy Hargrove, almost as if it were a prophecy that he would’ve fallen for Steve and the flood gates would’ve busted open. Years of torment and abuse boiling down to self-hatred and fear that led to frustration and confusion. Billy questioned himself, especially after apologizing to Steve. He questioned if he should’ve gone to Steve’s last night, if it was alright to like both sexes, if it was alright to be human. All were stuck in the back of his mind and weren’t planning on leaving any time soon. Particularly the sexuality part, but also the human part, but mainly the sexuality part.

How the fuck is that even possible? To like both at once?

Billy shivered as he brought his knees into his chest, attempting to laugh again but only being met with more sobs. He didn’t want to have Neil’s ideals, he didn’t want to be anything like him. Every day felt like it was going to be his last, every time Neil yelled at him he felt like he was going to snap and then get killed for whatever bursts out of his mouth. Every time he got hit, he was reminded of his mother and how she left him without giving a reason why. He could imagine why she left, why she ran away from Neil, but not why she would leave Billy behind with him. There had been points where he had been covered with so many bruises that he couldn’t count them all, where he was afraid he was going to bleed to death out of his nose and mouth, where he had been fretful about crying himself to sleep because if Neil heard him he knew that he would come in there and ‘give him a reason to cry’.

There were the contemplations about running away, escaping to another town and pursuing another life. Cutting all of his hair and changing his name, hoping that he could find some kind of peace and maybe even find his mother, wherever she may be. There were undoubted contemplations about death as well. The l'appel du vide that chanted his name while he sped down abandoned streets near the quarry at night, screeched when looking at his pocket knife, cheered when he got dangerously drunk at a party. The void calls for him at times, but he doesn’t respond to it.

He doesn’t want to comply. He doesn’t want to give in to Neil and the abuse that has traumatized him.

But he has to give Steve credit for that.

Steve brings out something in him, something foreign that he can’t describe. Maybe. . . maybe it’s hope. The hope for a better life. The hope for someone to care. The hope for someone to. . . love him.

For Steve to love him.

Billy loves Steve, he doesn’t want to really admit it though. Will Steve love him back, or will he run away?

#enemies to friends to lovers #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #Billy Hargrove #harringrove #mentions of abuse and suicidal thoughts #angst #crying #internalized homophobia #slowburn #oh no our boy is crying :(

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the-walking-memelords · 4 years

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A2 - A Sequel to Allegiances: Chapter 1 : VvvvV

Hello, my lovelies! It is I, your third favourite writer here with the long and highly-demanded sequel to "Allegiances" that I am releasing today, December first, the 1 year anniversary of my posting of the original fic on Ao3!

Haven't read Allegiances? Read it here!

Tumblr | Ao3 | Wattpad Word Count: 1894 Pairings: Clementine/Louis | Ruby/Aasim | Brody/Mitch

Rating: M for Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Past mentions of Abuse/Trauma

Summary: Five years have passed since Clementine won her freedom against the plot of the Delta, but trouble always seems to find a way to catch her.

Because after all,

the war didn't end with the Delta.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

Sunlight filtered through the multicoloured trees as autumn once again. The bright orange and yellow leaves swirled in the chilled breeze and danced along the walking paths. This was the fifth autumn since AJ had come to Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youths. The time before was not something the boy liked to think of, but occasionally his subconscious would remind him of his days that were numbered. But AJ couldn’t think of any of that right now.

The forest was no place for idle thoughts.

Alvin Junior, now nearly eleven years of age, walked along the trail alone with an aged bow and arrow in hand and Clementine’s hat upon his head.

AJ crept past the trees being careful not to step on any leaves or twigs that may give away his presence. The safezone was far behind him, not that anyone abided by that old border anymore. Louis and Aasim were off in some other direction hunting for some extra trading material. The late afternoon sun began to drift lower in the horizon, signalling the end of their hunt if they wanted to be home before dark. AJ knew he should be heading back to the meeting point, but the fresh tracks he followed promised a find worth a scolding from Clementine.

Where are you, deer?

The tracks he stalked moved off the path to a sparse area of the forest. The boy halted still as stone, listening. He didn’t dare blink when movement caught his eye. Not the stumbling gate of a monster, but a smooth, deliberate turn of an animal traipsing along its way. Hiking up the sleeves of his oversized blue hoodie, AJ bit his lip and rubbed his thumb along the rough wire of his bow before slowly nocking an arrow.

He moved downwind from the deer, moving silently across the terrain as she slowly got closer and closer. The animal had a pristine coat. Unstained by blood or scars from encounters with the undead.

He must be a fast one.

AJ knew if he missed it was unlikely that he would get the chance for a second shot.

The sun stung his eyes as he quickly adjusted the brim of his cap and took aim. The stiff wire was difficult to pull back. Part of him wished he could just use his gun, but bullets were getting harder to come by as the years went on.

“Just for emergencies.” Clementine had reminded the boy as he tucked his revolver into his back pocket before setting off with Louis and Aasim.

The deer let out a half-startled grunt as it seemed to sense AJ’s presence, turning swiftly to face him a second before taking off. The deer was fast, but so was AJ. The boy released his arrow which missed its mark of the animal’s neck but lodged in its side, staining its light brown hide with fresh blood as it shrieked and fled.

AJ swore internally as the animal quickly lost him, leaving a trail of crimson drops behind. Now he just had to find it before the monsters did.

His frustration grew thicker with did the foliage as the boy followed the red smears, branches scratching at his face as he raced along. The bushes suddenly broke into a small clearing where AJ finally found his prey.

The deer lay dying in a patch of grass scattered with wildflowers as if it sought out something peaceful before it’s inevitable end. It’s breathing was rugged and forced, clinging to every bit of life it had. The sight made AJ a little sad, guilty even, knowing he had done this. Killing animals always tugged at his heart a little, but he knew he had to do it so his family could eat.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered as he pulled out his knife, slowly moving towards it to end its misery.

A muffled snarl came from AJ’s left. A walker with a bandanna tied around its mouth wandered into the clearing, paying the boy no mind as it stumbled towards the bigger meal.

“That’s mine.” AJ scowled as he kicked the walker’s knee hard, sending it sprawling to the ground. Without a moment’s hesitation, he jammed his knife into the walker’s skull.

The boy smirked, glad he hadn’t fallen out of practice in the month or so since their last walker sighting. Perhaps it had to do with the explosion, or travellers passing through more frequently, but the monsters have mostly gone away around Ericson’s. Clementine said when they got to the school, things were going to get better. And she was right. Both the human monsters and the monster monsters had gone away.

AJ looked down at the bloodied knife in his grip, and back over at the wounded deer, electing to use his bow instead incase it got feisty. Stepping through the soft grass he aimed another arrow at the deer’s eye before another growl caught his attention. Shifting his aim he sent an arrow flying into the eyesocket of the second walker to approach his catch. By the time he looked back down the deer had died on its own. It’s deep brown eyes now glassy and still.

