#i still don’t know what made my brain conjure that dream like i haven’t done anything w/ skylanders in weeks???

[thatone-churro]

just had a dream where i replayed skylanders giants again and it was so fun.

the nostalgia def played a part, but i was having so much fun playing through it again. i mean, it was a dream so parts of it didn’t really exist in the real game, but i felt like i was playing through it for the first time again, and it felt so new but so familiar.

i woke up soooo ready to keep playing i’m sure you can imagine how depressing the realization was

[serasvictoria]

I've Got Dreams To Remember

Pairing: Incubus Hvitserk/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 8244 (yeah, I don't know what happened either)

Summary: A certain young man keeps showing up in your very x-rated dreams.

Notes: I fully realise that the contents of this might not be for everyone, so I’ll just say that according to some stories Incubi are capable of shapeshifting. A certain aspect of this has been inspired by @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie's absolutely brilliant fic, Take Me, so if you've read that you'll know what I'm talking about. And if you haven’t read it, what the hell are you doing? READ IT.

There is another moodboard all the way at the end of this to provide a visual for something that I describe in this so have a look at it at the end.

Tagging: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @vikingstrash @quantumlocked310

He only ever came to you in your dreams.

The dreams were interesting to say the least and he always played a very big part in them. You often wondered what deep and dark recesses of your brain had conjured him up, because you would definitely remember if you had encountered someone like him in real life.

It first started about a month ago. You’d gotten out of a particularly nasty relationship a few months before. You were still trying to navigate your way through this new life that you now had and while your friends were busy with trying to get you back onto the dating scene, you persisted in that regard. You weren’t looking for a new man in your life, but you still had needs. Sure, you had your toys, but they were a somewhat poor substitute when what you really wanted was for someone to grab your ass, lift you up and fuck you up against a wall.

Maybe that was where he had come from. Because that was exactly the scenario that you got the first time that he showed up.

It was a fairly generic one where dreams were concerned. You were in a bar with some people, a wide assortment of people that you knew in real life, when you could feel someone’s eyes on you. You looked up and stared straight into the half shaded face of a young man whose eyes you couldn’t actually make out, but you saw the smile that graced his lips and boy was it hungry. You only glanced away for a second and when you looked back again, he was already gone. You’d resigned yourself to missing your chance, when a hand suddenly grasped your wrist, dragged you outside to a nearby alleyway and gave you exactly what you’d been thinking of during your waking hours.

When you woke up, you had never found yourself feeling so satisfied before. You threw the blankets over your head, rolled over and tried to fall asleep again, but sleep didn’t take you for a second time that morning sadly enough. Later that day, after getting out of the shower and glancing in the mirror before combing your hair, you stared at your reflection in confusion or to be more precise at your bare skin. In your dream, your mystery lover had bitten your shoulder and there, right there on your shoulder, were teeth marks. But that was impossible, right? Maybe the dream had been that intense that it had somehow tricked your body into believing that it had been real? Did things like that even happen?

You didn’t dream of him the next night. Nor the following five nights. Not that you were keeping track or anything. He eventually put in another appearance though. The setting for that dream wasn’t particularly inventive either and you were almost embarrassed that your mind was even coming up with stuff that gave you the impression that they should be storylines in bad porn movies. It was a department store this time and you were looking at underwear. Your fingers continuously ran over the lace trims of various bras and touched the silky panties that came with them.

Again, you felt eyes on you and it was the same young man as from your previous dream. Apparently, dream you was in a frisky mood so you held up various bras in front of your chest, most of which he disapproved of, until you came across a bright red lace number that he seemed to like. When he finally found you in the fitting room shortly after, you were wearing the set that he had wanted to see you in before tearing it off your body and fucking you up against the full length mirror.

That was the first time that you’d gotten a good look at his face. Frankly, you were impressed with what your mind had come up with. He had long dirty blonde hair that he wore in a ponytail and that you longed to see loose. His eyes were green one time and when you looked again they seemed brown. That was one of the parts about him that mystified you. That and the part where you constantly wanted to kiss the tip of his nose and his ears. That was definitely an odd experience to say the least.

He was tall and lithe of build, but with surprising strength in his arms. The way that he would hold you was intense, like he never wanted to let you go. When his shirt came off, you found yourself staring at the intricate tattoo that covered most of his left bicep and part of his chest. It was some kind of Viking design and it looked old, but it was probably meant to look like that. You found yourself tracing it with your finger a number of times, something that seemed to amuse him.

Whenever you woke up, you were annoyed that you had been torn out of this perfect little dream world. The dream world where you were fucked six ways from Sunday. You were so thirsty for this young man that you had created that he was in your nighttime fantasies pretty much every single night now. In your dreams he left you so satisfied that you had no idea why you ever wanted to leave. If only you could stay asleep and feel this bliss forever. What would make them even more amazing was if the fantasies were better. You always swore that you were one dream away from having him come round to your house so he could have a closer look at your plumbing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Rolling over on your side, you looked at the man next to you in the bed. Despite the fact that you had been dreaming about him almost every single night for the past two weeks, you had never actually heard him talk. You’d heard him moan and groan several times, but to hear his lips form actual sentences was a new thing.

“Nothing,” you replied with a smile.

“I can read your thoughts, you know.”

“You can?”

“Yeah, I never told you?” He grinned at you and ran his fingers up and down your bare arm. “Maybe I could have told you if you’d wanted to talk, but you only want me for my body.”

“What? I don’t… I never…” You were flustered and looking for words after being so brutally called out. “It was never like…”

“It’s okay,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t mind. It’s what I do.” Since he saw the obvious confusion on your face, he continued. “I’ve been feeding off you this entire time.”

“Feeding off me? But I never feed you anything.”

“Your orgasms.” A frown creased your brow and he started laughing again before leaning in and pressing his lips against your forehead. “It’s what I need to sustain myself. I can eat other food as well, but it never quite fills me up the way orgasms do.”

“So the reason that you made me come multiple times is…”

“Because it fills me. Not my belly, mind you, but on a deeper level.” He cupped your chin and brushed the tip of his nose against yours. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I suppose a thank you is in order.” His hand slipped down, gently gripping your neck, applying just the slightest bit of pressure, before moving down to it’s destination and plucking at your nipple almost idly. He was gearing you up for another round and you found that you couldn’t actually remember how many times he had made you come already. “Can I thank you with this body that you can’t get enough of?”

“Wait.”

“So now you want to talk?” He continued his ministrations on your chest as if you hadn’t been talking at all. You caught the playful smirk on his lips before he leaned in and started sucking marks on your neck. “What do you want to know?”

“You say you feed off me, but doesn't that mean that you want to eat me?”

“And why would I want to do that? I like to use my mouth for other things,” he said with a low chuckle. You hissed through your teeth when he sank his teeth into your skin suddenly and then licked the spot where he had bitten you. “Would be a waste to eat you anyway.”

“So the reason that you’re able to…”

He pulled away so he could look you in the eye. He grinned as he pushed his hand against your shoulder and he got on top of you as soon as you were laying on your back. “Are you getting shy on me now? After everything that we’ve done?” He nudged your legs apart and you could feel his erection pressing into your thigh. “But yes, that’s why my erections last so long. The aim of the game is not to come myself, but to make sure that you do.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I beat myself off when you wake up. It’s not like I can’t climax myself, but I can make sure that I stay hard for as long as I need to.” You could feel his tip pressing against your entrance, ready to slide in at any second. “It’s a dream. Anything can happen in a dream.”

“Anything?”

“Sure. Wanna see?”

You didn’t know what he had planned, but you nodded anyway. His eyes lit up, his irises practically glowing green right now, and he started grinning, eager to show you what else he could do. He snapped his fingers and all of a sudden you were sitting on a red velvet sofa in what appeared to be some kind of high end bar. Your legs were wide open with him on his knees in front of you, his lips already on the inside of your knee and slowly working his way up.

“So you can change locations?”

“Honey, I can change everything.” You felt his teeth on the inside of your thigh, nipping at your skin playfully, mere inches away from the top of your legs. “Is the setting not to your liking?”

“How did you even come up with this place?”

“Experience?” He briefly looked up at you and shrugged. “I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Not telling.” He stuck his tongue out at you and then dipped his head down to lick a stripe from your entrance up to your clit. “I can never get enough of how you taste.” He moaned against your core. He spent most of his time with his face between your legs in your dreams. With what he’d revealed earlier, about how he fed on your orgasms, maybe that was the place where he could taste it the best? “Not really.” You moaned loudly when he spoke, because his voice was adding vibrations to what he was doing. You’d entirely forgotten that he had mentioned that he was able to hear your thoughts. “You just taste real good.”

A single finger slid inside of you, your walls instantly clenching around him, trying to pull him in deeper. When he adds another, you start whimpering and you know that you’re going to come soon. If you could, you’d have him in this position all the time. There had never been anyone in your life who had been this good at eating you out and who was so clearly enjoying himself as well. Your last boyfriend had been a disaster on that front, more often than not he would skip foreplay entirely, but he’d still expect you to suck his dick whenever he felt like it. Figures that you’d only be able to find an enthusiastic lover in your dreams.

Guys like that simply didn’t exist in real life.

You reach down to thread your fingers through his hair. The gesture makes him suck at your clit harder and thrust his fingers in deeper than before. He was practically devouring you at this point, lapping up your juices and making sounds that told you that he hadn’t been lying when he told you that he liked how you tasted. It was almost as if he didn’t want to waste a single drop. You keened out a noise as another orgasm positively engulfed you. You’d push him away and close your thighs if you could, but he had wrapped his arms around your thighs and was using all his strength to keep them wide open. Your muscles were tight as a bowstring, your back arched and pushed you up into a position that would start to hurt if you stayed in it for too long. He was relentless though, ignoring your discomfort and continuing his assault until he had managed to pull yet another climax out of your shuddering body.

When he finally released you, you collapsed onto the sofa, your entire body sticky with sweat. You blinked a few times to stop yourself from seeing stars and when you heard him chuckle, you swatted your hand in his general direction without actually hitting him. It took you a couple of minutes, but you eventually managed to sit upright again when your lungs stopped burning. He was still on his knees in front of you with an incredibly smug impression plastered all over his face. You nudged your foot against his shoulder and he fell backwards dramatically. Your face twisted when you felt the velvet against your sweaty body. It had felt pleasant on your bare skin before, but not anymore.

“I can do something about that,” he said cheerily and snapped his fingers again. When he saw the look on your face when you noticed where you were, he couldn’t hide his amusement. “No good?”

“This is terrible,” you replied with a wide grin. “I mean. Honestly.”

The flashing light underneath you made you laugh. He’d pulled this one from your bad sex fantasies again. A piece of paper slid into the tray on the side. He picked it up, looked at it with a frown before turning the piece of paper over so you could see it.

“I think there’s something wrong with this printer.” He shook his head and pressed a few buttons underneath your leg. “It really needs fixing.”

“Think you can fix it?”

“I can try.” He pushed his hands underneath your ass just as the light flashed again and a few seconds later he showed you the black and white printout of your behind with his fingers shoved in between you and the glass that you were sitting on. “That’s beautiful. Think I might have to frame that.”

“You’re such a weirdo.”

“I think that it’s funny.” He pressed his lips on yours hungrily and you could still taste yourself on his tongue. “I got this from your mind, remember? I really think we might have to work on the state of your fantasies though. They really could be a lot more inventive.”

“Maybe I’m just not very original.”

“You’re just not giving yourself enough credit, sweetheart.”

“Maybe.” You nipped at his lower lip and then pressed a kiss on the tip of his nose which was probably a little too gentle considering all the other stuff that you’d gotten up that night, but you hardly cared anymore. “You can probably come up with something a lot better.”

“I can try, but you’re probably going to be disappointed.”

One snap of his fingers and suddenly you were in the dark. You could also tell that you were alone. The other two times, you could always feel him around you, but not this time. You hugged your arms around your torso, feeling cold for no reason at all. All of a sudden a couple of lights switched on, bathing the room in red light, and you realised that you were standing on a stage. When you glanced at the side, you could see a pole right next to you. You instinctively reached out for it, feeling the cool metal against your palm and you held it as you walked in a circle around it. There were full length mirrors all around you and you briefly looked at your reflection.

The outfit that you wore left little to the imagination which was probably the point when you took the location into account. You were wearing a red triangle bikini top and a black pair of shorts that half your ass was hanging out of. The shoes, the infamous stripper heels naturally, had plastic, see-through straps and the platform heels had a iridescent sparkle to it.

When you had done a turn, your eyes scanned the place and you could see him sitting on a chair right next to the stage, looking up at you expectantly. He obviously wanted a show so why not give him one? Holding onto the pole, you slid down until you were on your knees and then you started skimming your hands up and down your chest. He was completely enraptured and kept reaching down to readjust himself in his trousers. Given how he usually remained rockhard throughout these dreams, the skinny jeans that he was wearing right now were probably incredibly uncomfortable.

You crawled over to where he was sitting. When you had reached the edge, you reached out to grab him by his shirt and pulled him up out of his seat. His eyes widened for a second or two before he composed himself again. He couldn’t resist leaning in when your face came closer to his, but you merely ghosted your lips over his before pushing him back into his chair.

“No touching the stripper,” you chided and then wagged a finger at him. “Or I’ll ask security to kick you out.”

“But you’re allowed to touch me?”

“Are you trying to tell me you’d have me kicked out?”

“No way.” He leaned back in his chair, arm hanging over the back and he started sipping at a cocktail that suddenly materialised in his hand. “Keep going.”

The only problem there was that you had no clue what strippers even did. Sure you’d seen a video, but those women were a lot more athletic than you were. You’d also seen Showgirls once, but that movie probably wasn’t the best example about what to do. The only thing that you had learned from that movie was how not to have sex in a pool and that licking a stripper pole wasn’t particularly sexy, just incredibly unhygienic. You swung your legs over the edge of the stage and put your feet on the arm rests of his chair, practically daring him to touch you. Having caught your intent, he didn’t move and then he had the audacity to feign indifference.

Sliding off the stage, you climbed onto his lap instead and started gyrating your hips against his. You reached up to grab a handful of his hair, pulled his head back and dragged your lips down the column of his throat. When he grabbed your ass, you slapped his cheek with your free hand.

“No touching,” you whispered in his ear. “I’m not telling you again.”

“Damn, baby.” He sounded impressed by how well you were taking control of this new situation. “That is such a fucking turn-on.” You pulled on his hair harder and since your mouth was still close to his ear, you took his earlobe between your teeth and gave it a gentle tug. “Holy shit. You’re a fucking natural.”

“Oh yeah?”

You leaned back so you could look him in the eye. His eyes sparkled with obvious excitement and a deeper, more animalistic need. Like he could grab you at any moment, throw you onto the stage and fuck you right there if you pushed him too far. Very tempting. Reaching to the back of your neck, you pulled at the bow that held the strings of the halterneck together and when it was loosened, they fell down your shoulders. You pushed the cups down until they hung loosely around your chest. The only thing that was keeping the top on was the string that tied together around your back.