“At least you don’t come back.” AJ said as he retrieved his arrow.

He gave the second walker a second glance, noticing something familiar. The boy squinted as he ran his hand over the red fabric tied over its jaw. The fabric was cold and wet. Black ink smeared under his touch as he traced the odd symbol painted on.

One long spike on each side with three shorter ones in the middle. Spikes pointed down like teeth. The formation reminded him of this one sassy expression Rosie would make when she wasn’t getting as much attention as she’d like. The teeth were painted on the cloth over the walker’s actual mouth.

Is this supposed to stop it from biting people?

Doesn’t seem like it would work.

Why not just kill it?

The setting sun reminded AJ that he didn’t have time for this, but once the boy’s curiosity was piqued it was hard to ignore. Running back to the first walker, he checked the bandanna again and just as he suspected, there were the teeth, though older and more faded than the second.

Just like the other one.

Where they part of the same group?

But they look so old and the other pain was new...

A skeletal hand brutally digging into his shoulder jolted him out of his thought. AJ whipped around just as the walked pinned him to the ground. The boy pushed his arm against the monster’s throat as its jaws snapped just inches from his face. Unlike the others, this one had nothing holding back it’s lethality.

AJ reached for his knife as he felt himself coming closer to being overpowered, just for his fingers to merely graze the handle as it laid out of reach.

This is an emergency.

AJ snaked his hand under his back and found the cool metal of his revolver, wedging it out from under him and bringing the barrel to the monster’s temple and pulling the trigger. Blood and brain matter sprayed across the boy’s face and she sounds of the forest were immediately drowned out by an intense ringing in his ears as he threw the walker off of him, taking a moment to lay in the grass and catch his breath. He sat up as the ringing faded, replaced with the scattered chirping of birds and faint moans of what that gunshot just summoned.

Multiple shadows moved among the trees, far too many for one kid to fight. AJ cast a final apologetic glance to the deer he knew he couldn't drag back with him in a timely enough manner to escape the dead, and fled back in the direction he came from.

Anxiety turning to fear as the evening chill settles on his skin and the sunlight spread thin across the land, shadows taking over and hiding all that lurked among the forest. AJ’s heartbeat picked up as he ran. Eventually, the trees turned to all tall dark pillars, indistinguishable in detail. Dodging past one after the other until one dark mass failed to dodge him.

The impact was solid but softer than a tree, both parties well backwards as AJ quickly brandished his knife.

“Easy there, little dude.” A familiar voice said worriedly.

“L-Louis?” AJ’s iron grip loosened enough for Louis to take the blade from him as the boy heaved, trying to catch his breath.

“I’m here. I gotcha.” Louis put his arm gently on the boy’s should as he pulled him into a hug.

“Let’s get you home.”

AJ gripped the sleeve of Louis’ worn down coat as he stood. AJ couldn’t believe he still wore that thing, as stained and torn as it had become over the years. Though he supposed Louis hadn’t changed much over the years like some of the others had. His dreads were a bit longer which he mostly tied back in a ponytail, but leaving those same two dreads to hang in his face. He was still easily a head taller than, a fact he periodically reminded her about by resting his elbow on the top of her head.

“Where’s Aasim?” AJ asked as his breathing slowed.

“He’s waiting at the meetup spot, let’s go find him.” He said with a smile.

Leaves crunched under their boots as they found the dirt path once again. With the sky darkening by the minute, they began to head back.

“What the hell were you still doing out here?” Louis asked.

“We’ve been looking for you forever, and then I heard the shot. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t starting to freak out”

“I’m sorry.” the boy said, looking down guiltily.

“I was following a deer. I thought if we could kill it then we’d have food for a few days, or maybe Layla would trade us something cool for it.”

“A deer, huh?” Louis chuckled.

“Now tell me, AJ, how you were planning to drag a whole-ass deer from the middle of nowhere to the meetup point?”

“I thought if I could get it to the path you’d find me and help me carry it.” AJ sighed sadly at the lost catch.

“It’s walker food now though.”

A figure stepped out onto the path a ways in front of them that caused them both to freeze for a moment before letting out a breath at the wave of their friend Aasim.

“Thank god you found him.” Aasim said in a serious yet relieved tone.

“We gotta head back while we still have a little daylight.”

The three of them began to hurry back hoping the walk back would be as uneventful as the walk there.

“You’re not gonna tell Clem I went off on my own, right?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Louis knew he’d be in the same amount of trouble as AJ if Clem found out he allowed it.

“Details or not we’re all in deep shit when we get back.” Aasim sighed.

AJ smiled, knowing the lecture he was going to get from ruby when they returned, but that smile quickly faded, knowing he had is own lecture waiting for him from Clementine.

Maybe the deer wasn’t worth it after all.

#my writing #allegiances #a2 #twdg #the walking dead game #clouis #louisentine #louistine #twdg clementine #twdg louis #twdg aj

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the-marvel-imagines-blog · 5 years

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Madness | Chpt.30

Chapter Title: “The Storm”

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character (Eva)

Word Count: 7,519

Warnings: Fluff and angst (what else is new?)

Name Pronunciations: Hjalmar: “He-all-mar” | Aaldir: “All-deer” | Ephinea: “Eh-fin-ee-uh”

Summary: Eva reconciles with Thor, and Aurora seeks comfort in the storm.

A/N: I’m sorry once more for the delay. I’ve been working out the coming chapters as the story comes to a close, and I’m pulling things that don’t seem as important and adding things that need to be added. It’s taken quite a while to edit this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it. Thank you all a thousand times over for reading this; it truly means the world to me.

Tagged: @teddyboobear @alledeglyfunny @xletmetaste-yoursmilex @itsknife2meetu @mynameisyara @j-j-ehlby-writes @jillilama-blog (anyone who wants to be tagged can message me and ask. It’s not a problem at all)

The movie came to a close quicker than I anticipated. Aurora had been so invested in watching that one movie that not even Tony could deny her, no matter how badly I saw he wanted to. The movie was nothing spectacular, and if I was given the opportunity to watch it again, I wouldn’t; however, Aurora seemed to be fond of it, so the movie held a special place in my heart. As I sat between Steve and Tony, I stole glances at her in the darkened room, her face illuminated by the light from the television, and I watched as she mouthed each line of dialogue as if it were her own. She was entranced by the movie, loving every moment of it. Tony offered once to swap places with me so that he wasn’t between the two of us, but I couldn’t take that risk. I couldn’t be so close to her when all I had worked for was teetering on the edge. If I gave in and embraced the life I so desperately desired, it could crumble in my grasp. I had to be patient.

Once it was over, I retired to my room with only a few words to everyone. I didn’t want to make it obvious that I was preparing to leave the following morning before they awoke. There was no sense in causing a scene, so I said my goodbyes as informally as possible. I hugged each of them and wished them goodnight, not knowing whether that would be the final time we spoke or saw each other. Either way, I wanted them to remember me as I was, not how I left them. Steve held me for longer than the others, knowing what this was. I knew that he fought himself not to follow me back to my room to stay the night by my side, but in the end, he released me and retired to his room with a grief-stricken heart that left mine a little heavier. The only one who had the nerve to follow me to my room was the very man I had no desire to speak to, the man who stabbed me with the knife I gave him.

Upon entering my room, I left the door open for Thor to enter behind me. The click of the latch caused me to wince, unsure of whether or not I would be having another argument with a man I knew as one of my very best friends. I took my normal spot standing before the glass wall with my arms crossed over my chest. The lamp on the bedside table offered the only light in the room, and I watched my reflection in the window as the rain pelted the glass, “you’re still upset with me, and I can understand why,” I noted, interrupting the deafening silence that surrounded us, “you’re upset with me, but she can’t sleep during a thunderstorm. I’m not asking for myself-I’ve slept through many a storm-but...for her sake, can you please stop this?” I asked, continuing to gaze out at the blackened sky.

“I’m not doing this,” he replied, his voice barely cutting through the quiet air surrounding us.

I scoffed, “says the God of Thunder!”

“Yes! I’m saying that I haven’t been doing this and that I’ve tried to stop it, but it keeps coming back,” he insisted, taking his place beside me. Instead of staring out the window at the rain, though, I felt his gaze on my cheek, but I couldn’t bring myself to look into his eyes. After what happened during our previous interaction, I felt small in his presence. I did the best I could with what I was given when it came to my daughter, but I couldn’t help but feel guilty for all the ways I had hurt Thor with my decision to send Aurora away. He was there for me when Loki wasn’t. He was there for me when Loki decided to leave me in the garden, forcing me to raise our daughter alone. Thor was by my side through it all, even when Loki failed to be. While I understood why Loki did what he did and how he was all but forced down the path he went down, Thor stayed by my side. I had no right to call him my friend after what I had done to him. He shared a connection to Aurora; she was his family, and I tore her away from him. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, but he continued to study me, “I’m saying that I have no control over this because there is another-one more powerful than I-whose link to this world is so deep, so profound, that the bat of her lashes sends hurricanes across the ocean, the drop of a tear causes a thunderstorm, and her laughter blows away the clouds to reveal the sun. I’m telling you that this isn’t me.”

My jaw clenched involuntarily as I processed his words. He couldn’t be serious. I shook my head, not willing to believe in such claims, “you can’t possibly be insinuating that this has anything to do with me.”

“This has everything to do with you,” he argued as the heat of his gaze felt like it would burn a hole right through me, “when we thought you were dead, the universe wept for you. The skies opened up with a rain that-if you hadn’t come back-wouldn’t have stopped until it washed away every trace of humanity. When you awoke, the clouds in the sky cleared, and the sun began shining like it was meant to shine for you and only you. When you saw her for the first time in so long, the sun shone brighter than before, but it was quickly swallowed up by the rain once more. Lately, the sky has been covered in clouds, but when you spent the day with her and Natasha, the sun came back out. Tonight, you are struggling with a grief that I cannot understand, and this is the evidence of it,” he argued his point, gesturing out the window at the rain.

I watched the raindrops hit the window and cascade down the glass, doing what Tony often did as a child. He would choose two raindrops that were close to one another, and he would bet on which one would reach the bottom first. We would often play the game together as Howard and Maria argued in the other room, but I made sure that Tony’s laughter and the sound of my voice drowned out the muffled hollering. It wasn’t a game of calculations or numbers, but it was a game of luck. We just had to hope we chose the right one. I shook my head again, trying to drown out my own fear with the sound of the rain on the window, “this isn’t me. This can’t be me,” I insisted, my voice quivering as I thought that I could hold any power at all. The universe would’ve been better off if I had stayed dead because the power I couldn’t shake would’ve been a threat no longer. I couldn’t control it, and I didn’t have anyone to teach me how to handle it. There was only one who promised to teach me, one who was burdened with the same power, but...I couldn’t trust him. My heart told me to run to him, told me that he could be saved, but I didn’t know if I was willing to sacrifice my everything for his anything. I didn’t know if I could trust that Ezra wouldn’t try to turn me against myself.

Thor’s voice ripped me from my own fearful thoughts, “you know who you are as well as I know who you are,” he remarked, his words sending a shiver down my spine. I didn’t want to talk about my parentage or the fact that I was an abomination. I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire in my heart that told me I wasn’t good enough for any of the good things in my life, for the man I loved, for the children I gave life to, for the friends I would give my life for, or for the blade of grass tied around my finger. There were so many voices that told me I was worthy of the love I received, but there was that one-the voice that hid in the darkest recesses of my mind-that told me I was worth nothing because of where I came from, and that voice was the loudest one. Instead of berating me, though, Thor continued with pride emanating from his chest and a smile on his lips, “there should be no question in your mind that you’re capable of this-that you’re far more powerful than I could ever even hope to be.”

“Don’t say that!” I hissed under my breath. The anger shot through me like a fire in my veins.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “why not?”

“Because what if I’m the one who needs to be stopped?!” I snapped, turning to face him as the rage manifested itself once more in a physical form. My eyes shone red in his, causing my heart to drop. I wished that it would stop. I wished that I could convince myself that I had no special gifts at all because what if my special gifts were terrifying ones? I brought my hands up to show him the proof of what I was becoming. Not even the persistent tears in my eyes could drown away the vivid, blood red hue in my eyes or the burning in my hands as my veins appeared to have the same blood red fire coursing through them. Just like he had before, Thor winced away from me when he saw this part of me. I had been able to control my anger all my life, but with every sudden change that had been happening, I lost control. I blinked away the tears or frustration, “what if the darkness swallows me whole, and I can’t do anything about it? What if your father was right all those years ago when he wanted me to be locked away in the dungeons if I were to stay? What if he was right to be afraid of me? What if I’m the villain in this story?”

“Then you’ll rewrite it!” his voice boomed, cutting off my questioning. He had more faith in me than I did; however, even Odin had more faith in me than I did, which spoke volumes of my relationship with myself.

“What if I can’t?” I asked, my voice softening as fear took the place of the anger. I was afraid of myself-of what my presence could do to the people I loved. Life was easier when I believed I was just a simple sorceress, but when I was brought back to the land of the living, I felt more powerful than ever before, which left me terrified because I lost all sense of control I thought I had. Closing the space between us, my eyes locked with Thor’s, “I feel like I’m not the one holding the quill.”