His eyes flitted down to your chest and then back up to your face again. You wanted him to touch you, but after telling him off a few times, you weren’t sure if he was going to. So you placed your hand on the back of his head and pressed him against your chest instead. You felt him smile against your skin and then his lips started moving, shifting in the direction of your nipple.

A shiver ran down your spine and you looked up suddenly. You had the odd feeling that there was another set of eyes on you, but that was impossible since the two of you were the only people here. Looking up at the bar, you saw a young man who was leaning against the bar and watching the two of you intently. He was smartly dressed in a dark blue suit, his long hair loose and hanging down over his shoulders. Even in this odd red light, you could tell that his skin was too pale, so white that it was almost translucent and when he grinned at you, you could see that his canines were too long, too pointy. Without realising it yourself, you had frozen entirely and the young man underneath you had sensed it, looking up at you in confusion before following your eyes.

“What the fuck, man!” He suddenly shouted at the other guy, anger flashing behind his eyes. “The hell are you doing here? Fuck off!” The man at the bar shrugged and disappeared just as suddenly as he had appeared. “Sorry about that.”

“Who was that?”

“My brother.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, he’s a dick,” he said with a deep sigh. “Our mother would keep tabs on us when we were kids to make sure that we didn’t get into any trouble. You have any idea how weird it is when your mother enters the dreams where you’re trying to get off with a girl? Fucking embarrasing.” He raised his eyebrows at you when he noticed that you were trying to suppress a laugh and pinched your side. “I don’t know how the fuck it works, but my mother taught the little shit how to do it as well and so he just… I dunno… shows up sometimes like the little creep that he is.”

“Does that mean that he’ll come back?”

“No. He just likes to remind me that he can do it from time to time.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his head against your chest. “But fuck that. I don’t want to talk about my asshole brothers.”

“Brothers?”

“Ah shit. No. Not talking about them.” He pulled at the string on your back, pulled the bikini top from your body and threw it on the stage. “So this particular fantasy is ruined now. Let's start again, shall we?”

“Can’t we salvage it?”

“I’ve got something better.” The look on his face told you that this had the potential to be really good. “Do you trust me?”

“How bad is this going to be?” He tilted his head to the side, that wasn’t the answer that he had wanted to hear. “Yes.”

“I don’t do this a lot so bear with me alright?”

Another snap of the fingers and the strip bar starts to fade away. You were sitting on a bed now and you were wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that looked old. The new location was just as red (he really did seem to like that colour), but it didn’t look that special to you. In fact, it looked like a fairly cheap love motel, one where lovers would retreat to so they could enjoy each other's company for about an hour before going their separate ways again.

You got up from the bed and walked over to a table by the window to look at what was set out on it. There was a big bowl of strawberries and a bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne right next to it. He’d really pulled out all the stops, even in a dream. You were giggling to yourself when the door to the bathroom opened and someone appeared in the doorway. It took you a short moment before you realised who it was, but when it all clicked into place your mouth fell open.

Because leaning against the doorframe was a woman. Her dirty blonde hair was loose and still slightly wet, hinting at the fact that she’d been taking a shower moments earlier. She was wearing a silk bathrobe that was tied together by the waist with a big bow and you could see her hard nipples quite clearly through the thin material. The smirk was damn near unmistakable however. When she approached you, you instantly got the impression that you were her prey, there was just something very predatory in the way that she moved. She came to a standstill right in front of you and her mischievous eyes flashed bright green briefly.

“Feed me,” she said with a grin. You took one of the strawberries from the bowl and when you presented it to her, she held her mouth wide open, ready to be fed. You felt her tongue swipe over your fingers when you fed it to her and then she let out a single moan when she started chewing. A few seconds later you felt a finger against your chin so she could push your mouth shut. “Surprised?”

“Very.” You looked her up and down. The bathrobe barely covered the tops of her thighs and she reached down to play with the hemline, to make sure that your eyes stayed focused on her legs. “I didn’t know you could turn into a woman.”

“It’s a dream,” she stated simply. “Anything’s possible.” She leaned in to you and you closed your eyes, anticipating a kiss, but then her lips brushed against the shell of your ear as she talked. “I don’t do this a lot though. So consider yourself special.”

“All this to make up for your brother interfering?”

“Guess you could say that.” She took your hands and started pulling you along to the bed. When you reached it you thought that she was finally going to kiss you, but then she spun you round and made you sit on the bed instead. She pulled on the bow that held the bathrobe together and brushed it open, revealing herself to you slowly, like one might unveil a priceless painting. “Like what you see?”

Your throat had gone dry and you found that you had lost the ability to form words. He was beautiful when he was a man, but now that he was a woman, his toned torso had given way to soft curves and skin that looked so smooth that you wanted to do nothing else but reach out and touch it. She took a step closer and stood in between your open legs, a sweet smile on her lips as she looked down at you.

“You’re not talking.” There was a slight teasing tone to her voice as she spoke. “That bad?”

“No.” She took your hand and moved it up until it was covering her bare breast. You gave a quick experimental squeeze. “Just surprised. Takes some getting used to.” Your other hand moved up of its own accord so you could cup her other breast as well. “I mean, I’ve never been with another woman before.”

“You can. If you want to.”

While you had only ever been with men, the thought of being with a woman wasn’t something that you weren’t entirely opposed to. Especially not with someone as beautiful and seductive as this. She shrugged out of the robe and dropped it to the floor. The tattoo that was usually on his left arm had changed into something more delicate and feminine, pink cherry blossoms with green leaves and branches in between them that curled up her arm and covered part of her clavicle. You moved your hand up and started tracing them with your fingers, gently caressing her skin, her green eyes following your every move.

When you heard a soft giggle, you looked back at her face and before you could say anything, she’d pushed you back onto the mattress. She was on top of you a split second later and then you finally felt her soft lips on yours. You could still taste the sweet strawberry on her lips and on her tongue when she slipped it into your mouth. Your hands ran down her back, following her spine and then settling on her ass. Whenever you squeezed, she ground her hips down against yours and you were suddenly overcome with the urge to see her on her back with her hair fanned out over the red sheets.

Grabbing her hips, you flipped her over and since she’d just read your thoughts, she reached up and made sure her hair was spread out just the way that you had just imagined it. She started pushing your shirt up and you almost ripped it off in your eagerness to get naked for her, even if she’d seen you like that many times before. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and shoved her hand into your sweatpants roughly. Her fingers started rubbing at your sex, finding you very wet and very willing.

Pulling her hand out, you leaned back and pushed your pants down, kicking your legs to get them off entirely without moving too far away from her. When you were completely naked, her hand settled back at the top of your legs, her movements more hurried and urgent now. With your hands on her breasts, you started licking and nipping at her neck, moaning against her skin when one of her fingers started circling your clit.

“I want to make you come,” you groaned into her ear. “Never made you… fuck… come before.”

“But you give me so many other things,” she purred back. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” You skimmed one hand down her stomach and slipped your hand between her legs. “Jesus Christ. You’re so wet.” You were rewarded with a moan when you tried touching her the way you liked to be touched. It was almost as if you were moving on autopilot, like you instinctively knew what to do. “Please.”

She didn’t reply so instead you pulled your hand away from her, making her let out a displeased whine, and you pulled your face away from her neck so she could watch you suck your fingers into your mouth. You twirled your tongue around your fingers, making sure that she could see exactly what you were doing and then moved your hand down again. You pressed them up against her entrance first, teasing her with the slightest bit of pressure and then slipped them inside. She started tilting her hips up against your hand and the way that her face contorted in pleasure really was something that would be etched into your mind forever.

“Can I?” You repeated the question since you still hadn’t gotten an answer. “I really want to.” Pressing your lips down on hers again in a searing kiss, you murmured against her lips. “Please say yes.” You pressed your fingers in as deep as they could go, all the way down to the third knuckle. Since he had seemed to like it quite a bit when you did it earlier, you tangled your fingers in her long hair and gave a forceful tug. She gasped into your mouth and you knew that you had her. “I’ll just keep doing this until you say yes.”

“Fuck.” She shifted underneath you and you reluctantly pulled your lips away from hers. “I love it when you do that.”

“I know.” A triumphant grin formed on your lips and she was so obviously into it that it was hard to drop this act. Dipping your head down, you bit her neck suddenly and she squealed with obvious delight. You decided to thrust your fingers into her harder and she was so wet now that you could hear your digits moving in and out of her. “I want to make you come so bad.”

“You’re pretty good at this,” she moaned breathlessly. “Want to take this a little bit further?”

“How?”

“I’ll give you what you want, but not like this.” She wrapped a hand around your wrist and gently pulled your hand away. She then brought your hand up to her lips and started licking her own juices off your fingers with such fervour that she could have been mistaken for a starving animal. Seeing that was so arousing that you couldn’t stop a moan from escaping from your lips. “I want you to do something else.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Check the drawers.”

You scrambled off of her, probably a little bit too fast, in your eagerness to see what was in there. You were expecting a vibrator, a buttplug even, but you must have pulled a particularly funny face when you saw what was in the drawer instead because she started laughing as soon as she saw your expression. You hooked your fingers in one of the straps and lifted it up, probably looking very much afraid to even touch it. Your eyes were wide as it hung from your fingers and you turned back to fully face her.

“You want me to wear...” You gestured at it with your free hand. “...this?”

“Well, yes, sweetheart.” She got on all fours and crawled over to your side of the bed. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“Right.”

“You’re not sure.”

“It’s just… this is very much virgin territory for me.”

“You were doing fine just now.”

“That’s kinda different though, isn’t it?” You looked down at the strap-on that was still dangling from your fingers and she started poking at it playfully. It looked so silly that you couldn’t help but laugh. Truth be told, you were kind of curious about this kind of thing. “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive.” She pushed herself up on her knees and hooked her arms around your neck, pressing her entire body flush against you. “So. What do you say?”

“This is definitely one of the weirdest dreams I’ve ever had.”

“Yes or no.” She started kissing you, nice and slow, and then sucked your bottom lip into her mouth. Your hands snaked down her back and when she nipped at your lip, you gave her ass a hard slap. “Baby!” She started giggling, her fingernails digging into your shoulder blades when you grabbed her ass and squeezed her roughly. “I love it when you manhandle me.”

“That’s new for me as well.”

“I really am pushing your boundaries, ain’t I?” She pulled away suddenly and got on all fours again, turning her ass in your direction. She wiggled her hips and peered over her shoulder until you slapped her again. “Keep doing that and I’ll climax before you’ve shoved that thing inside of me.”

“Yeah right.” But you slapped her on the other cheek just for good measure. She pushed back until her ass was pressed against your hips and then she started moving backwards and forwards like you were already thrusting into her. “I need some help… with this thing…”

She faced you again in a flash, obviously excited by your willingness to do this. The harness was on you fairly quickly all things considered and then she lowered herself, gave you a quick wink and started sucking the large dildo into her mouth. So that’s what it looked like from that angle. You stroked her hair in very much the same manner like your previous partners had always done with you whenever you went down on them. Come to think of it, you suddenly realised that you had never actually had his cock in your mouth. That probably wasn’t all that weird considering this no climaxing thing that he appeared to have going on, but whenever you’d even attempted to kiss your way down his chest, he always stopped you.

You felt her tap her fingers against your hip and then she released the dildo with a pop. “You’re overthinking this. This isn’t about me. Never was.” Sitting up on her knees again, she stroked the side of your face almost lovingly and you eased into her touch for a few seconds. “Like I said earlier, the aim is to make you come.” She flashed you a big, predatory smile and then continued, “Speaking of. You do this right and afterwards I’ll push myself into you balls deep and fuck you until your fucking alarm goes off. How’s that for a tradeoff?”

“The way that you usually are?”

“Depends on what you want.” Her hand settled on your chest and she twisted one of your nipples between her fingers. “If you want me to wear that strap-on afterwards, I can do that. No problem.”

“You’ll probably be able to tell exactly what I want when I’m done with you.”

“You bet your ass, baby.” She winked at you and then a bottle of lube magically appeared in her hand. “I know that this is a dream, but I still need to use this.”

“Do you have any idea how weird it is when you do that?” She looked at you with her perfect eyebrows raised as she squeezed some liquid into her hand, applied it liberally to the silicone shaft and then the tube disappeared again when she was done. “Magicking things up out of thin air.”

“That’s what you think is weird about all this?” She rubbed her hands between her legs, applying some more lube on her pussy and started pushing her hips up against her hands. “I can change everything about this dream, even my gender, but when I make stuff appear in my hand that’s taking it one step too far?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” She turned her back on you and pressed her ass against the sex toy. “Now get it over with and fuck me already.”

“That really wasn’t necessary.” You grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled hard and twisted her head back. She laughed breathlessly and pushed her hips back again. “I’m just going to have to fuck this attitude out of you.”

“Fuck yes! Teach me a lesson.” She was practically purring the words at you. When you pushed her forward roughly, she loudly voiced her delight. You pressed one hand firmly between her shoulder blades, making sure that her face stayed down. Grabbing her hips, you made her raise her ass in the air and then positioned yourself in front of her entrance. “I’ve been such a bad girl.” With one thrust of your hips, you slipped inside of her and she let out a long stretched out moan as you watched the dildo disappear inside of her. “You’re so fucking big.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that sudden admission. For some reason she was playing the part that loads of women seemed to play in porn movies and when you started pumping in and out of her, she wouldn’t stop moaning about how good it felt and how well you were fucking her. This really was something else and whenever you glanced down at how her ass rippled whenever your hips connected with her, you couldn’t help but be completely fascinated with how it looked, practically unable to tear your eyes away from her.

Her noises started increasing and you kept slapping her already reddening ass in between thrusts. Pulling out almost entirely, you pushed back in so hard that her moans were starting to sound muffled. Never once pausing what you were doing on her, you slid one hand down over her hip so you could touch her clit. You ran the other one up her spine, tightened your fingers in her hair and yanked her up, pulling her against your chest.

“I wanna hear you,” you groaned in her ear and she started whimpering instantly. “You gonna come for me now?”

“Almost,” she mewled back. “I’m so close.” You speeded up the motions against her clit and she let out a loud cry, reaching back with one hand to wrap it around the back of your head. You were barely able to move your hips at this odd angle, but she didn’t seem to care from the way that she was bucking up against your hand and panting. When she started whimpering and rubbing her back against your chest, you could feel the muscles in her thighs constricting against your hand. “Fuck.”

A grunt of pleasure was torn from her throat and she arched her back, all her muscles going rigid all at once when her orgasm tore through her. You kept her pulled against you, absolutely delighted that you appeared to have done this right despite being slightly weirded out about it at first. When you released her, she dropped down onto the bed, completely out of breath. You lay down on your side next to her and studied her face closely. Her eyes were squeezed shut and you ran your fingers up and down her jaw as she caught her breath.

“Gimme a sec…”

You saw her swallow hard, her throat no doubt having gone dry. You got up off the bed and giggled when you looked down. Seeing that huge silicone dildo swaying about with every step that you took really looked hilarious. When you reached the table, you were ready to struggle with attempting to open the champagne before noticing that she’d already taken care of that. There were two glasses filled with the sparkly liquid standing right next to it.

When you turned back around, you saw that she was gone and that he was now laying on the bed in her place. You briefly frowned, sad that you hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye before realising that they were one and the same person. You heard him laughing from the bed when you walked back with the glass in your hands.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are.” You sat down next to him and waited until he’d pushed himself up into a sitting position before handing him the glass. He emptied the glass in one big sip. “Wanting to say goodbye.”

“I just forgot. Until earlier I thought that you were nothing but a figment of my imagination.”

“Oh no.” He threw the glass across the room and it bounced off the wall before rolling onto the floor. He looked down at your lap and flicked his fingers against the strap-on. “I’m very real.”

“Can you help me get this thing off?”

“Or you could keep it on.” He flashed you a quick and very dirty smile. “I’d let you peg me.”

You almost choked when you tried to imagine what that would look like and blurted out a quick, “One thing at a time please.”

“Spoilsport.” He tapped a finger on the harness and then it was gone. “You’d be pretty good at it, you know. Pull my hair a couple of times and I’m yours to do with as you please.” Before you could reply to that, he put an arm around your waist and pulled you back onto the bed. Moving you onto your back, he knocked all the air out of your lungs when he suddenly got on top of you and pinned your hands up above your head. “But I promised to do something else anyway. So I win anyway.”

He kept true to his word and fucked you with such ferocity afterwards that when you finally woke up the following morning, it was a damn miracle that you were even able to walk at all. And all that just because of a dream. In the many more dreams that followed afterwards, the woman made an appearance on more than one occasion. On some nights you would just get her and other times he would turn into her while he had his mouth on your pussy. You were never entirely sure about how the entire thing even worked. He wasn’t merely something that your horny mind had come up with one night. No, he was indeed very real.

A couple of months into this very odd arrangement, where he would satisfy your every desire while you were asleep, you were at the beach with your friends. They were convinced that you were seeing someone even if you always said that you weren’t. Maybe this little weekend getaway was a ploy to get more information out of you, but how could you possibly tell them that you’d met someone in your dreams? You’d sound like a bloody lunatic.

When the four of you were looking for a spot to spread out your beach towels, you passed two guys. One was sitting underneath a parasol, dressed in a black t-shirt and black shorts, making sure that no part of him even got out of the shade that was provided by the large umbrella over his head. He was scowling at another young man with long blonde wavy hair who was sitting next to him, strumming a blue ukulele.

Your small group settled down a couple of feet away from them and stripped down to the bathing suits that you wore underneath your clothes. You were wearing a red triangle bikini, somehow now also favouring the colour since your dreams were constantly bathed in it. Your friends headed down towards the water while you sat down on your towel and started reading the romance novel that you’d brought with you.

After a couple of minutes, you realised that you had completely stopped paying attention to what you were reading but were instead focusing entirely on the young man a couple of feet behind you who had started singing. You instantly recognised the song that he was singing. It was the song that the sirens sang to Odysseus in the Odyssey. You were so hypnotised by the song, that you’d completely forgotten about your surroundings. It wasn’t until something slammed into your upper arm that the spell was broken. Your head whipped to the side and you saw a frisbee laying next to you in the sand.

“My bad!” A voice called out to you and you picked the piece of plastic up to hold it out to whoever was approaching you. “I am so sorry! I should have caught that.”

“No problem. Not like I’m…” As soon as you looked up the words died in your throat and you instead stared at the young man who was now standing next to you with wide eyes. “Wait…”

“Well, this is a surprise.” He dropped down onto his knees next to you in the sand, a huge smile plastered all over his face, and he took the frisbee from your hands. “Definitely wasn’t expecting this.” For some reason, you reached out and poked a finger against his chest. You half expected that your mind was playing some kind of trick on you, as if your finger was going to pass right through him, but it didn’t. “See? Real.”

“Serk!” Another voice called out and he tore his eyes away from yours to look at whoever it was that had called his name. “Stop hitting on girls and toss the frisbee back!”

“I’m done playing!” He threw the frisbee back which the other guy effortlessly caught. “Tell Sigurd to play with you before he drowns someone with his singing.”

“Fine! But you owe me.” He winked at you and turned around to join the other two guys that you had passed when you had just arrived. Your eyes were drawn to his back or to be more specific to the long braid that swung back and forth as he walked away.

“Stop checking out my brother.” You blinked and turned your attention back on him. “You want me to introduce you? I mean, if you’d rather want to spend time with him than me…”

“What? No!” He chuckled when your words came out louder than you intended. “Not funny.” He ran a hand down your arm, mirroring the same thing that he’d often do in your dreams. “He called you Serk. Is that your name?”

“Short for Hvitserk.” He held out his hand to you. “And what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you replied when you took his hand in yours. He repeated your name with a warm smile. “I erm… this is weird…”

“Is it?” He let your hand go and got to his feet. You panicked slightly, thinking that he might leave, when he suddenly extended his hand to you. “Come on. I wanna buy you a drink.”

“And then what?”

“I dunno,” he said with a shrug when he pulled you up off the ground. “Sit with me. Talk. I know you, but that’s the dream you and now I want to know the real you. That okay?”

“Sure.” He started pulling you along to the beach bars a short distance away. “I’d like that.”

*****

And this moodboard is based on when I described female Hvitserk coming out of the bathroom.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : a sweet truth

— word count : 2.1k words

— pairing : john wich x reader

— summary : you get an overwhelming need to share with John how you feel, unable to keep it to yourself anymore, leaving only the good to follow.

— warnings : none, issa soft one

note: my first one shot back and it’s john of course! anyways i need to binge the movies again because this man’s voice was difficult to master this time around, now i will be getting to requests now i have indulged myself oops

                    ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open !   *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The dull crackle that runs mindlessly beneath the audio of the radio is the only sound that can be heard illuminating the space of the bedroom where you and John lay contently together. He’d offered to repair the object, or even buy another but you refused stubbornly — remarking that it gives it a certain endearing charm. You had joked that it reminds you of him. In the sense that while it has a flaw, it was able to bring joy and amusement to a person’s life. It’s humbling to know that even the John Wick was human, that he had his flaws despite being difficult to witness them in the flesh.

It took a lot for John to bare the darkest and most damaged parts of his conscience. He couldn’t go another day where his mind leapt endlessly to conclusions, his mind conjuring haunting images of your departing body that would eventually come to pass — to him, it was inevitable. He fully convinced himself he was hallucinating when you had not retreated in fear, with the look of disgust cosying up to your reflection, but the opposite. He is still a man greatly feared by a whole world beneath yours, yet you still gaze upon him with nothing but warmth.

You will your mind to focus on the words from the small object, yet it’s the heat that is emitting from his body in waves that prevent you from fully taking in what is being said, its presence doing more to provide white noise than entertainment. The minor glint in your gaze turns upwards to drag your sight across the body that half lays on top of you.

Like vines, to be found in a twist of limbs that would be almost difficult to distinguish what belongs to who is a common occurrence, the sense of shielded from the scorching realities that the world bares boldly is an addicting concoction that you can only find with him. Your heart swells tenfold at the mere thought of him and being here in such a simple way that holds so much affection just for two people.

“ What ? “

The suddenness of his voice lifts you from your thoughts that run their own race, a shy lift of your lips can be seen twirling gracefully in response.

“ Nothing, I’m just thinking. “

“ Thinking? “ he asks you, a light hint of laughter gently coating the question with a feather-like touch. “ Are you trying to scare me? “

Eyes widen in response to what he says, a heavy burst of air plummeting to the soft mattress below the two of you. “ Don’t be so rude! “ A short chuckle trails behind your reply, secretly loving the cheeky side of his personality coming out to peek out.

You’ve realised that he has a warmth whenever you’re together, but even still he maintains an air of such seriousness you’re surprised he has not collapsed under the pressure of holding such a wall up with his bare hands, these moments are the kind that you paint mentally — a still of this moment in a thousand shades of gold. Upon your first meeting of his, you’d never associate that with him, with how intimidating and stone faced he was, it would be a honeyed lie if someone would have described him in such a way but here he is. Not a honeyed lie but a sweet tasting truth that you never want to be without again.

“ I’m sorry. “ he apologises as the amusement in his tones still very much present that would aim to refer to him as a hypocrite, but it’s not spoken with vitriol, his words directed towards you rarely contain any harshness. “ Tell me, I’m curious. “

It’s a minor debate that dances with only itself, zig zagging with a biro pen that creates a mess of lines converging at multiple points to create a tangle plot point that should not be as complicated as it’s being made out. Neither of you have muttered the L word, not even under your breath in passing and the one dominating emotion you can feel overwhelming your body entirely is incredibly close to it.. but is it too soon? Even as a description? It’s a fear you can feel tickling your neck from behind, whispering stained words of discouragement, but if you have learnt anything, it’s that hiding your feelings will be worse off in the long run. Never can a human being strive for the euphoria of authentic happiness clutched in their fist when they lock away their thoughts and their desires in a box to gather age and dust — leaving behind a hollow shell of what could have been had it the opportunity to bud and grow.

“ Well.. “ you begin, your sight lowering to meet the sight of his neck, unable to look him in the eyes fully and you approach the topic. “ I was thinking about you. “

“ Yeah? “

“ I’m just.. happy. More than I thought I could be and it’s you I have to thank. “ Your shoulders shrug as best they can from your position laying down on the bed.

“ I think I should be the one saying that. “ he replies softly, his words ringing truer than they could ever be realised to be as he leans down to leave behind a ghost of a peck behind your ear. It’s an action that is short and sweet.

Never did John imagine himself being rewarded for being the architect in more tragedies and more horrors than he could ever recall. Though, he soon realised your presence was rather the opposite, a ticket to a greener field void of bloodied bargains and death, and should he keep you in his life that would be an opportunity he would not let pass him by in a sea of missed chances left to drown due to his lack of motivation. He gazes upon you fondly in affection, a hand reaching up to draw mindless circles in the back of your hair, memories of his last bargain to leave his previous life playing before him as if an old gritty movie.

“ Stop it, John. I haven’t done a thing! “ your nose wrinkles as you refute what he says with a bashful glint that explodes in your gaze. After all the time you’d spent together and you still refuse to see yourself in the way John has painted you in —

“ You’ve done more for me than you realise. “

It feels like yesterday you shared your first kiss, fondly remembering how you’d mentally remarked that it’s so unfair that what is between you should be so perfect, a cruel joke were it not to work out. Though your heart is full of gratitude when you still tell yourself that not a worry should be had, your need for a physical reminder as you move your hand to his clothed back — bringing him closer as if to burn a permanent reminder into your fingertips.

“ I guess that’s why we compliment each other so well, huh? “

A wispy sigh plummets, your thoughts and emotions mixing more and more into a blend of intensity as you fully realise just how much you have fallen and adore the man who shares your bed. It has been such a long time you have had these emotions to this degree rouse from, what has felt like, an endless slumber. Yes, there had been a few who had caught your eye, but compared to the substance that has been created and nurtured from you both, they had nothing more than a water drop in a boundless and enduring sea. It’s a hope of yours that you don’t look foolish before him, getting so emotional over something like this, you scold yourself mentally — trying to pull yourself together before you completely crumble.

“ What’s wrong? “

“ It’s nothing, really. “ you shake your head, accompanying the almost denial. You want to let everything in your heart free, but the question is how to without scaring him off. There’s not much that can scare him, but you’d rather not throw a spanner in the flawless equation.

“ You don’t have to tell me, but it might help if you do. “ John lends a soothing weight in your hand as he interlocks your fingers together, leaving the choice completely up to you, refusing to force you to share something that is so personal to you. “ it’s your call. “

“ It’s nothing crazy.. “

The side of John’s brain that has been hardwired to jump to every scenario imaginable — good and bad, is running rampant. Itching to be prepared so nothing is able to disrupt the perfect day dream of a life that had only been made available through television shows and movies, now that he has it, every day he promises to never let it be ruined. Nothing good can ever occur from ripping away the first drop of water that touches a person starved of it for days, only a troublesome path of anger can walk that path on its twisted and turned limbs.

“ I think it’s time that I tell you how I feel, “ you state, your lips almost devouring your lips by how hard they bite them, a lost thought of how you have not drawn a drop of blood seeping into irrelevancy. “ how I really feel. “

“ Right? “

For the first time, John is completely unable to get a read of you. The apprehension that is emitting off you in strong waves is not something that comforts him fully, though the fact that you speak not from anger and have opted to stay in your current position as opposed to fleeing is the only source of relief he can continue to draw energy from. Curiosity is the only thing that dominates his mind, wanting desperately to hear the next part of your statement.

In his silence, your brows furrow purely from your own thoughts. Mainly in the wonder of how you can approach this while sounding as if you have capacity and are not obsessed with him as some are with their idols. You know that would be something that would probably scare him off. Your fingertips lay a random beat on the top of his hand, you nestle closer to him as to make yourself comfortable — this does feel like the right time. Should it not? You remind yourself that it is part of a plan that the universe has for you, that it is part of a bigger picture you are not allowed to know until the final moment.

“ I just, “ you pause, blinking as you gather your thoughts and your words further. “ It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything remotely close to this. “

Your words are like a cozy kiss goodnight before two lovers depart until the next time they see each other, a warmth that slowly grows in his heart overspills at the sentiment you individually wrap with each word you speak. He can’t help but tip his head ever so slightly, to take in every detail on your features — in his mind, nothing is more so perfect than this moment.

“ What I’m trying to say is, and you don’t have to say anything — “ the rambling leaves your lips so effortlessly, as if to savour the last few moments of normally before the inevitable confession. “ I can’t help but realise how much I am in love with you. “

His eyes widen instantaneously as his features follow suit, his lips part in surprise. With how your speech had begun, it should not have come as a surprise, yet to hear it from your lips is as pleasant as the final summer’s day, surrounded by warmth and an impenetrable energy that shields you from any harm that would befall you. He’d lived the life of a haunting ghost story that it soon became a belief that he was a monster, to hear you in this moment recite something so real is something that is difficult for him to wrap his head around. Maybe he isn’t a monster that has made its peace with the darkness, that there is more for him as a person.

The emptiness is soon replaced by a soft weight on your lips, he has leans down to join you — unable to fight the desire to savour the taste of him as you often do when you kiss. It’s a fight you have not yet one, and it’s a fight you imagine you would prefer losing. Time is no longer a concept, you’re too wrapped up in the concept turned reality that is John Wick, only are you able to concentrate on the burning that his free hand leaves as they slide up and down your waist. If this is a dream, neither of you want to awaken.

“ Who says I’m not feeling the same as you? “

[jikooksgirl19]

My Soulmates 1

Genre:Soulmate AU, fluff,angst, eventual smut

Pairing: Idol Jimin x Lawyer Reader x Idol Jungkook

Warnings: some swearing (Y/N has a trash mouth sometimes)

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you my story. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter.

Please read the teaser and prologue first if you haven’t already.