“Then you take it!” he huffed, his hands trembling as my fear left him feeling just as uncertain of the future. He looked to me for a sense of stability, and I couldn’t be that foundation for him in that moment. His eyes scanned the room, almost as if he was searching for an answer hidden in a darkened corner, and when he turned his eyes back to me, I saw his renewed faith in me, “you take it and you do what I believe you can do-what I’ve always believed you could do: you write the ending the way you believe it was meant to be. You have the power to change the tide of this war with Cul, and you act like this new power has somehow changed you, but this power isn’t new. This power has always been a part of you, laying dormant in the recesses of your heart until the time was right. Now is the time to learn how to control it, and everyone will be there to help you, to guide you, and to support you. My father was wrong about you. He was wrong about everything I know to be true about both you and my brother. Loki’s not an abomination, and neither are you. You are our last hope, Eva. You’re Asgard’s last hope at defeating Cul and his armies, and I understand that you’ve given more than enough of your life and blood to serving the throne; however, I’m not asking you to serve the throne...I’m asking you to serve your people once more...as the princess of Asgard,” he insisted, his voice filled with determination and unwavering support.

I shook my head, his words leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Attempting to laugh it off, I nearly made myself sick. The sudden fluttering of butterflies wings in my abdomen was a harsh reminder of all the reasons why I should ignore my responsibilities to Asgard and to the ones I loved. For a fleeting moment, I entertained the idea of staying on Midgard with my children and ignoring the needs of my people, allowing them to be slaughtered. The mere thought caused a panic to race through me, so I shook it off, “don’t call me that,” I requested, the title not sounding quite right.

He smiled, seeing how uncomfortable it made me. He knew that it was a light request, so he would take the opportunity to tease me in the future about it, but the time for teasing and childish banter was tabled for the time being. The smile fell from his face as his eyes became filled with memories that I was not present for, memories I wished to decipher, but he asked once-many years ago-that his mind be off limits to me, “I never understood why Heimdall seemed to have a deeper loyalty to you than to my father, how he could bring himself to bend-even break-the rules for you. When I read your letter and discovered that you had come to Midgard, I demanded he send me here. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, really, but I just wanted to be close to you. Heimdall always referred to you as a princess, but on that night, I told him that he must listen to my command because I was the prince of Asgard. He told me that you were the princess, and his loyalty began to make more and more sense. It wasn’t until I discovered your parentage that I realized why he called you that, why he served you, why his loyalty has never been to the throne as long as you were alive. His sword has always been at your feet, and it’s not only because you’re the princess of Asgard: it’s because you are the light that leads the weary travellers home. You’re the foundation that empires are built upon, and he believes in you as a leader, as a warrior, and as a ruler. Your father may have been usurped, but you still hold a claim to the throne-one that many people would be happy to see you sit upon.”

“I want nothing more to do with that throne-I never have,” I confessed. The burden of holding an entire kingdom in my hands was a daunting idea in and of itself, and those who could remember Cul’s reign were sure to harbor animosity toward me once they discovered my true parentage. I was sure it wouldn’t be kept secret for too long should a war reach us. I wasn’t fit to rule, and I had to make Thor understand such things, “I wanted to marry Loki for love, not the throne or the royal titles that would come with it. I wanted to fight in Asgard’s wars for light and life, not for the throne. I serve my people because I cherish every life I encounter, not because I desire the throne. After this war is finished, I wish to never even see that throne room again for the rest of my life,” I snickered, remembering all the times I had been reprimanded for my wild behaviors in that throne room and all the times I spoke out against the Allfather. My youth was slowly lost in that throne room, and I couldn’t bear to lose anything else, “besides, I’m not meant to be chained to a throne, and you know that. I’m like the wind: wild and ever-changing. I could never rule the way past kings have ruled.”

He shrugged, “well, maybe it’s time for a change. Perhaps Asgard needs a queen.”

“It already has a queen: your mother,” I reminded him, not wishing to speak of the matter anymore. It was an idea that was good for nothing but the imagination, for it would never come to fruition anyway. I smiled, brushing past him as I made my way over to the bed, “you should go get some sleep. Midgard has us both lost in our own dreams, and we could both use some rest.”

“I have one last thing to say. It’s the reason why I followed you into your quarters tonight,” he interjected. He shifted his weight, wringing his hands together before our eyes connected. With a deep breath, he finally spoke, “I’m sorry,” he blurted out, his voice like a low rumble. Before I could offer up my words of forgiveness and my own apologies, he continued, “you are the woman I’ve always been in love with, but even more than that...you’re my best friend. The way I spoke to you-the words I said to you-are abhorrent, and they caused irreparable damage to the very fabric of our friendship. You have no reason to forgive me, for I should never be forgiven. I used my words as ammunition against you because your decision to save your child’s life was hurtful to me. I never considered the alternatives or the fear that lead you to your decision to bring her here. Instead, all I saw was how that decision impacted me and how it hurt her, but I never realized that it’s very possible that she wouldn’t be alive to hurt if you hadn’t made the most difficult decision of your life. Instead of supporting you the way friends are supposed to, I was angry with you and treated you with contempt. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most, and I judged your decision as an outsider to the situation. My heart has been heavy with guilt since our last discussion, so I came in here tonight to apologize and hope that you could find it in your heart to forgive me for what I have done.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. You spoke to me as your friend who was hurt, and I find myself grateful that you care so deeply about my well-being and the health and happiness of my daughter to fight for her. I saw you advocate for my child, and while it wasn’t necessary, it gave me a sense of peace. Should I die, she will have you there to always advocate for her and keep her best interests in mind. She will be surrounded by people who will love her and protect her,” I explained, offering up a smile, “I wish you would have asked me why I did what I did because my decision was born out of my unconditional love for her. Not a day goes by that she’s not the very first thought I have in the morning and the very last thought I have before falling asleep. I love her more than I’ve ever loved another living thing. I look at her, and I see every happy memory I’ve ever had. She is sweet-natured like your brother, but she is wild like me. When this war with Cul is over and my presence will not present her with any harm, I will piece my family back together, and this pain will be a memory of my past. Once this is over, I will finally be happy.”

*Aurora’s POV*

Every bolt of lightning struck more than just the surface of the world, it also struck fear in my heart. I didn’t understand why a sound so natural would be one that scared me so much, but it left me trembling on the floor, staring out at the darkened sky. The rain fell hard enough that it drowned out the dwindling conversations around the apartment-like living quarters of the tower. Natasha and Clint were still throwing their usual banter back and forth, catching up as much as they could before Clint left the following day. He had opened up to me about the alternate life he lived aside from S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers. He spoke of his wife, Laura, and his children, Cooper and Lila. He discussed with Natasha how he and his wife were eager to have another baby, and Natasha would jokingly name the non-existent child after herself. Clint told her about his interest in building an addition onto his house, and she would recommend different colors if he was looking for a change. I was left entranced in most of their conversations, but it wasn’t for the banter or the friendly smiles back and forth.