*********************************************************************

October 7, 2018 4:36pm

The boys had been practicing since 8am that morning with limited breaks, and were tired and hungry. They were all going to dinner and begin making their way to the elevator, laughing and joking with each other. Namjoon was deep in thought when the doors of the elevator opened and a woman came out barreling right into the midst of the group. Her head was down, and she seemed absorbed in something on the iPad she held in her hands when she must have realized what she had done. Namjoon heard her gasp and reach out towards Jimin and Jungkook and thought she might be trying to steady herself as they were reaching out to her as well. He couldn’t believe it when they all began collapsing on the floor, the other boys trying to catch them. He noticed that the three were still grasping onto each other, and a red ring began to encircle their ring fingers and travel up their arms. The other boys were staring at this as well and they looked at each other shaking their heads. All of them mumbled the same thing

...”Oh Shit!”

You felt warm and cocooned for some reason. It was so cozy and you didn’t want to wake up. Wait, when did I go home? Your thoughts were hazy and you were trying to figure out where you were. You tried to stretch and found yourself bumping into something hard. As you started groping around you realized that this was not your pillow at all but felt like a chest. A mans chest. You have never moved so fast as you just did sitting yourself up. “What the hell...!” You look and see you are on a bed with not one but two boys cuddled up around you. Fear immediately sets in as you look around the room and see sleeping figures on another bed and couch.

“What the fuck...!” You said out loud quickly slapping both your hand over your mouth so as not to awaken the men in the room. You are in bed with, and surrounded by BTS. They are the worlds most famous boy band. They are the Nations Treasures. THEY ARE YOUR CLIENTS!!! Your mind explodes right then and there. You think to yourself ’What Tumblr, A03, Wattpad fanfic did I just wake up in.’

‘OH MY GOD IM IN A COMA!!!! That has to be it. There cannot be any other explanation. I’m in a coma and I transported into some sucky ass wannabe Hallmark Movie’.

All you can think of is that you have some sort of brain tumor and have fallen into a life altering, dream fugue-like state and all your teenage and young adult fantasies are blending together therefore you have conjured up some poly bias delusional weirdness in yor muddled brain. This isn’t real...this isn’t real... this isn’t real....... You pinch yourself and...oh shit that hurt. You struggle to get off the bed which isn’t easy by any means when two pairs of arms AND legs keep trying to pull you back down. You debate screaming bloody murder when you hear someone speak.

“You’re awake”. You turned your head and saw someone sitting up rubbing his eyes looking at you. You recognized the leader of said boy band Namjoon from the many many posters around BigHit.

“I am” your voice sounding more calm than you felt. “Can you tell me where I am and why I’m here with all of you like some weird slumber party?” You we’re holding on the the last shreds of professionalism that you could before screaming to the high heavens.

“You don’t remember finding your soulmates” he asked?

“Excuse me, my what now?” You cocked your head like you didn’t hear him right. “What on earth are you going on about? Soulmate, I don’t have a soulmate.”

“Soulmates” he corrected. By now some of the other members were starting to wake up.

“I AM in a COMA”. You were starting to babble incoherently in a mix of Korean and English with some well placed Spanish swear words your mother used to use when you were little and she was mad. You we’re starting to panic and began trying to climb off the bed all the while the two boys on your bed were snoozing away like nothing was happening. You managed to fall off of the bed and skittered backwards like a crab til your back hit the wall. You slapped your cheeks willing yourself to wake up.

Namjoon looked next to him and asked “Jin can you call Yuna? I think she may be able to help out with...” he looked at you realizing he didn’t know your name. Jin got up and walked towards the window to call someone.

“Y/N. Sona Y/N.” I...I..I’m a temporary lawyer working at BigHit on some of your international contracts. I’d like to say nice to meet you but maybe when there’s a less murdery vibe and location.” You were quickly getting your bearings together and began to gather your composure. “Now can you please tell me why I’m here being cuddled to death by those thing one and thing two over there” you point towards the bed. Several giggles and laughs were heard at this. You on the other hand were not sure what was so funny.

A deep voice in the corner answered this time. “Well thing one and two as you called them, or as we like to call them Jimin and Jungkook are your soulmates “ he said matter-of-factly like it was everyday normal. “I’m Taehyung, you can call me Tae or Tae-Tae to piss them off if you want.” His big boxy grin made him look like a mischievous child You couldn’t help but give him a wary smile. Someone else, you think it was J-Hope came towards you and thrust forward a hand. You cautiously took it and he helped you up from the floor. You began dusting off your skirt and straightening your blouse internally thanking the almighty upstairs that you were still clothed while eying all of them suspiciously. “I’m Hoseok, but you can call me Hobi if you want.”

Jin turned around after hanging up and offered you the only chair in the room. You quickly shuffled over sitting down and tried to ask again why you were here. In a bedroom, on a bed with your soulmates and their band mates all in the same room. “ Can someone please just tell me what happened?” Your voice staring to crack as you were close to tears. “This just feels too extrodinary to believe. You keep saying I have soulmates, as in plural. I didn’t even know that was possible.” It was then that you looked at your left hand and saw the red string tatoo. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME....Did I have a stroke? How...what...why...” your words became so jumbled you weren’t making any sense and you were pretty sure a panic attack was just a moment away from tackling your neurotic ass into submission. Jin kneeled in front of you telling you to breathe. “ In through the nose....out through the mouth Y/N. You can do it just breathe in and out, in and out...that’s it, you got it, in...out.” You sat there holding his hands while Tae began rubbing your back in circles as they were trying their best to calm you down. Jin explained to you that he also has a soulmate named Yuna and she is ready to come talk to you about what being attached to an idol can be like.

Across the room you heard a groggy voice “Uugghhhh....get off me Jungkookah. Why are we in bed? What happened” could be heard from the bed you just left. Jimin was sitting up while shoving Jungkook off of him and staring around the room. Jungkook fell off the bed. He jumped up and was getting ready to tackle his hyung who knocked him down when his eyes landed on you. He was confused as to why a woman, a very pretty woman, but a woman nonetheless was sitting in their studio bedroom at BigHit, surrounded by four of his hyungs. “Um, hello” he said quietly making Jimin look in the same direction. Eyes got wide when he also said a quiet hello and then proceeded to ask Namjoon “ What’s going on. Who is she and why are we all in here. I thought we were going to dinner?”

“See, I’m not the only one confused” you exclaimed louder and much squeakier than you meant. “Apparently we are soulmates” you say while gesturing to the both of them and yourself. “Surprise “ you say throwing up jazz hands and beginning to laugh at the outrageous looks on both of their faces.

“Who, who is your soulmate?” They both say at the same time.

Namjoon looks at you knowing you are barely holding on at the moment and answers for you. “All three of you are soulmates”.

They stare at each other then at you then at the group and both start laughing. “Ok ok, good joke hyung, stop playing around. Did you knock us out and this is a mystery mission? “ “Are we on a run BTS episode we didn’t know was being filmed?” They took turns asking like this was a prank or something.

When they see no one other than you are deadly serious they stop and start to freak out as well. “ARE YOU SERIOUS?” They look at each other only to both shout out that they couldn’t be soulmates. Why is it just happening now after knowing each other all these years. Brothers yes, soulmates no. NOPE. NO WAY, WHAT THE FUCK.

You get up and walk over to them. You grab both of their left hands and show them the tattoos. You peek inside your shirt and confirm you have the soulmates date above your heart, and tell them to check their chests as well. You strangely feel calm being around the two of them and less like a victim of some K-Pop Serial Killer drama that you stepped into, and you realize they also both settle down while you’re holding onto them.

Namjoon gets up and begins to explain that though it’s rare, there are known cases of multiple soulmates. They are harder to find because all of the mates must be together for their souls to connect. Once they do connect though the bond is stronger than a normal soulmates bond and can come with difficulties due to the relationship aspect of it. Prejudice often follows a poly soulmate connection due to the narrow mindedness of society and can often be looked down on. He tells the three of you that you should tell management right away so they can have a plan in place. Fans aren’t always supportive of their bias’s soulmates, and Y/N having two of the most popular idols in Korea as hers are going to come with challenges. Especially with you being a foreigner.

You three look at each other and back at Namjoon, silently agreeing to these terms. He also suggests you three need time together alone to get to know about each other because you all three had different lives leading up to today, and it would be best to figure out where you all should go from here. Other people’s feelings and relationships are going to be affected by what has happened and you all needed to be prepared for any backlash.

“Ok, now that this is all settled can we please get some dinner?” You hear from the other bed where apparently Yoongi has been napping throughout all the mental breakdowns.

To be continued...

Taglist: @mrcleanheichou @itsminniekat @dreamescapeswriting @seaoffangirling @4evahevah @sonderkook @bisexualmess007 @chxustuff @aviwasabi21 @skyys-universe @ally22042000 @ramblingsofawolfgirl

[yikesharringrove]

Me and my thots

Read on ao3

-

Billy didn’t black out when the first limb clamped onto his side.

He figured he would.

Figured the searing pain would cause his brain to short.

But it didn’t.

He didn’t even drop when the next one hit, chomping into his other side.

He figures the adrenaline was keeping him going.

And probably the other-worldly strength from whatever bits of the creature was left in him.

All he knows is that the final one pierced his chest.

And he didn’t lose consciousness.

Not as he fell.

Not as Max hovered over him.

Not as he heard shouts, and felt hands pressing into his wounds.

He woke with a start.

He shook the dream out of his head, rolling to press both fists into his eyes.

He slid out from under the thick duvet, pulling it up and over the sleeping form of the person next to him.

Like he did every morning.

He scratched his chest, making his way over to their sunny little kitchen, getting the coffee going.

It’s been a while since he’s dreamed about the Mind Flayer.

In his thirty years since that night at the mall, he’s gotten enough therapy to break most of it down, to accept what happened to him, what he was forced without question to do.

He startled as arms slipped around his waist.

“You okay?”

Steve’s voice was sleep groggy, his chin hooked over Billy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, Pretty Boy. I’m alright.”

Steve placed his hand over the faded scar on Billy’s chest, kissing his shoulder blade once.

Billy turned to look at him, taking in the sparse grey hairs Steve liked to complain about, the soft lines near his eyes.

Billy sucked in a gasp of air when he woke, spluttering as his lungs burned.

He was in the hospital, his heart monitor going haywire.

Nurses flooded the room, but Billy paid them no mind, his eyes locking on the big brown ones.

Steve had pushed himself against the wall, giving the nurses room to check him over.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the mall, just knows hat Steve’s face looks hurt, old bruises turning yellow and green as they healed.

He was stabilized, and he felt more steady. His breathing still hurt, but he was doing it on his own.

The few nurses made their way out once again.

“Jesus, Hargrove. Scared me half to death.” Steve didn’t sound scared. He sounded relieved. “I was almost asleep and then you took this giant breath, Christ.”

Steve’s hands were shaking as he lowered himself into a plastic chair facing Billy’s bed.

“Sorry.”

Billy’s voice was hoarse, and it hurt to talk.

“How long-?”

“A few weeks.” Then Steve’s face got hurt that same night.

It was odd looking at him.

He looked so young, not the face dream Billy was used to, the face of a grown man.

“Hargrove, you okay?”

And echo of that dream.

And boy did that hurt, the realization that it was a dream.

His idyllic life with Steve.

Nothing but his subconscious. Probably creating something to keep him calm while his body healed in a coma.

“Why you here?” Speaking still burned his throat. He wished he had some water.

Maybe even tea.

Steve usually makes him a nice chamomile tea when he’s sick. Puts some fresh lemon juice and honey in there. They have a lemon tea in the backyard.

He shook himself.

That was just a dream.

“Been worried about you, man.” Steve wasn’t looking at him.

Steve has trouble with eye contact.

Years spent with a father that forced it only to berate Steve for-

What the fuck. His daydream kept bleeding over, giving him all this nonsense about the dream version of Steve he had conjured up.

“Don’t know why.”

Steve looked at him then.

“Really pulled some shit, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean you, you deserve to die, or something. You weren’t in control.”

“Was that night I beat your face in.”

Steve looked away again.

“Water under the bridge.”

Steve once told him he doesn’t know what that expression means, just that he’s heard people use it in situations like this.

“You don’t even know what that means.” Billy couldn’t stop himself.

He just blurted it out.

And Steve gave him a funny look.

Because of course he does. Because this Steve, this real Steve is different than the coma fantasy one Billy conjured up.

“Well, no. But people usually say it like that, don’t they?”

And Billy just stared at him.

And then his vision went hazy around the edges, and he slipped back into darkness.

“Which one?”

Steve was holding up two pairs of swim trunks. Billy was just staring at his ass.

“You know I like those little green ones.”

Steve threw him a look over his shoulder.

“I don’t think the green ones even fit anymore.”

Steve sometimes got self conscious about himself. His thighs had thickened up considerably, his ass getting plumper too. And his belly was soft, doughy, and perfect for squishing.

But the green shorts fit, even though they were tight.

And Billy loved his older body, loved when Steve put on some extra fluff. A chubby Steve meant a happy Steve. And Billy would know.

You learn a lot about a person in thirty-some years.

Steve was dressed now, shouldering a bag.

“Beach time?” His eyes were bright.

“Beach time.”

They held hands as they walked.

The air smelled like ocean spray.

The beach was close to their little house, and they found their usual spot right away, far from any other beach patrons.

“Hargrove!”

Billy came to with a start, back in the cold hospital room, back with a younger Steve.

What the fuck was going on?

“Sorry, you kinda passed out. I thought you were slipping back under, or something.”

Steve looked sheepish.

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t. Not totally.

Because Billy wanted to live in that fucking daydream for the rest of his goddamn life.

“Sorry, I should let you sleep. I mean you’re probably exhausted.” Steve stood up, gathering the few things he had with him, a water bottle, and empty coffee cup, and a book. An old worn out copy of The Outsiders.

That’s dream Steve’s favorite book. He reads it once every year. He said it was the first book he ever read in class that actually gripped him. The only one he actually took the time to push through his rampant dyslexia to read and understand.

He won’t be diagnosed dyslexic until he’s 23. He’ll feel really vindicated and Billy will take him out for a fancy dinner. They’ll go skinny dipping in the ocean after and Steve will whine the whole time.

Billy hadn’t realized he had been staring at Steve the whole time that all ran through his brain, not until Steve snapped his fingers in front of him.

“Billy!”

“Yeah, what? Sorry.”

“Are you okay? Should I get a nurse?”

“No, I just-” he tried to scrub a hand down his face, found his muscles screamed out at the movement of his muscles after who knows how long in that bed.

It didn’t matter anyway, as his hands were wrapped up in a mitten of bandages.

“Was havin’ a good dream.”

“What was it about?”

Billy couldn’t look at Steve. Couldn’t look at those big brown eyes, couldn’t search for the specks of gold, the streaks of green that he knows are there.

“Future. Dream future, I guess.”

“Do you-” Steve hesitated, and Billy finally looked at him, watched as he reached up to tug on a lock of hair near the crown of his head. A nervous tick he’s had since he was a kid. “Do you wanna share?”

“California. Little house by the beach. Slice of Heaven, really.”

“A wife?”

“Been married for a few years.”

“She pretty?”

“The prettiest.”

Steve smiled at him softly.

“Sorry you had to wake up to me, then.”

And that? That made Billy wanna tear out his own damn hair. Made him wanna pull Steve to lay on top of him the way they both like, pet through Steve’s hair, tell him how goddamn perfect you are, Sugar.

“It’s okay. Prefer your company.”

“I guess I’m alright if the alternative is being alone.”

“Cut that out.”

Steve blinked at him.

“We’ve been talking like, five minutes and all you’ve done is apologize and talk shit on yourself.”

“Sorry, I- it’s just a habit, I guess.” He was back to playing with his hair. Being a little rougher, tugging on the lock between his fingers a bit. Billy sighed as well as he could with his burning lungs.

“Just, I like it that you’re here, okay? I’d tell you to beat it if I wanted you gone.”

And Steve smiled at him.

One of his six real smiles, not one of the eleven fake ones.

Billy can tell.

Because the real ones make his nose scrunch a bit. They make his eyes go bright and his shoulders bunch up.

And he must’ve fallen back into that dream again, because suddenly he was looking at his Steve, his grown up Steve, giving him that exact same real smile as Billy ran wet fingers over his skin.

And he pulled Steve close to him in the shower, mouthing at the skin of his neck.

And if this was a dream, he was going to burn all of this into his memory.

The way Steve’s skin tastes, the way he gasps when Billy nibbles at his ear. The way Billy feels buried deep inside him, in the soft bed that they share, the one that took months to buy because Steve is weirdly picky about bedframes for no discernible reason.

And just as he was watching Steve’s face crumple, as he was trying to memorize the exact noises he makes as he cums, he was jolted out of his dream by the real Steve, fucking sneezing.

“Sorry.” He looked distressed. “You were like, really asleep and I, I tried to hold it back.”

“’S okay. Know you got that dust thing.”

Billy was drowsy. He felt like he was inches underwater, everything moving slowly around him. Almost like the world was a little muffled.

Turns out his last dose of pain meds had been administered while he was out.

“Wait, what dust thing?”

“Got that. You know. You’re allergic to dust. And peanuts. And cashews. And-the green ones.”

“Pistachios?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know that?”

“You told me. Nearly fuckin’ killed you first time we really made out. I had just eaten a PB and J. Sent you into anaphylaxis.”

Billy felt himself drifting, that perfect dreamland tugging him back.

And then there was a cold hand on his arm, shaking him gently.

“Billy, Billy don’t fall asleep. You gotta, Billy what the fuck? We haven’t made out. We, how do you know what I’m allergic to?”

But Billy was swallowed up by sleep once again.

He was laying next to Steve, stretched out on their bed, Steve’s head resting on his shoulder.

“Today was nice. Haven’t had a day like that in such a long time.”

“We should do it more often, then. Call outta work and hang out at the beach all day.”

Steve rolled a bit to glare playfully at Billy.

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of setting our own hours, Mr. Boss Man.”

“Billy!”

And he was back, back to staring at the pale nervous face of Young Steve.

“Billy, you’re scaring me.”

Sunlight was beginning to haze through the meager window at the end of the hospital room. Billy hadn’t had any idea of time since he got here.

Steve looked like shit, like he hadn’t slept all night.

“Billy, I don’t know if you remember, everything you said before you fell asleep but-”

“I remember.”

Steve furrowed his brows.

“How do you know that? About, about my allergies. And yesterday, you said, you said I didn’t know what water under the bridge meant. And you said, that we m-made out.”

Billy sighed again, his lungs protesting the effort.

“My dream. The future. You’re the person. My person. And now it’s like, whatever Dream Billy knows about Dream Steve I know. And I figured I just, like, made all that shit up.”

Steve was studying his face.

“Okay, then let’s see if you’ve just had some lucky guesses. Tell me what else you know, and maybe it’s all wrong.”

And Billy didn’t really like the way Steve looked like he hoped is was all wrong. Like he didn’t wanna be tied to Billy in this way.

Billy narrowed his eyes.

“When you were fourteen you watched A Streetcar Named Desire with your mom and you credit Marlon Brando as your queer awakening.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, his mouth trembling.

“Your dad has smacked you once in your life, and it’s when you got the rejection letter from Indiana State. You hid the letter from him because you knew he’d be mad, but he found it and hit you and didn’t talk to you for nearly a month.”

Steve’s eyes were shining now.

“Your mom used to always talk about how much she wished you guys could have a better garden, but because it gets so cold here, she can’t grow anything. The house we have in the daydream has like, a huge fucking garden in it, by the way. I hate gardening but you love it.”

Steve stood abruptly, pacing the length of the room in front of Billy’s bed. Billy just kept going.

It was like everything was ready to burst out of him. To prove that he knows Steve, that he loves Steve. Even if this Steve is somehow different to Dream Steve.

“You go fucking batshit over corn on the cob, just with a little butter and salt on there. That’s somehow your favorite food. Because you’re the most Midwesterner to ever Midwestern, I guess. Your second favorite food is your grandmother’s lasagna. You keep trying to recreate her recipe and no matter how much I tell you it’s fucking delicious, you always get this little pout going and explain to me about how it’s not quite right. You only started smoking because-”

“That’s, I think that’s enough.”

Steve looked like a strong gust of wind would knock him right over.

“It true.?”

“It’s, it’s all true. In, in detail. I mean the, the letter, and my dad. I swore I was never gonna tell anyone about that.”

“It took you a few years. We were talking about my dad. How he treated me, and you admitted that. How sometimes you think about that one time and it makes you sad because that was my everyday-” Billy cut himself off.

Because fuck.

He forgot that Steve knows jack fucking all about Billy.

Which means Steve was currently giving him that look, that wide-eyed, nostrils flared, mouth tight look that he always did when he was angry on Billy’s behalf.

It was kinda hot.

“Excuse me?”

“Forgot my apparent psychic abilities were limited to just me knowing about you.”

“Billy, did your dad hit you?”

And Billy kinda saw no point in lying anymore.

“All the damn time.”

And Steve was back to pacing.

“Fuck. Fuck. That honestly, wow that explains a lot. I mean, yeah. I get it now. I get it.”

Billy let him mutter to himself.

Steve always does better thinking out loud.

“You know, I was actually fucking nervous to tell you, but now I don’t care. Your dad was one of the flayed.”

“Yeah, I know. Only person I never felt guilty about.”

“You’re handling this, like, scary well.”

“Technically, I’ve had thirty years of therapy. All this has been processed already.”

“Wait, your little dream is thirty years in the future?”

“About.”

“So we’re, like, fifty?”

“About.”

“How do I look?”

Billy barked a laugh, regretting it almost immediately as his whole body screamed in protest. He wheezed a few times before he felt like he could speak again.

“I think you’re hot, but you don’t handle aging well.”

“Oh, God. What’s the damage?”

“Not telling. You’re just gonna spend the next thirty years stressing more than you already would. But lemme tell you, first time you found a grey hair? That was the funniest day of my damn life. It was like being in a soap opera. You found it and then called our lawyer to begin drawing up a will. And you kept saying how you probably only have a few god years left in you. It was hilarious.”

“Glad to know you laugh at my pain.”

“It’s one grey hair. Plus you maintain good health, don’t worry. You’ve got plenty of time to whine over grey hairs.”

“At least I don’t go bald.”

“Nah. Full head of natural hair. Not even receding.”

Steve brushed a hand through his hair, dropping heavily back into the seat next to Billy’s bed.

“Man, this is too trippy. Like, from my end, we’re not even close, you know? But to you, we’ve been together for decades. That’s fucking wild.”

“Imagine how I feel. Am I some kind of psychic now, or is this all just fucking delusion?”

“I mean, you know too much shit about me for everything to be, like, a figment of your imagination. But what happens now? Like, if we don’t live out the future just like your daydream, is the world gonna fall apart? Or is that an alternate dimension? Like, if the Upside Down exists, there’s gotta be other worlds too. Is that one of them and maybe because you were infected by the Mind Flayer you have like, a link between both worlds?” Steve’s brows were furrowed, his eyes darting all over the ceiling as he thought out loud. “And, I mean, I’m confused. I don’t know what my feelings towards you are. Like, don’t get me wrong, there’s been interest since you showed up. But now you’re telling me in some reality, we’ve been together for thirty years, and obviously you know all this deep shit about me, so do we date? When you know me like the back of your hand and I barely know you at all? And are you technically fifty years old? Since you lived out that other life?”

Billy’s head was starting to hurt, and he felt tired again.

“Sugar, you think we could table this?”

Steve’s cheeks went red as his jaw clacked shut.

“Is that what you call me? Sugar?”

“Call you a lot ‘a stuff.”

“Uh, like, like what?”

“Sugar, Pretty Boy, Stevie, Baby, Sweet Thing, Honey. Mac n’ Steve comes to mind.” Steve smiled softly at the last one, his cheeks still warm. “Princess.” Steve opened his mouth, his brows furrowing, the blush spreading down his neck. “No sense in denying how much you like them. Those are tried and true. Thirty years of calling you all that. Plus a few others. But, you know. Those are mostly reserved for the bedroom.”

Steve’s eyes went huge again.

“Fuck. You probably know what I kinks I have better than I do.”

“Oh, we’ve done some exploring in our time.”

Steve bent forward to bury his face in his hands with an Oh, God.

“I don’t think I wanna know.”

“Trust me when I say, you enjoy most of it.”

“Oh, most. That’s great.”

“There’s some trial and error. But we’re good at laughing stuff off, you and me.”

And then Steve’s eyes went wide, and he sat up straight in his chair.

“Wait, you said. When I first asked about the dream, you said, you said married. We got-I mean, we can get married?”

“Yeah. And we like, make out in public and shit. Hold hands everywhere. We’re big saps.”

Steve took a shaky breath.

“So things get, they get better? For people like us?”

“Yeah, they do,” Billy kept his voice soft, felt like sharing this thread of hope should be kept intimate, quiet. And Steve’s face split into a wide grin.

“God, I can’t fucking wait. Just to be, not to be scared all the time. Of everyone finding out this big fucking secret. It just, is.” Steve huffed a laugh. “Can’t believe it. Two guys getting married. Was our wedding nice?”

“We had two. One in the courthouse, one with everybody.”

“Wow. I just can’t believe it-wait, who;s everybody?”

“Your gang of weirdos. Here.”

And Steve lips parted, and he made that cute little face he always does before he cries.

“They all come? Dustin and the Byers and everyone?”

“Robin officiates. Dustin cries really fuckin’ loudly.”

“And they’re all, they’re all fine with it?”

“Yep.”

“God. It’s all, you think it’s too good to be true?”

“Everything I know about you was right. Don’t see a reason why everything else would be wrong.”

“Then, where do we go from here? Like, do we try to follow your memories? Or, forge our own path? Will the fact that we know about this future automatically change it?”

Billy’s heart was doing something funny as Steve wondered aloud to himself about all this.

The fact that he was all in, dead set on having this happy future with Billy, when he didn’t even know Billy.

“Are you sure about this? If we do this? Or some form of it. I mean, I know fucking everything about you. And you don’t know me at all.”

“I know you well enough to see the good in you. I know you well enough to see that under all your big scary toughness you’re caring. And you’re kind. Although you’d probably rather be dead than admit it. And besides. If, in another reality, or in the future, or whatever, I pick you to spend my life with, obviously that means there’s something in you that makes me love you.”

Billy gawked at him.

His face was hot, no doubt bright fucking red.

Because, holy shit was that a lot.

And even Billy, used to Steve’s passionate little tangents after thirty dream-years worth, was taken aback by how quickly Steve was ready to jump into this.

And all of a sudden, Billy wanted nothing more than to reach out to Steve, to pull him close and kiss him until he couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Harrington, I’m gonna need you to come kiss me right the fuck now.”

And Steve smiled, his most sunshiney happy smile, and the chair legs scraped along the tiled floor as he got up, sitting carefully on the edge of Billy’s bed.

He leaned over him, cupping Billy’s cheek in his hand, and pressing the softest of sugar kisses to his lips.

Billy let his eyes flutter closed, and he put one hand bandaged on Steve’s lap, wanting to grasp at him, to pull him even closer.

But Steve wrapped his other hand as gently as possible around the thick bandages, pulling away slowly, studying Billy’s face.

“I never asked. Is this always how our first kiss went?”

And Billy tried to search his memory, tried to find the sweet first kiss.”

“I-I don’t remember.”

Steve sat back.

“What?”

“Our first kiss, from the memories. I don’t remember. It’s like, when I think of our first kiss, all I can think of is that one just now. The other one is gone.”

An ache settled in Billy’s chest at the prospect, at losing a perfect memory with Steve. Losing their first kiss.

“So, when we do something, it like, replaces the old memory?”

“I guess.”

“So, we can build new ones then. And like, you won’t have to go through your whole life twice. We can start closer to square one. Memories that’ll be ours, and not ones that I don’t know.”

And that’s true.

For the pain of every memory gone is a brand new one, one that Steve would remember and be a part of too.

“Then I’m not telling you anymore. If we’re gonna build the memories together, we can’t be working off of some, some blueprint. Things need to be ours.”

“Agreed. We’ll make it up as we go.” Steve hadn’t stopped smiling at Billy.

“Is it weird I’m gonna kinda miss seeing you all old? You’re a silver fucking fox.”

“Yes, Bill. That’s fucking weird.” Steve took his hand and pressed a kiss on his bandages, right over where his palm will be. “Just means you’ll have to watch me go through it all again, though.”

“God, that’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Yeah? That get you going? The thought of me aging?”

“Nah, Pretty Boy. The thought of us aging together.”

“Wow. When you said we’re saps, you really meant it.”

Billy rolled his eyes, sighing as deeply as he could.

“Can it, Harrington. Or I’ll call the nurse and have you escorted out by security.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t. You’d miss me too much.” Steve pressed another kiss to his bandaged hand before sliding off the hospital bed, sitting back in this chair, scooting it as close as possible to the bed. He rested his elbows on the edge of Billy’s bed, and set his chin in his hands. “So, California, huh? When do we head out there?”

“Remember, like, twenty seconds ago when I said I wasn’t gonna say any more?”

Steve pushed his bottom lip out, making his eyes go big as he pouted at Billy.

“That doesn’t work on me anymore, Baby.” That was absolutely a lie. It worked on Billy nearly every time. But what’s he gonna do, reveal his weakness to Steve? Absolutely fucking not.

“C’mon, Bill. Just like, the year.”

“Nope. Not saying a damn thing.”

“Please?” Steve pouted some more.

“So odd to hear you begging outside of the bedroom.” Billy grinned with his tongue between his teeth as Steve dropped his little pouty face, his cheeks going red. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Steve rolled his eyes. Sailing right past pleading and into petulant.

“Fine. I’ll just rot here until you decide to whisk me away to California. Better make it soon or else I may just die of boredom.”

“Jesus, so fucking dramatic. Didn’t we say we’re gonna make our own memories and shit? You can very well ask me to run away with you.”

“Maybe we should like, go on a date first. So I know you’re not a serial killer before I get in a car with you and drive out of state.”

“You’re so weird.” Steve made a snarky face at him. “But you better be planning our first date. I don’t wanna accidentally repeat the other one. Want us to have our own.”