I lost myself in the idea of having my own little family with a mother and father and siblings. I lost myself in the idea of going outside with my father and having him chase me around a field until he finally caught me. I lost myself in the idea of helping my mother redecorate our home on a whim because she needs a change of scenery. I lost myself in the idea of bickering with my siblings, which would lead to us eventually making up with each other and causing mischief that would drive any normal parent to the brink of insanity; however, our parents would love us all the more for it. I lost myself in the idea of my father overhearing my mother talking about adding an addition to our home, and he would surprise her with the necessary supplies before they both worked on renovations together, laughing and falling even more in love with every passing moment. I lost myself in the idea of a family that I could call my own. The team was my family, but I still dreamed of the one I must’ve had at one point when I was too young to remember.

There was another crack of thunder that startled me out of my silent dreaming. I flinched at the sound, and I knew that it was time to make the usual trek into one of five rooms. I could sleep with Natasha, but I knew that when I woke up, she would be holding me so tightly that I wouldn’t be able to move until she awoke. I could sleep with Bruce, but he was the lightest sleeper I knew; therefore, my nightmares that left me struggling to breathe would only frighten him just as much. I could sleep with Clint, knowing that he could offer me the most father-like care, but he had to leave in the morning; I didn’t want to be a bother. I could sleep with Steve, but he didn’t sleep when I was with him. Instead, he resorted to staying awake to watch over me whilst he read or lost himself deep in thought. Tony was the only other option, since Thor and Eva were both made “off limits” to me, and Tony may have needed me just as much as I needed him.

Before I could push myself off the floor, I caught the reflection of my own eyes in the glass. Eva’s eyes were the same color, but when I saw hers for the first time, I felt whole. Strangers we encountered while we were out with Natasha often did a double-take at Eva and I before noting that we looked like we were somehow related. I tried to laugh it off the way Natasha did, but I couldn’t help but wish that there was truth to it. While Eva was distant with me, there was something about her that my very essence was connected to. I loved her without knowing a single thing about her. I knew that she had a love of literature and that she was an Asgardian, but my knowledge was far too limited to claim love for her; however, love was present each time I even thought of her. No matter how many times she tried to push me away, I was pulled back to her by my own heart.

Another crack of thunder had me scrambling up off the floor. I slipped out of my bedroom, closing the door behind me and making sure to turn the handle to keep from the signature clicking sound of the latch that would give me away. I made my way to Tony’s room, my feet padding along the cold floor. My pace quickened with each crack of thunder until I reached Tony’s bedroom. I hoped that he would be in there and not in his workshop again. He had spent night after night in the workshop, refusing to sleep until he found a cure for the Extremis serum. Bruce helped him most of the time, but Tony worked non-stop. It was his way of coping. He told me that at one point, coping came in the form of drinking, but he claimed that he had made a promise to my mother that he would stop. He struggled to keep that promise when they brought Eva to the tower, though. When I visited him in his workshop, he would sit with a glass of his favorite whiskey right next to him, eyeing it every now and then. He claimed that the bottle hadn’t been opened since shortly before he made the promise to my mother.

I knocked on his bedroom door and breathed a sigh of relief when he called out for me to come in. I opened the door just wide enough to slip into the room and see him scribbling notes into one of the various journals he kept. It was no secret that he was still working on figuring out the Extremis and how it affected Eva. He wanted to have a solution before she left, which he feared would happen any day. Each time he looked at her, his expression was mixed between fear, endearment, and immeasurable guilt. He hadn’t spoken much to her since she woke up, but he sat with her day in and day out while she was still unconscious. I found him countless times passed out, leaning against the wall outside of her bedroom. Each and every time-after helping him back to his room-I found my way back to her room. Too afraid to open the door-I sat in the spot that was still warm from when Tony occupied it, and I fell asleep with dreams of a faceless woman with an all-too-familiar voice. Tony slept outside her room because he blamed himself for what happened. If anything could possibly be Tony’s fault, he felt guilty for it. I didn’t know why I slept outside her room.

He cast his eyes over to me without a word before turning his attention back to the words he was scribbling into his journal. I was silent as I entered the room and proceeded to crawl into the bed next to him, making myself as small as possible under the blankets. I curled my body as close to his as I could get, feeling safe around the people who swore their lives to me for some ungodly reason. As soon as I found a suitable and comfortable position, he closed the journal and pulled off his glasses, setting them both on the bedside table. He let out a long yawn and adjusted himself so that he could lay on his back, “can’t sleep?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he cast a fleeting glance over at me before turning it back to the ceiling. Another crack of thunder caused us both to flinch. I shook my head as my response, clutching the blankets around me and pulling them tighter. Sensing my fear, he did what he always did. He wrapped an arm around me and pulled my body flush against his, surrounding me in his warmth. I felt safe with Tony, but I also felt so much fear. I knew that should my life be on the line, he would sacrifice his to save mine, and I wasn’t worth such a tremendous sacrifice. I feared the depth of his love for me because it could only hurt him. Once he relaxed his muscles, he let out a long breath, “yeah, me neither,” he replied, rubbing circles onto my back.

I rested my head against his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat, allowing it to lull my heart back into a steady rhythm. Tony and I-much like the rest of the team and I-were connected in a way that was unexplainable. The connection was the same one I felt with Eva, even though few words had been exchanged between the two of us. The connection made it impossible to imagine a life without them, and when I thought of the prospect of not seeing one of them for even a single day, it tore me apart. I hated being away from Tony when he sent me to live with Steve, and I hated being away from Steve when I lived with Tony. It was a connection that breathed life into my heart, but it also caused such extreme misery. I loved without limits, almost as if my very soul was the same as the soul within each of the people I loved so dearly. I felt that connection especially with Eva. The idea of her departure caused even more panic in me, so I turned my focus back to Tony, “tell me a story,” I pleaded, thinking that maybe this time would be different. Rest never came to me during thunderstorms; however, it didn’t stop me from trying. This would’ve been a first if it happened.

“You really know how to put me on the spot, don’t you?” Tony chuckled, resting his right hand on his abdomen, his thumb gently brushing my forearm that was draped across his waist in an attempt to pull myself as close to him as possible. I didn’t trust many people, but I trusted Tony. With his left hand, he stroked my temple, brushing my hair back like he did whenever I was feeling sad. I listened as his breath hitched and his heart skipped a beat, but when I turned my gaze up to his face, he didn’t show the signs of fear that I anticipated. Instead, he wore such an endearing smile, as if he were reliving memories that had been living on the surface more so recently than ever before, “once upon a time, there was a princess, the most beautiful, delicate woman to grace the face of this world. She was gentle like people expected her to be as a princess, but she was fierce with a tongue sharper than any sword she ever wielded.”