And Billy felt that overwhelming sense of sadness at losing the memories of the other date, the perfect timid experience. Going to the diner and ordering to go, eating while sitting on the hood of Steve’s car overlooking the quarry, talking for hours and hours.

But he’ll get a new memory. One he’ll cherish just as much, maybe even more, knowing that Steve will cherish the memory too.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll take out. Maybe just metaphorically speaking, as I don’t think you’re in any shape to be going out.”

“Ha ha, Shithead. Just make it nice. You’ve got a lot to live up to.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly as he sighed dramatically.

“If our whole relationship is just you holding me to the impossibly high standard of alternate reality me, then I want out now.”

“Relax. The standard’s not that high.”

 Steve made an indignant squawking sound.

Billy just laughed.

“I’m kidding. Just, you know. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble meeting the standard. I fell for you once. I can do it again.”

And Steve’s face went all soft again, and he curled forward to rest his head on Billy’s arm.

“Thirty years. Always thought I’d end up divorced. People tend to get sick of me.”

“Not me. Never got sick of you, never gonna get sick of you. You’re stuck with me.”

“Then you’re stuck with me too.”

[shadowturtlesstuff]

I’m sorry too..

Based off Speak now by Taylor Swift. There will be a chapter two eventually in Thomas’s perspective which will be way more dramatic but my brain is bad at finishing things so we shall see how long it takes. Posting this during my history class as there is nothing else to do...so enjoy

In all my time falling in love with Mr. Cresswell, I never expected to be an outsider at his wedding. Sitting alone on the back row to wallow in my misery. It is cruel that once I got over my fear of marriage and decided it would be perfect to spend the rest of my life with Thomas, it is torn from us by his father. The church is nice, made up with everything his bride-to-be wanted without a trace of his charm. He stands at the front, staring intensely at the door as though it will swallow you up and save him. He tries his best not to look at me or display his heartbreak. To everyone else he is impatiently waiting for miss Whitehall. However, I know all his calls. Knuckles white as he tries and bite down his anger. Pushing his emotions away in order to get through this.

This is surely not what any of us thought it would be. I want nothing more than for it to be our wedding. For him to be more relaxed, truly impatient and bursting with emotion. His expression will haunt, embedded in my brain like a wine stained dress, I'll try my hardest to forget his grief stricken face watching his future- our future, dissipate. To count the minutes until everything changes and we become trapped in our feelings that can never show. With everything that is happening I may have to stop working with Thomas. How would it be fair to us both if we continue on thinking nothing has happened and pretending we are not in love? That when I am away from Thomas I almost lose my mind. Yet, not only is our wedding taken away from us, our friendship shall be too. Back in Romania Thomas had told me the world is neither kind nor cruel; but as I sit and watch Thomas become shackled in this marriage I find it hard to believe the world is not vicious. It is full of murderers, liars, thieves and people intent on ruining other peoples lives.

The organ starts to play a song that sounds like a death march and everyone in the room stops breathing as the door opens and Miss Whitehall begins to float down the aisle like a queen. I steal a glance at Thomas who has finally caved and is staring at me. It is a piercing gaze, pleading and begging for something to save him. Even though there is nothing to be done.

Thomas’s stare costumes me, setting me alight, destroying me completely. He is stranded, helpless. I feel sick. I want to reach out and tell him it will work out even though it won’t. I want to hold him close to me, to feel his arms around me as we try and hide in false hope. But I am not the kind of girl who would interrupt a wedding even though my skin is crawling with the need to scream how wrong this is.

Miss Whitehall nudges Thomas and he reluctantly looks away from me. She throws a scowl my way because I am all Thomas can think about. I ignore it, just as I ignore the growing silence that pounds against me. The priest starts to do the speech but no sounds are made except my beating heart. Silence stretches on for an eternity and my heart stops beating as I hear the words: ‘Speak now or forever hold your peace.’

There is a silence that differs from before. It has changed as anticipation seeps into the room. Thomas looks, scanning the crowd before landing on me. Could I really interrupt? Save Thomas from this fate and change our futures. It is perhaps my last chance. I take a risk and make a decision so reckless Thomas would've been proud at the dramatic nature of it -if it wasn't about us.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply as I stand up slowly. My eyes open and Thomas is still staring at me. I hide my hands behind my back. There are gasps and horrified looks from everyone in the room but I can only focus on Thomas. Relief and fear and emotions I can't figure out are mixed in his dark brown eyes. There is a faint smile as we stand staring at each other.

I recall all the times Thomas has saved me, how many times he has dragged me from dark thoughts with his teasing, witty remarks. I remember all the times we have saved each other. How we were meant to spend the rest of our lives having adventures, saving one another and loving each other with our whole heart. I can't imagine a world where I am not beside my annoyingly charming best friend. To not be able to rely on someone who knew what I was thinking when I didn't seems impossible. We were meant to stop crime together with uncle Johnathan. Start a family so one day sir Isaac can have a friend. I wanted to keep discovering everything about him and never feel like I truly know everything because we promised each other a lifetime of surprises. I want to be able to fall in love with him in ways I never expected. For his love to make me feel safe, for early mornings where he traps me in his arms and we forget everything but each other.

I want to be the one walking down the aisle to Thomas surrounded by our family. To feel loved by everyone in that room as I take my place beside my friend and hear Thomas's vows to me. Ones that radiate his love and make me feel his promises to me. I want to do the same for him, say my vows and see him smile, no doubt saying something inappropriate just to see me smile. I want to spend the rest of my life making Thomas smile and smiling freely at him.

We cannot do any of that if he is married to another.

The world fades till it is just Thomas and I. Staring and waiting for me to interrupt. Slowly I let my fears ebb away as I began to say all the reasons why this wedding should not occur. No words escape. Thomas remains still, waiting. I reach up for my throat and try to say his name.

Nothing.

I remain silently screaming, pleading, hoping that I will regain the ability to speak or Thomas will react. Yet nothing happens and I feel as though I am suffocating. There is nothing I can do, no way to prevent such heartbreak. There is just nothing i can do no matter how much i try and move or say Thomas’s name. Helplessness gathers around me, suffocating, crawling all over my skin.

No. No. No. No. Please....

“Audrey rose?'' Thomas's voice slices through me. The world comes back to me and I am not standing up interrupting Thomas's wedding, but sitting across from him in the library. His glance is filled with concern and I wonder how long he has been trying to talk to me. I blink away the image of his wedding I conjured in my mind and how real it felt. How real it will be as he is still yet to marry miss Whitehall today. The sound of his fingers tapping on the wood is normally a sound I hate. However, I stare at his hand and wonder when the sight of him will not be available to me because I am no longer in his life.

He clears his throat and I slowly look at his face. My handsome friend is full of grief and concern as his eyes meet mine. He tries a smile, a sad smile that breaks my heart because instead of his usual smirk or his genuine smile, it is small and full of pity for us both.

Swallowing my own pain I return it as I don't know how long or how many smiles we have left. We haven't spoken about after the wedding or after this case but we both understand how unfair it will be if we remain working together. So I cherish the smile even if it will remain in my dreams whenever I think about everything that has and will happen.

“Thomas?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I watch as he quickly glances at the clock, the one hanging above us that feels like it is counting down to the end of the world. I have refused to look at it, to count the minutes until Thomas has to leave for his wedding. His. Not ours.

It is time, no matter how much I want to deny it, it is time for him to leave and get ready for his wedding. Sucking in a sharp breath as I look back at Thomas, I can't decide whether marrying someone you don't love is worse than watching someone you love marry someone else. Either one creates such hopelessness and a pit of despair that threatens to drag me down and prevent me from ever escaping. I can't imagine what Thomas is feeling, the emotions waging war inside of him.

“I am so sorry about this Wadsworth.”

“I know, I don't blame you Cresswell, you know this.” I interrupt him before he apologises again.

“Even if you don’t blame me I can be sorry for you, for us both.”

We sit in silence and I feel I can hear the time speed up and try to take Thomas from me even if he remains seated across from me.

Thomas begins to stand, my heart rising as though to go with him. Before he leaves I debate trying to keep him here but instead I say “I'm sorry too.”

It makes no difference, solves nothing as he grabs his coat and leaves to get ready for his wedding.

@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @the-hoofflepooff @ink-insomnia @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @loveyatopluto @bookscressworth @androgynousdeputylawyershoe @fandomtakeover @throneoftsc

[malucy31]

Time in On Our Side

Here's chapter 2 a day earlier 😊

cw: nothing too heavy, but this version of Magnus isn't the happiest version of Magnus...

Chapter 2/3 - Times of joy, times of sadness

Read on ao3: chapter 1 - chapter 2

They talk and the weight of the centuries separating them evaporates.

Magnus tells Alec stories he has already heard, minus some details that make him wonder if his warlock husband didn’t invent them. He hopes he will remember everything so he can tease him a little when he gets home.

A twinge of sadness takes hold of Alec whenever he realizes that Magnus isn’t trying to find out more about him. His Magnus would. Danger be damned, he would try. He would have a lot of reasons to after all. Curiosity, suspicion, or simple intuition. Magnus’s magic never lies, and Alec knows he felt something. It must be gnawing at him.

But this Magnus doesn’t even bring up the subject. It would be fine if Alec couldn’t detect resignation underneath it. Now that he feels awake and perfectly healed, he can see it as brightly as the Sun on a clear blue sky. This Magnus is sad. The spark of joy and life that Alec is so used to seeing in him has been smothered. It sparkles every now and then, when he brings up the kinds of subjects and anecdotes he knows Magnus loves. But the moment the conversation dies down, a heaviness falls on the small kitchen like a lid. The only times his Magnus was like that are times Alec would rather not think about.

He takes a sip of wine, wincing at the sour taste a bit more than he normally would. It makes Magnus huff a laugh and the lid vanishes. Small victories and all…

It’s when Magnus gets up to check on his sandalwood blend that Alec looks around and notices something that makes his stomach drop. There are no windows in the living room. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen any window outside the small room adjacent to the apothecary and the kitchen.

This is very unlike Magnus. Magnus loves natural light. Their loft has floor to ceiling windows everywhere. On a whim, Magnus sometimes redecorates the whole place and replaces walls with windows just because the light is incredible. Alec has seen Magnus lie in the sun for hours when he is having a bad day, or when he has exhausted himself with a spell.

Having no windows makes no sense. Why would he want to avoid the Sun?

Magnus’s voice snaps Alec from his thoughts. “I’m still missing an ingredient.”

He watches him sit down across the table again, taking his napkin back on his lap and reaching for his glass of wine.

“I swear, I will find it.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Alec sends him back his smile, adding something about how much he loves the scent of sandalwood, but Magnus must feel that something has shifted in Alec’s stare because he sets down his glass with caution, scrutinizing Alec the way he must be doing too.

“What is it?” Magnus eventually asks.

Alec is about to say something about the windows when something else catches his attention. He would slap himself for not seeing it earlier, but he is so used to seeing his Magnus underneath any kind of armor the warlock owns that he doesn’t always pay attention to what lies on the surface. Even today, Alec still reads between the lines, still sees Magnus’s kindred soul and open heart, the tenderness in his gaze. He still sees the most generous and beautiful man he has ever met.

But how could he not notice the obvious thicker black eyeliner? The way it enhances the dark hazelnut brown of Magnus’s eyes a little more than usual? A little differently? There isn’t a single round edge about him. His hair is spiked and even his jewelry seems to be part of a shield. I dare you to come close and find any weakness, it says. Even if there is something a little different about it today, the basic lines remain. Show them what they expect. Don’t be too much.

Alec is suddenly overcome by the need to protect him, to be the shield between him and people who can’t fathom that there’s no such thing as too much when it comes to Magnus. He just is, plain and simple.

If they were home, Alec would run a hot bath for his tired husband and kiss words of reassurance and love on his skin, remove his makeup with careful gestures until it’s just them. No armor, no one else. Only them and the walls they built around their life.

But he isn’t home, and neither is Magnus.

Alec’s chest tightens when he puts two and two together. He doesn’t know everything about Magnus’s life, but he knows enough to understand what is happening. Magnus needs protection for the same reason he has no windows outside from the rooms where he spends his time, his safe haven.

He is entering a battle that will last a few centuries, and he probably already knows it.

This battle has a name that, to this very day, makes Alec’s muscles stiffen, calls out his soldier reflexes.

Camille.

Alec doesn’t ask about the windows. He doesn’t need to.

Magnus will never open up to a stranger about this anyway, no matter how easy the conversation is. Even if he did, Alec will be gone in a few days and what good will it have done? The thought sends him into a downward spiral. He knows what is ahead of Magnus. Centuries of abuse, of loneliness, self-hatred, and despair.

This Magnus doesn’t need to be forced to open up by someone who will disappear from his life. He needs something strong enough that he can hold on to. He needs hope.

And Alec has an idea.

“I was thinking of a way to repay you for healing me and welcoming me into your home, but I don’t have any money… So, what about a small clue about who I am? Something harmless.”

“Please, do tell!”

Magnus’s eyes sparkle, and Alec is almost certain he can see his golden irises flickering for a second. There, trapped in the brown glamor that is supposed to make him presentable, a hint of gold. A hint of his aching soul searching for an escape, looking to this stranger for an answer to a question Magnus has been asking for centuries.

A pang in Alec’s stomach echoes that ache, the want and need to give Magnus everything he has ever wished. In times of joy as well as sadness, said their wedding vows. No matter the version of them, Alec will always give Magnus all his love.

“What you felt in me, what made my body accept your magic and kept you out at the same time. It’s magic.” Alec pauses for a second, considering exactly how much he can say without raising any suspicion in Magnus’s mind. His idea sounds too bold now. He could lie, invent something about being some kind of warlock, but he can’t. Not when Magnus’s eyes are begging for something, anything, as long as it’s different. The words are out before his brain has time to process them.

“It’s my husband’s magic.”

Magnus’s eyes widen and Alec is glad he didn’t backpaddle.

“Your… Your husband?” He pronounces the word with such delicacy that Alec’s heart breaks.

“Yeah, my husband.”

“H… How?” His voice is almost a whisper, his smile full of centuries-old, dried tears and smothered dreams.

Alec fights hard against the reflex to sit closer to him, take him in his arms, never let go.

“Where are you from?” Magnus asks.

“Far away.”

“You don’t say… You seem…suspended in time, like you… I couldn’t even find the words.” Magnus lowers his gaze, shaking his head and quickly trying to erase all trace of emotion on his face. But it doesn’t fool Alec. Longing is already coloring his tone. “I won’t know more, will I?”

Alec is about to apologize again when Magnus raises a hand between them. “You know what? It’s okay. Like I said, there is clearly something unique about you, and I wouldn’t want to put you or your husband in danger by knowing too much. But thank you for trusting me with this.”

Alec doesn’t know how to respond to that. There are too many things he could say and none of them would make sense to Magnus, so he nods, smiling.

“There’s one more thing I would like to know about you, though.”

“What is it?”

“Your name. You haven’t told me.”

“Oh, Gideon. I’m Gideon.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Gideon. I’m Magnus.”

Alec can feel giddiness forming on his lips. How many people get to relive a first introduction?

When the conversation resumes, Alec can’t help noticing a difference in the way Magnus holds himself and speaks. Less guarded, more himself. It sparks something in Alec’s stomach, a need to be home already, an urge stronger than he has felt in the past month and a half. He can’t wait to be home, can’t wait to hold his husband in his arms and have living proof that Magnus did overcome everything, that Camille is a long-forgotten nightmare.

Neither of them realizes how late it is until Magnus has to conjure up some light in the form of tiny bulbs floating above them. The light they cast reminds Alec of home again, of improvised date nights in the middle of nowhere, of late dinners when they refuse to go to bed before the other one has returned. It makes it even harder to pronounce his next words.

“It’s late, I should… I should get back,” Alec says, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Where are you staying? Let me walk you back. The streets aren’t safe at night.”

Alec is about to decline when he realizes that he has no idea how to go back, no cell phone to help, and that Magnus hasn’t invented portals yet.

“If that’s not too much trouble, I’d like that.”

“No trouble at all, but before you go, let me give you something in return of this lovely night.”

“Magnus, you don’t—”

He snaps his fingers, and a small pouch appears in his hand, the scent already tickling the corners of Alec’s mouth. Sandalwood. “Since you liked the scent… It’s not exactly what I want it to be yet, but maybe you and your husband will find the missing ingredient. You’ll have to let me know if you do.”

Magnus adds a wink as he hands the pouch to Alec in a way that reminds him of his own Magnus. It feels so good that Alec lets his grin grow wider than he has in a month and a half.

“Thank you. I’ll… I’ll let you know if we find something, but I’m sure you have the solution around here.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, but he can’t help it. He knows what ingredient is missing, it’s actually right there on the table, and he doesn’t always get the chance to tease Magnus.

For the first time since Alec woke up, he recognizes Magnus’s smile. It’s a smile that ends in a very soft laugh, the one that modifies his voice a little and makes him sound like a young man with no burden on his shoulders, no heaviness on his heart. It’s beautiful. He is beautiful.

Alec misses him so much.

*

He knows he can’t bring Magnus to the Shadowhunters’ lair, so when he recognizes the streets, he comes to a halt and stops in front of an inn.

“This is it… Thank you for everything. I… I really wish I could give you more to thank you.”

The moonlight accentuates Magnus’s soft features, but it also accentuates the ache in his eyes. Alec didn’t know he could want to take him in his arms even more than he has for the last month.

“You already did, Gideon.” He smiles, but sadness lingers at the edges of his lips. “Hope is a rare and valuable thing. It’s usually fleeting, but yours… There’s something about you, you radiate joy, hope and freedom. You let me have a glimpse and dare I say, a taste of it. It was an honor to meet you. I wish I could meet your husband too. Maybe someday?”

“Maybe, yeah…”

“In the meantime, tell him Magnus Bane sends him his best regards, will you?”

“I will.” Alec knows he has been reduced to monosyllabic words, but he can’t do more in this instant. His voice is choking with emotions.

“Thank you. I needed this, I needed to meet you, more than you know… Good-bye, Gideon. Travel safely, and I hope we’ll meet again sometime.”

There’s a lot Alec would like to reply, but no words could ever convey the depth and extent of all his feelings, not in this time or place. There is no space here for their love. There can’t be. Magnus doesn’t give him the time to say anything. He is already walking backwards, and that’s probably for the best.

“I hope so too. Good-bye…” Magnus stays trapped in his throat as he watches him walk away. He can’t shake the feeling that he didn’t give him enough. He shouldn’t have let him go before there was only joy on his face, in his eyes… Alec almost calls him back, but he can’t. Not for another two or three centuries at least. This had to be enough.

[notgalaxii]

you know that satan devilgram story where he gets depressed because he feels like he doesn't have any unique personality traits? could i request mc running into him in the library and comforting afterwards? pls and thank you

Thank you for the request Nonny! I enjoyed writing this one quite a bit since Satan is my favorite Obey Me! brother. I'll hopefully have another request done later today, I hope you enjoy it, lovely 💕

Word Count: 1,236

    Being close to Satan, the Avatar of Wrath, had never been the easiest thing; however, it wasn’t as difficult as it sounded. You and Satan nearly hit it off immediately. The first morning you spent in the house of lamentation, you woke up to a text from him asking you to go on a walk with him. Of course, you agreed and he spent the next hour or two showing you around his favorite places in the Devildom. You learned about his interests fairly quickly; Satan seemed to thoroughly enjoy places rich in history such as museums and libraries, or relaxing places like cat cafes. It wasn’t long before the two of you began going out at least once a week, reading the books you had just rented from the library while sipping on tea or coffee at the nearest cafe. 

    There were bitter moments too, however. Living in the same home, you tended to be around when he snapped. Most of the time it was due to a complication with Lucifer, and most of the time you had to calm him down. There were nights where you tried to go to his room to comfort him, but he would only slam the door in your face. Luckily, nine times out of ten, he came to your room to apologize and talk about his feelings about half an hour later.  

    Sometimes the bitter moments weren’t angry, sometimes they were sad. The first time Satan opened up to you about how much he enjoyed reading, you learned part of the reason why he loved it so much. He told you that when you’re knowledgeable, people cannot dismiss you. It wasn’t long before you realized that Satan felt like he didn’t quite fit in with his brothers, mostly due to the circumstances of his birth. Technically being a part of Lucifer and being born as the pure concept of hatred and wrath really took a toll on him. Those sad and bitter moments didn’t last long most of the time. Satan had a soft spot for you, allowing you to comfort him deep down in his heart. 

    This time around, you found Satan as you were perusing through the mystery isle of the library at RAD. His soft, blonde locks peaked over the shelves a few rows away from you. You decided to approach him, coming to find him skimming different detective novels. Satan quickly noticed your advancement and you caught his icy blue gaze. There seemed to be hints of sorrow dancing along with the green and yellow hues, but you couldn’t study them for the eye contact was short-lived

    “Hey, how are you doing?” You quizzed, grasping the book you had picked out close to your side.

    “Do you think I have any distinguishing personality traits?” Satan’s reply was fast and blunt. He continued to keep his eyes on the various titles stretched across the shelves. 

    “Of course I do, why do you ask?” You inquired. Satan turned to meet your gaze this time, leaning his shoulder against one of the sturdier parts of the bookshelf. Having more time now, you studied his expression. There were indeed glimmers of sorrow in his eyes that spread to the corners of his lips, twisting them into a small frown.

    “Last night, my brothers and I were in the music room and we were talking about different movies and our fears, and I realized that all of their answers were so them. I wasn't able to answer the questions they were asking because nothing came to mind. They're all so unique; they have these distinguishing traits paired with matching hopes, fears, and dreams," Satan elaborated as the melody in his voice began to take up a few minor notes, "None of them were able to think of something unique about me. They told me that being neutral was what made me different."

    You began to chuckle to yourself as all of your favorite things about Satan raced through your mind.

    "Is my predicament amusing to you?" He cocked an eyebrow in your direction.

    "It's amusing that the boys who have known you since you were born can't think of anything interesting and unique about you, but I can and I haven't even known you for a year," you noted with a casual shrug. This seemed to have thrown off Satan a little bit. He recovered quickly, however, with his impeccably sharp tongue. 

    "Let me guess what comes to mind, I like cats and hate Lucifer?" Satan snapped back as a storm very slowly began to conjure in his eyes. 

    "No, actually," you shook your head, "When I think of you I think of someone who is extremely quick-witted, fierce, and knowledgeable. Your intelligence brings balance to absolutely every situation, whether you're being the voice of reason or the one making the sassy and impish remarks. I think of someone who is warm and relaxing; I think of someone who is easy to get along with because they can talk about anything and everything for hours on end. I think of someone who is fun and knows how to enjoy the beauty in everything, even the little things. That's the Satan I know. Perhaps I just pay a little more attention to everything that you do. No, you don't stand out like Mammon does when he's scheming in the dining hall or Asmo when he can't get his beauty sleep, but is that a bad thing?"

    With every single word that slips your lips, you notice Satan's features begin to soften and the storm in his eyes is delayed yet another day.

    "No, I guess it's not a bad thing," he confesses, "I'd like to thank you. I knew you'd be able to say something to make me feel better like you always do, MC."

    "Wait a minute, did you come to the library knowing I'd be here and I'd comfort you," you asked, resting a hand on your hip.

    "Perhaps I did," he chuckles, his tone laced with notes of playfulness.

    "See, that's what I'm talking about! Your brain is huge! I'm surprised it fits in that noggin of yours!" you exclaimed, causing his once frowning lips to pull into quite the warm smile. "I'm very happy that I was able to make you feel better though, Satan. Especially if it means I can tell you all about why I love you so much."

    A light pink dusted itself across Satan's cheeks at your words. He still hasn't gotten used to the human ways of copious amounts of affection between people who were close. 

    "Maybe one day I can find a reason to tell you all about why I love you so much as well, MC," Satan's blush deepened with his own words, despite how eloquent his execution of the statement was. You began to feel somewhat of a warm web winding in your chest; it wrapped slowly around your heart, the constriction causing it to beat faster. 

    "For now, how about we go to that petting cafe? Maybe you can try to make that hedgehog your familiar again. I'm sure if you read it a bit of poetry you can coax it into loving you even more," you suggested in an attempt to ignore those feelings before locking your arm in his.

    "I'll translate some nice poetry about finding a true friend into the secret language of hedgehogs."

[woman-of-culture]

The traitor (1/2)

Dabi x reader

Part 2

Warnings: Dabis identity, 3rd year age up, this does not accurately follow the plot when it comes to timing and character introduction, (most likely) a lot of grammatical errors

This is gonna be a 2 part story with the smut in the 2nd part! (Not to mention it’s gonna be much longer)

The semester is finally over! No more assignments and no more work so I present to you my first ever fanfiction. Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Words: 3,056

The League of villains might not have the best plans. Sometimes, they're poorly thought out, other times... Again, not all that effective.

From their poor managing skills to the attack on USJ where they consequentially lost the perfect nomu, their planning could use ‘some’ work. The leader, Shigaraki, being quite immature for his position, executed his plans prematurely and without much thought - oftentimes underestimating his opponents (even if they were just high school first years). Saying he has a ways to go from being the perfect leader would be an understatement.

But no matter how much you complain, you can’t ignore the fact that he’s also a valiant leader who fights for what he thinks is right, even if he does need some help along the way. That’s where you come in, being Shigarakis right hand (wo)man, alongside Kurogiri, wasn’t an easy job. Having to deal with his temper tantrums, being forced to execute a plan you didn’t 100% agree with and having your advice ignored completely most of the time wasn’t exactly what you thought joining The League of Villains would be like, but eh, nothing ever goes the way you want it to.

Which is exactly what led to this situation.

"So let me get this straight..." You say, whilst letting out an exasperated sigh "You want to kidnap and persuade, of all people, Bakugou Katsuki to turn on his dream of becoming a hero just because you've seen him compete in the sports festival?"

Not really getting your point, Shigaraki just nods with an assertive "Yes"

"No" You turn your back on him, disappointed he would even suggest this thought.

Narrowing his eyes, as if to challenge any further refusal on your part, he demands to know why you so vehemently refuse the suggestion of your next big mission.

Not at all wavering with your determination, you look him in the eyes, practically begging for him to understand how fruitless this endeavor would be.

"He might act...villainous when facing certain confrontation but he is solely focused on becoming the number one pro hero one day, it would take a hell of a lot more than just kidnapping and talking for him to turn his back on that dream. He’s determined, passionate and has a real fighting spirit. I believe if you really want him to join you need to break his spirit in some way, target him when he’s at his lowest"

Contemplating your words for merely a second he decided against listening to reason on the ground ‘It’s the perfect next move for the League to cause distrust among society, even if he refuses there will be chaos from the fact that we managed to capture a UA student whilst on a training camp.’”

Seeing no point in arguing further, you declare that you will have no part in this plan since:

1) You truly believe this will end up a failure

2) You are a student participating in the training camp and your involvement would be too risky

"Goddamn it, I knew I shouldn't have told you where the training camp will be held..." You mutter under your breath, as you look to Kurogiri, who has been silent during that whole argument, to open a portal to your apartment.

Exhausted and in need of some food, you trudge your way up to the small apartment you've called home ever since AFO took you in 4 years ago.

It was a small one bedroom apartment fit for one person, certainly better than the streets you've come to know so well during your years of desperation and homelessness.

A sigh of relief escaping once you managed to close your door and take off your shoes.

"Good evening doll."

"Good evening burnt rat, who I specifically warned not to come here anymore."

He winced, as if the comment actually hurt his feelings. "Ouch, why the sour attitude sweetheart?" Walking up to the couch, glaring at your ‘guest’ who had decided to make himself at home despite your warnings of dumping his body in the nearest ditch.

“You tell me Dabi, why in the world would you continue coming here after all my threats and the fact UA is 5 minutes from here?” “Isn’t it obvious? Despite your constant nagging, you never kick me out, you have a pretty fucking nice TV and not to mention you’re a decent cook.”

Ah, Dabi...one of the newest members of the League who joined not even 2 weeks ago. He’s a peculiar guy who comes to raid your fridge and annoy the shit out of you every other day, refusing to leave until the next morning to go God knows where. When it comes to the topic of kicking him out...you never seem to find the will to do so, whether it be the crippling loneliness forcing you to get some form of social interaction or the fact you find his company kinda enjoyable. Of course, you wouldn’t admit either to anyone even if it costs you your life.

You look at his form lounging on the couch in his pants and pale gray, scoop-neck shirt. “So, I’m guessing you ate my dinner again...?” You picked up his dark blue jacket that was lazily tossed onto the back of the sofa and made your way to the front door in order to hang it, just then noticing the dark dress shoes placed haphazardly next to the shoe rack.

With a sly wink sent your way he confirms he ate the tempura you prepared that afternoon. “But you know what? Could you be a sweetheart and make some more food? It was just so delicious but unfortunately not all that filling.” He asked, hoping flattery will get him some more food.

Looking into the fridge you could physically feel a headache coming when you confirm no tempura in sight. You would feel more frustrated if a brilliant idea didn’t come up that second. “Listen Dabi, let’s make a deal.” You turn the corner, ready to give him an ultimatum. “Oh? Where is this going? In exchange for some of your cooking I’d eat something else out first?” He tries to guess, suggestively lifting one eyebrow whilst crossing his arms at the back of his head.

Stopping in your tracks, you look at him speechless, the blood rushing to your cheeks undeniably creating a faint pink blush.”W-what!? No, you asshole! T-tomorrow are final exams so I wanted to suggest you spar with me and after I’d cook anything you want.” In what little time you knew Dabi, that was the first suggestive comment he has made towards you, breaking your thoughts for a hot second - enough to make you stutter during your protest.

Looking proud with the pink he managed to conjure on your cheeks, he closed his eyes with a smirk on his mismatched, pale-burnt lips. “Don’t know ‘bout that doll, sounds like too much work and I’ve had a long day.” He groans to emphasize his point.