“She watched over the world, and she hung the moon and the stars in the night sky to guide home every weary traveller, and she captured each of their hearts even though she promised herself to another. Her beloved, the prince of the land, was a gentle soul, and it was fitting that they end up together. They were two sides of the same coin, but they also couldn’t have been more different in some aspects. Fate pulled them apart time and time again, but the princess never lost hope even when her prince did. The prince was...different,” he searched for the right word and landed on that one, which he clearly didn’t think fit the description of the character, “the prince was kind and shy, but many people cast him aside. He wasn’t a warrior like other princes had been before him. Instead, he preferred books and nature. He was soft-spoken and gentlemanly. He helped the princess hang the moon and stars in the night sky because he cared about the weary travellers just as much as she did, but the people didn’t see his kindness and gentleness as strengths like they did in her. This drove him to build up walls around his heart, and he thought that he had to prove himself in order to earn her love. Little did he know, he would have her love no matter what.”

“The prince became a man the princess didn’t know, and she took to the cliffs, ready to throw herself off. The water crashed against the rocks and drowned out her own tears. Right before she leapt from the cliff, she heard the desperate pleas of a man out at sea. You see, there was a lowly craftsman-a man who didn’t belong out on the sea-who set out to fish in order to satiate his own hunger, and he was lost in an unforgiving storm. His boat wouldn’t last through the night, and he was afraid of dying. The sky was so thick with clouds that looked to be made of soot, making it impossible for him to even see with the help of the moon and stars that the princess had hung for people like him,” he choked out, that part of the story hitting a soft spot for him. I knew that the story was far more than just a work of fiction. It was a story about my parents, and he was the craftsman. I figured it out the moment he mentioned that the princess hung the stars in the night sky. Those were the only words I could remember my mother saying to me. I could remember nothing else.

Tony continued, his voice thick with emotion, “the craftsman was ready to give up just like she was, even though he was terrified of what would happen if he did. He was just so tired of fighting the storm, so he was ready to succumb to it. Then, he heard a distant voice. It was a song. The princess-even in her moment of grief and sorrow-pushed aside her emotions to guide him home. He followed the sound of her angelic voice, rowing himself toward the shore. When he reached the shore, he fell into the sand at her feet. She had descended from the cliff to stand on the shore to greet him when he finally returned. Tears blurred his vision when he looked up to take in the face of his savior, and his heart nearly stopped. He hadn’t expected the princess. He never expected that a princess would ever concern herself with a peasant like himself, but she did. She was far more beautiful than people described her, more stunning than he could even fathom himself. The moment he saw her, he fell madly in love with her. She was his saving grace, but what he didn’t know was that she had found another purpose, and it was to continue to save all those she could even while her heart was aching.”

“The princess and the craftsman became closer and closer as time passed, and they helped each other. Each day, he fell deeper and deeper in love with her, but he knew in his heart that it wasn’t meant to be between the two of them. He knew that her heart and soul were still promised to the prince, and he was happy if they could find happiness together. Her love saved her prince, and they found happiness together once more. The prince was saved from himself, and no matter how badly the craftsman wished she would end up in his arms, he knew that the princess was always meant to be with the prince. Instead, the craftsman promised his craft to her, and from that moment on, she lived within his heart. Everything he crafted was tinged with the color of her eyes, even if it was as small as an emerald on the hilt of a sword. He incorporated a piece of her into everything he did, and as he got to know the prince-a man he grew to consider a friend-he found a way to include the sky blue hue of his eyes into his work as well. In his work, the prince and princess would live forever, and he found a way to keep them close even when they seemed to be worlds away,” he finished, forcing a smile onto his face as he spoke. There was a sorrow in him when he told the story, a sort of homesickness that came whenever I asked about my parents.

“Is there something wrong with me?” I asked, biting my bottom lip to keep it from quivering as the emotion washed over me. It felt as if I was in a state of constant confusion. What had I done that was so wrong that they left me? If they were these beautiful, amazing, miraculous people who strived to help everyone, what was so wrong with me? Sensing Tony’s confusion, I continued, trying to explain my question a bit more, “you tell me all about how they loved the world, how they were the type of people who would take a bullet for a complete stranger because they had so much love in their hearts, so why couldn’t they love me like that?”

Tony pulled away from me to prop himself up onto his elbow and stare down at me. His eyes had never been so serious in all the time I’d known him, “I never want you to think that you weren’t loved by them-that you aren’t still loved. Your mother made the most difficult decision of her life when she decided to give you to me. She told me every little thing about you, every little idiosyncrasy that united to make you the girl she loved so fiercely. I never want to hear you even insinuate that you weren’t loved because your mother loved you more than she ever loved another living thing. She loved you more than she loved herself. She loved you until it hurt,” he explained before resting back onto the bed next to me, allowing me to pull our bodies close together once more. It was the most difficult concept to wrap my head around-how two people could love me so deeply but send me away. I didn’t understand it. Before my thoughts could run their course, Tony’s voice sounded again as he stared up at the ceiling, “your mother and father were meant to have children, but fate hurled hardship after hardship their way. Fate was cruel to your parents, and in order to protect you, a difficult choice had to be made. Never think...not even for a moment, that the decision to leave you with me was made lightly or that it wasn’t made with your best interests in mind. You are with me because your mother made a choice that hurt her so deeply, but that choice was born of nothing but pure, unadulterated love. Fate had other plans for your mother and father, plans that they were undeserving of. Fate was cruel to you, too. I remember how your mother cried when she brought you to me, how she wept as she spoke her final words to you. I watched her heart shatter that day as I held her in my arms, and I wished with all I had that I could just fix it. That’s what I do: I fix things. I just couldn’t fix what she needed me to.”

His words caused a jolt of sadness to surge through me like a bolt of lightning. I wished to hear her recollection of it. I wanted to hear the gentle quiver in her voice as she told me of the most difficult day of her life. I wanted to hear it because I wanted to comfort her. My dreams were simple, and that was one of them. I cleared my throat, “she’s the princess in the story, and you’re the craftsman. You loved her,” I remarked, feeling an immediate pang of guilt for putting him on the spot, but it disappeared when his breath hitched and his heart skipped a beat. I smiled at the thought of them together. Tony would’ve made such a good father, and he was the closest thing I ever had to one. I felt a sense of wholeness when I imagined a little family with him and my mother, but something still didn’t feel right about it. My voice cut through the silence once more, “I only remember one thing about my mother. I don’t remember her face, her name, or even the sound of her voice. All I can remember are the words she said to me. She told me that she hung the moon and stars in the sky so that they would watch over me throughout the night, and if I were to ever feel lonely, all I needed to do was look up into the sky, and I would find her here amongst them. I can...I can remember that. She was the princess in your story, and you...loved her.”

He nodded his head, and I lifted my head just enough to see a stray tear fall from the corner of his eye, slide past his temple and make a home somewhere in his dark hair, “if I could choose one woman to marry, if I could be totally selfish, I would choose her. A fair few of us who met your mother have fallen in love with her. She was this ethereal being who you couldn’t help but become entranced by. She could lure you in with her physical beauty-a gentleness and a wildness unlike any I’d ever seen before. Then, once you heard her laugh, once you saw that smile, once you felt the warmth of her heart, it was over,” he wore a fond smile, “I loved them both in different ways. It’s hard to admit this, but your father deserved her far more than I ever did. He deserved nothing but happiness and joy, and she brought that to him. They were meant to find each other in every reality and every lifetime, and all I ever wanted was to see them happy.”

I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep, but with each crack of thunder and flicker of lightning outside, I was startled back awake over and over again. Just when I was on the brink of falling asleep, I was pulled back into full consciousness. The desperate attempts to drown out the sound of the storm were in vain. Tony’s steady heartbeat could only offer me so much solace, and his quiet breathing wasn’t nearly loud enough for me to use as a way to ignore the sky that opened up with such agony. Before I knew what I was doing, I was padding down the hallways, pacing back and forth between the living area and the library. I could stay up all night and watch movies, or I could lose myself in a few books in the library. I couldn’t make up my mind, and in my pacing, my feet decided on a new direction, and I was involuntarily pulled toward Eva’s bedroom. She didn’t want to see me, and I didn’t expect her to want to comfort me. I couldn’t help but wonder, though...what if?

The princess was my mother, and Tony said that her eyes were green. My eyes were green, and Eva’s eyes were green. People mistook us for being related when we were out shopping with Nat. Tony seemed to have strong feelings for Eva, which were only heightened after all the tragedies that unfolded recently. He slept by her side and worked tirelessly on a cure for the Extremis serum. Tony was also vocal about his love for my mother. Perhaps it was my exhaustion or my desperation for a mother-figure to bond with, but I secretly wished that the woman on the other side of the door was my mother. Eva built up walls, but I saw little bits and pieces of the woman within those walls, and she was the person I was looking for. I didn’t know what my past looked like, but I knew that I wanted her to be a part of my future.

With another crack of thunder, I wrapped my hand around the doorknob, knowing somewhere deep in my soul that Eva was the only one who could chase away the storm.

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missnmikaelson-main · 5 years

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Tabula Rasa - Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals or any related media.

Summary: 20.65 centuries… 206.5 decades… 2065 years… 24,780 months… 107,380 weeks… 18,089,400 hours… 1,085,364,000 minutes. It was a long time, so why had it passed in the blink of an eye? One minute she watched her husband die, the next she was lying on something very soft surrounded by strangers.

Warnings: Some chapters will be rated M. These chapters will have warnings at the beginning.

Alenka took slow sips from the bottle of water and leaned against the kitchen counter. Every time she closed her eyes she remembered a new detail that kept the memory fresh. She doubted it had been Kol’s intention, but the memory she had repressed returned in living colour.

Whatever Klaus and Elijah had done helped her return to sleep but when she woke again the vision returned.

She could read the outrage, horror and pain in the fading light of Elias’ eyes. She could hear the distant sounds of Amara begging Qetsiyah to stop; she hadn’t remembered that at first. The promise to leave her husband her heart echoed in her mind even as the faint smell of his blood reached her nose. She could almost feel the bowl brushing her shoulder.

Alenka shook herself from the darkness of her memories and forced herself to remove her hand from her chest. Her heart was still in place. Her heart was going to remain in her body.

“Alright,” Klaus sighed, “what is it?” He could feel the annoyance coming off Hayley in waves.

“Something is clearly bothering you,” Elijah looked up from the contracts he had been perusing to the rigid set of Hayley’s shoulders.

“Really?” Hayley crossed her arms. “Are you really asking me that?” Her voice was a deadly hiss when she glared at them. “My child can’t come home because of the mess in this damn city. I haven’t held her since the day she was born and you’ve got the nerve to ask me what’s wrong?”

Hayley’s annoyance only flared when she heard the approaching footsteps on the cobblestones. She never would have chosen the Mikaelsons before her pregnancy. She wouldn’t have picked these two as men in her life; she’d been on the fence for a while about them, but she now saw them as hers and she was a very possessive person. Seeing them tending to a woman who was clearly just using them, she had even admitted to coming down there for the protection they could give, with such gentleness made her heart swell with anger.

They were hers not Elena Gilberts.

She pivoted on her heel when they began arguing between themselves over the best course of action to return Hope to them. It was futile; New Orleans would never be safe. They had too many enemies.

Tearing her eyes from the knife block she left the kitchen and crossed the courtyard. She paused outside the entrance to the dining room when Hayley stormed out and nearly ran her over. She just held in her shudder when she saw the hostility in the hybrid’s eyes and managed to stand her ground under the heavy glare until Hayley moved around her and stomped up the stairs.

“Did I do something to her?” She swallowed when she stepped into the room and saw the brothers locked in a staring contest. “Before the whole amnesia thing because I get the sense she doesn’t like me and would gleefully push me into the middle of a busy street.”

“Not that I am aware of, love,” Klaus tore his eyes from his brother.

“Try not to take Hayley’s mood personally, Elena,” Elijah met her eyes and frowned at the dark circles there, “she’s been having a difficult time.”

Alenka nodded. She drew her lip between her teeth not quite believing it had nothing to do with her. She had been around women in difficult situations, and yes they could be hostile but it was more generalized; typically if she felt anger being directed at her it was because it was being directed at her.

“How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” she cleared her throat when she saw Elijah had crossed the room to stand a few paces in front of her. Her eyes met his involuntarily and her heart stuttered in her chest; for a moment she saw the life draining from his face again.

“Elena?” He lifted her chin with his knuckle. He had heard her heart skip.

“More nightmares, love?” Klaus tilted his head and raked his eyes over her pale face.

“No,” she shook her head and managed a small smile, “no more nightmares.” She wondered if Klaus called everyone ‘love’; she wasn’t particularly fond of the nickname but she preferred it to hearing the name that wasn’t hers.

“Would that be because you didn’t sleep?” Elijah cocked an eyebrow.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and played with the label on the bottle. “Can’t have nightmares if you don’t go to sleep.”

“You didn’t sleep at all last night?” Elijah watched her carefully when she took a seat on the leather couch. He could see her eyes drooping.

“I couldn’t,” she was too tired to attempt a lie. “I kept seeing it.”

“I can help with that if you like,” Elijah offered when Klaus slipped from the room.

She chewed on her lip and stared at the table. She knew he could help her maintain a more pleasant dream, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted him in her mind. It might raise questions she wasn’t ready to answer if he were to see the extent of the dream keeping her up at night.

“No,” she shook her head, “it’ll pass.”

“Nightmares don’t just stop Elena,” Elijah took a seat across from her. “It does help to talk about them.”

“I think I’d prefer to banish it from my mind,” she laughed quietly.

“If only it were that easy,” he shook his head.

“Sometimes it is,” her nail stopped scraping the label from the bottle. The memory of the brilliant sun soaking into her husband’s skin as he lifted a violet coloured flower for her inspection flooded her mind.

She swallowed and stood up with a small nod. “I think I’m going to go for a walk and clear my head.”

Her eyes watched the ground as she walked down the street. She still wasn’t used to the crowd of people in the city, but she found herself grateful for their presence around her.

It was distracting to say the least and distracting was just what she wanted.

She caught snippets of inane conversations about work, dinner, and picking up the dry cleaning. Each clear word made her head feel a little lighter. She didn’t stop walking until she saw a stall of flowers.

Her fingers drummed over her thigh. She raked her eyes over the colourful blossoms looking for anything purple.

“Can I help you, miss?”

She looked up when a young man in a green apron came up beside her. She nodded slowly but before she got a chance to ask he held up a few flowers for her inspection.

“Lily of the valley perhaps?”

“I actually have something in mind,” she sighed and shook her head, “I just don’t see it.”

“Oh,” he lowered the white flower, “what were you in the market for today?”

“Crocus,” she smiled hopefully.

The stone had long since warmed behind his back. Still, he shifted and bent his knee to rest the book on. The sun beat down on the aged pages and made the handwritten notes easier to read; thankfully he had learned Bulgarian several centuries before. If he hadn’t he wouldn’t have been able to understand the instructions for breaking a traveller curse; unfortunately it appeared unlikely she would ever be able to do it.

There were seven and a half billion people in the world spread out over seven continents; the odds of ever finding a soulmate were unlikely: one in seven and a half billion… less than one percent.

A shadow passed over the page and drew his eyes upwards. The sun was behind her head so it took a moment for her features to come into focus.

“Did it work?” He marked the page and closed the leather bound volume.

“No,” she shook her head and dropped to sit on the stone steps of the mausoleum. “Well… yes and no…”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, darling,” he stood and took a seat beside her. His eyes fell to the bag she had set on the cobblestones.

“I don’t remember anything from this lifetime, but,” she took a steadying breath, “I now remember, in vivid detail, the events of my death.”

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. “Can I ask what happened?”

“You just did,” she snickered.

“I’m wondering if you’ll tell me though,” he watched her pale features. “I know you were murdered… you let that slip a few days back.”

Alenka smoothed her hair behind her ears and leaned forward to prop her chin in her hand. She turned her head slightly so she could look at him.

“Do you want to tell me what’s bugging you?” She easily spotted the circles under his eyes.

“I thought we were discussing you,” he braced his elbows on his knees. He sighed when she remained quiet before explaining the order he had been given to either kill a girl or her spell.

“You don’t want to kill her?” Her eyes flickered over his features.

“Contrary to popular belief I am not a monster,” he shook his head. “Unless my humanity was off I only killed when I had to; or in the attempted case of your brother for the greater good.”

“You tried to kill Jeremy?” Her brows shot up. “You want to kill me.”

“No,” he shook his head, “I didn’t want to deal with Qetsiyah’s hunter’s curse, but I did want him to stop searching for the cure and as for you… blind rage has a way of passing quickly.”

“Because of Silas,” she nodded. “I really hate that guy.”

“Is he the one keeping you up at night?” Kol inspected the flowers in the bag.

“What makes you think I’m up at night?” She smirked.

“The dark circles under your eyes,” he nodded to her face and pulled a flower from the bag, “and the crocus sativus,” he held it to her face, “it’s been said to banish nightmares when ingested as a tea.”

“How do you know that?” Her fingers grazed his skin when she lifted the flower to her nose.

“Someone told me about it,” he shrugged, “a long time ago; feels like a dream now. It always kind of felt like a dream, but it was one of the things I used to use in the days before turning off my emotions; brewing tea doesn’t require magic.”

“You had some nightmares you wanted to banish,” she nodded.

“As do you,” he pressed his lips into a thin line, “I’ve told you the source of my anxiety. Will you share yours?”

“I was murdered,” she stared at the opposite tomb, “by Qetsiyah. Every time I close my eyes I see,” she blinked back her tears, “the knife. I see… I see,” her breath shook, “the blood pouring from my… my husband, and I hear… I hear my sister screaming.”

He should have been surprised by his lack of hesitation. His hand settled between her shoulders and rubbed smooth circles over her back.

Alenka swiped at the tears rubbed her lips together. It seemed once she started she couldn’t stop.

“It’s so much harder to forget in that house,” she exhaled.

“Nik’s being a dick?” Kol attempted to make her laugh.

“No,” she shook her head.

“Elijah?” He ventured when she went quiet. “What’s he doing? Do you want me to beat him senseless?”

She finally managed a laugh through her tears. “I’m pretty sure you don’t have the strength for that.”

“You’re right,” he grinned, “but I can give him one hell of a headache.”

“He hasn’t done anything but help me settle in,” she inhaled slowly. “It’s just that… he looks like my husband.”

“And that makes it hard to forget,” Kol’s smile fell. “You could try focusing on the differences in their appearance… that might make it easier.”

“No, Kol,” she hugged her upper body, “you don’t get it. He’s a little older but… he looks just like my husband.”

“Your…” his eyes widened.

“Husband…” she shook her head and laughed without any humor, “… over two thousand years later. I don’t understand why either.”

“Reincarnation?” Kol didn’t know why the thought bothered him.

“That’s not how reincarnation works,” she shook her head sadly. “You don’t get the same body… I mean… it’s not possible. It has to be a coincidence right? It just makes it hard to forget.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, Alenka,” Kol reached for the leather bound volume he had been reading, “but maybe I can help distract you.”

“You could help by making me forget,” she sighed.

“Well I was going to tell you about the way to break a travellers curse,” he tried not to smile when he saw the muted light of excitement in her eyes.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” She tilted her head when he passed her the pages and finished explaining what he had learned.

“I don’t know,” he chuckled, “if you want to double check my translations it’s in Bulgarian.”

“Try tampering with the root,” she folded the pages and placed them in her bag. “For the spell,” she clarified when he looked confused. “The root would be instrumental in its completion. If you wreck the root you destroy the spell and then you don’t have to kill the girl.” She slowly climbed to her feet and hooked the bag over her arm. “If it’s keeping you awake you clearly don’t want to do it, so…”

“Wreck the root,” he nodded. His eyes sparkled when he smiled up at her, “thank you.”

Tags: @rissyrapp20 @elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall

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