“Ok then, starve”

...

“Well, actually-...”

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

The next day, during the practical exam, you ended up with Jirou against Present Mic (I’m sorry Koji but plot) which you managed to win with ease considering Dabi helped you strategize. Not to mention he gave you tips on how to improve your quirk which you implemented in the battle only to end up victorious. You’d probably need to thank him later.

Whilst reminiscing on the event, Aizawa enters into the classroom informing that no one will be left out of the training camp, but the ones who failed will receive harsher training. He gave out lodge guides and all the information needed (which you of course knew thanks to sneaking into the teachers lounge after hours) Everyone also decided to go on a shopping trip to buy the necessary things for the trip, with the exceptions of you, Bakugou and Todoroki.

Worrying about the events that will transpire did you no good so you contently walked home thinking of going to the store for some ingredients in case a certain uninvited guest decided to show up again.

Thinking about what will inevitably happen reminded you of the fact you haven’t visited the bar since your little disagreement with Shigaraki. ‘I guess I can’t blame him, even if Bakugou doesn’t join it will still provoke some fear and distrust among the general public, I guess I should apologize to him...’

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

“TOMURA!” The bar rattles with the impact of the door against the wall, barely keeping itself on it’s hinges after the kind of force you used. The people inside the bar looking at you with mixed emotions, some shocked, some indifferent and some enjoying the drama. Spinner, Toga, Dabi, Magne and Kurogiri silently looking at you for answers to their unanswered questions while Shigaraki looks at you completely shocked for he has not yet seen such an outburst from you.

“Wasn’t this supposed to be your plan? How careless can you be? In order for a stunt like this to succeed you’d need to be extra careful and methodical. Yet, what do you do? You confront Midoriya at the mall as if it wouldn’t have consequences”

“Oh, that’s all?” He returns to his planning as if you didn’t almost break down the door.

“What do you mean ‘that’s all’? Do you understand how irresponsible that was, you could have gotten caught! The whole mall was swarming with police officers literally 5 minutes after your little ‘chat’.”

“They wouldn’t have caught me even if they showed up that instant, if you used your brain you would remember that Kurogiri could just teleport me out.” Scratching his neck, clearly done with this conversation, he turned to walk away to get some quiet to finalize the plan in peace.

“You don’t get it do you? Aizawa announced the camp will not be held in the forest lodge it’s usually held every year because of this ‘incident’.” You explain taking a step to his form that stopped walking the moment those words left your lips. He turned, the scratching getting more violent by the second. “Well, where is it then?”

You don’t want to admit it but the way he looked at you, as if it was your fault the camp relocated, sent a chill down your spine. “I don’t know, the new location won’t be revealed until we get there.”

“Then you’ll send your location the moment you get there, is that so hard?” You felt your anger and frustration bubble the moment he dismissed the problem as if it were nothing, however you continued your calm-ish facade. “Tomura, I’m begging you to understand! With this there are a lot more unknown variables. You won’t have time to prepare, to get to know the layout, the schedule, anything! You’ll be going in there blind, this is definitely not a safe plan for the members. What if some of them get caught? What if-...”

You weren’t even able to finish the rest of your concern before he yelled out for you to shut up, that it was none of your concern since you weren’t apart of this mission. “We will simply have Dabi burn down half of the woods so they won’t know what’s going on, the rest only concerns the participants of this plan which, again, you are NOT, now LEAVE!”

You looked Tomura in the eyes, tears welling up in yours due to the sheer frustration of the situation. Did your opinion really mean so little to the man? You wanted nothing more than the success of the League, to fulfill your debt to AFO for saving you so many years ago. Sometimes staying up past 3 AM helping with whatever you could just because you felt as if the League really needed you. Were you really so useless to the man before you, who you would consider a dear friend, family? He ignored your advice, existence even, except when he needed insider information. You were quiet most of the time, rarely giving resistance to the point your bottled up feeling reached their limits. You lifted your head, a single tear making its way down your face as you uttered your next words.

“I will send you the location, I will figure out the schedule, I will inform you on everyone's position during the attack but just know this Tomura, your carelessness will shoot you down from that pedestal you made for yourself. You’re childish, immature, naive and juvenile. If you continue thinking you can do all of this alone it’s gonna cost you your life, the members lives, masters life-...”

That was the trigger...the last straw that finally diminished his last nerve. Lunging at you with all five fingers ready to disintegrate your arm as a form of cruel punishment. It was like slow motion, not really thinking of this outcome proved to be your downfall as you could only watch his hand getting closer.

20 centimeters...

10 centimeters...

5....

Oh fuck...

As if God heard your prayers, an arm found it’s way around your waist, pulling you to a lean, muscular chest while the other grabbed Shigarakis, pulling it away from your form and pressing his hand, that was moments away from your trembling arm, onto the counter, decaying a part of the wood until there was nothing but dust left.

The shock of the situation being felt all around the room. You didn’t fully process the severity of the event until Dabi let out a low growl, ready to use his quirk if need be. Looking up his face, situated not even 5 cm away from your own, you saw the burning fire behind his glare directed at Shigaraki, a threat, daring him to move a single finger in your direction.

In any other situation you’d pull his arm off, threatening to cut it off. However, this wasn’t any other situation. His warmth providing a sense of security you’ve never felt before, making you wish it could stay there just a minute longer. His natural musk invading your senses, calming your pounding heart to the point you almost forgot the predicament you got yourself into.

All too soon, he let go of you only to pull you behind his back with his arm stretched to the side, blocking the view of your leader with his back. Relieved, angry, confused, terrified... You couldn’t exactly categorize your feelings, the information not fully processed in your mind. You grabbed onto the back of his jacket as a means to get closer to him, scrunching it between your fingers to keep him where he is.

Whilst this was going on, Shigaraki looked at his hand, eyes wide open. For a few seconds he couldn’t fathom what he just tried to do. He looked at your form, cowering behind Dabi who only glared daggers at him silently questioning his actions.

“Out.” was the only word able to come out of his throat, not knowing how to deal with the consequences of the previous moment.

Not needing to be told twice, you ran out of the bar as fast as your legs could take you. Stumbling on your own feet, chest heaving and vision blurry you didn’t notice the set of footsteps following behind you until a hand reached out stopping you in your tracks. You panicked, kicking at your assailant in an attempt to get free.

“Calm down, would ya? It’s only me...” Turning around, to face what you had correctly presumed to be Dabi, you lunged out of his grasp narrowly missing the wall behind you.

“Why did you do that?”  “What do you mean why?” He looked at you, not understanding the point of the question. “I mean... Why did you jump in to defend me? This was between me and him. Don’t get me wrong I more than appreciate your help but why... You ran the risk of a fight, not to mention injury, just because i provoked him.” You said, your gaze following the trail of his body further down till you reached his black shoes.

He scoffed, as if you just uttered the stupidest sentence he has ever heard. “Provoked? What you did in there proved you have some serious balls. You pointed out the flaws in the plan and confronted hand-job about them. You prioritized every ones safety over some mission and even put yourself at risk by ultimately agreeing to the plan and sending vital information that will be used.” He took a step forward, lifting your head between his index and thumb caressing your cheek along the way to hopefully calm you some more if his words didn’t help.

“That being said, you should still have some faith in us, well, in me specifically.” He smirked noticing the corner of your lips twitch up at his comment. “I’ll burn down every obstacle, every hero that comes in my way so you won’t have to worry so much.” Finally, pressing his forehead to your own he managed to fully calm your nerves, unintentionally, you also synced up your breathing to match his.

You looked at his beautiful teal colored eyes unable to focus on any of your surroundings ‘Were his eyes always so mesmerizing?’ You felt your eyelids droop almost closing them by the time he took your hand in his and started to lead you down the road. “H-huh? Wait, where are we going?” “We’re going to your apartment to eat something and sleep, perhaps watch a movie to forget today.”

You look at the man in front of you, his coat waving with the wind to make the moment just that much more special. Has he always been like this? He actually made the effort to defend you, to run after you when you thought nobody cared. He assured you that what you did was the right thing and plans to make you forget what happened today. Did you finally have someone that cared for you?

“Yeah, sounds good”

(A/N This was my first ever attempt at writing so I hope I didn’t flunk it TOO bad. And I’m not all that satisfied with this but eh... I feel bad for having to cut it short, but I actually got requests to do more stories and I’m bad at multitasking so I’m terribly sorry for the precious users that sent me requests and the readers that want a part 2, maybe)

[haymaker-mva]

A different choice, a different chance

Part 1/2: Desperada

So I've fucking given up on my “mental health break.” No sleep for the wicked!

This fic’s pretty much, “What if Marinette picked Luka for the snake miraculous first, and what would happen if that led to her realizing that what she was pretty much a stalker?”

Enjoy the fic that my brain spawned and would not let me leave alone!

1 - 2

“W-wow…” Alya stuttered in surprise. “It never hit me that the plans we did messed with others… It just seemed so harmless at the time…”

“That’s the same thought I had. It seemed like just being a schoolgirl with a crush, but I really have gone too far, haven’t I?”

-

Ladybug looked between Adrien Agreste and Luka Couffine. She had one snake miraculous, and two guys to choose from. After casting her luck charm, Ladybug had gone to get backup, telling Adrien and Luka to go hide. She set up Luka’s guitar with the pigeons and escaped. She quickly retrieved the snake miraculous from Master Fu, and went on her way. As she flew back through the city, Ladybug’s mind drifted.

For some strange reason that seemed specifically like a crush, Mainette had chosen Adrien to play with Jagged instead of Luka, who was much more suited for the job. The guilt ate at Marinette, but Ladybug had to get her head in the game.

Ladybug slid into the sewers again, and began calling out to Luka and Adrien. She had to make sure they were safe, and perhaps give one of them the miraculous she currently held if her instincts were leading her the right way.

She heard Luka answer her, and she made her way towards his voice and quickly found them in a normal tunnel. Adrien and Luka were both there, though they seemed quite a bit worried.

Now back to where we were. Ladybug looked between Adrien and Luka. Her heart ached for her to choose Adrien, but her instincts pulled her towards Luka. She was so close to giving Adrien the snake… but then the guilt from Marinette’s earlier mistake smacked her in the brain. Ladybug shook her head to clear her thoughts, and grabbed Adrien’s wrist.

“Luka, go hide around that corner. I have to hide Adrien somewhere else, I’ll be back to make sure you’re safe.”

-

Adrien ran through the sewers with Luka, just trying to get away from the akuma. Every time Adrien tried to lag behind or get lost around a corner, Luka would find him and make sure they weren’t separated. It was nice to have a friend that cared so much, but Adrien needed to become Chat Noir, and Luka was making it ten times harder!

After Kwami knows how long of this, Ladybug found them again thanks to Luka’s loud voice. Adrien could tell what this was; Ladybug went to get backup. He knew his partner. A tiny war waged in his head. On one hand, being chosen by Ladybug would be great. But on the other hand, Adrien was Chat Noir, and being chosen would not be so great.

So when Ladybug pulled him aside, his heart both sank and soared. His Lady truste him outside of the mask too…! But he needed to be Chat Noir…

Ladybug pulled them into a locker room, and paused to catch her breath. She opened a locker, and motioned for him to get inside.

What?

Ladybug wasn’t choosing him? So what was she doing? Noticing the confusion on Adrien’s face, Ladybug elaborated.

“I needed to spit you two up to make it harder for Desperada to get you both in one go. I also need to find that dang cat, and find some backup,” Ladybug griped. She collected herself and let out a breath. “Anyway, go hide and only come out when you see the ladybugs.” Ladybug waved and ran out of the locker room, shutting the door behind her and leaving Adrien conflicted.

Was it good or bad that Ladybug didn’t give his alter ego another miraculous?

-

Soon the fight was over and the miraculous ladybug was cast, and everything was back to normal. Well, not exactly. Seeds of doubt had been planted in Marinette’s head…

-

As Marinette sat on her bed after the fight, she replayed a lot of scenes in her head. All of them about Adrien. All the times she messed something up, hurt someone, or sacrificed something because of him,in one way or another. There were too many times. Heck, it happened just that day with Luka and playing with Jagged!

Marinette’s mind flashed back to the day that Manon got akumatized into Puppeteer the second time. Adrien had specifically mentioned loving another girl, as well as indirectly and almost actually rejecting her.

All of a sudden, she felt stupid.

He never loved her, and she didn’t want to hurt yet another person, especially him, trying to obtain Adrien’s affections. Marinette frowned sadly. She really had hurt so many people. Granted, she always apologized and fixed things. Take Kagami for example! They got orange juice together pretty much every week. But that didn’t change the fact that she had still hurt people with her stalkerish schemes.

And looking at her wall, she followed the thought that she had also crossed over into stalker territory. Not just her wall, Marinette had even stolen his phone at one point! Gotten his bodyguard in trouble! Invaded his room as Ladybug, and took full advantage of his trust in her. She wasn’t even properly friends with him; she could barely speak a word in his presence!

Marinette facepalmed. How could she ever have dreamed of dating a guy that she couldn’t talk to? She remembered something her mother told her a long time ago, when she had started liking guys.

“Remember, Marinette. Don’t choose the better guy, choose the guy that makes you the better girl. Never go for the one that brings the worst out in you. It’ll only lead to disaster if you can’t control yourself.”

Marinette had never really taken that advice into consideration, because of her short list of crushes. But now it was all she could think of. Why did she even like Adrien? She could barely recall. She told herself it was his personality, the kindness he displayed, the trust he had in others… But that was just his naivety, wasn’t it? She liked him because he was afraid of losing his friends by being anything but polite. Adrien only went after her so that she wouldn’t hate him. Their class was small, of course he wouldn’t want to have any enemies.

Marinette slapped her cheeks. She wouldn’t think bad of Adrien. Even if he was her crush, and she was a bad one herself, he was still her friend.

I think I need to call Alya.

-

“I think I’ve gone too far with Adrien.” Was the first words that rushed out of her mouth. Cringing at the implication, she rephrased. “As in, my crush has gone too far.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where is this coming from?” Alya responded.

“I chose Adrien today. To play guitar. Over Luka, who is literally in a popular band, and would you look at that! Plays a guitar.” Marinette deadpanned, sitting down in her desk chair. “I’ve also conspired with Chloe to ruin Kagami’s dress, stolen his phone, gotten his bodyguard in trouble with a police officer, literally have his schedule mapped out and memorized, and my walls are covered in his face. And that’s just to start.” The words tumbled out of her, and though she knew it was bad, seeing it all out on the table was unsettling. Knowing she had done all that.

She really was a stalker at this point.

“W-wow…” Alya stuttered in surprise. “It never hit me that the plans we did messed with others… It just seemed so harmless at the time…”

“That’s the same thought I had. It seemed like just being a schoolgirl with a crush, but I really have gone too far, haven’t I?” Marinette said, placing the phone in front of her computer, which was displaying Adrien’s face.

She put her face in her hands, elbows resting on the desk.

“I think we’ve all gone too far.” Alya stated, surprising Marinette. “My job as your bestie is to even you out and tell you when it’s time to calm down. But I didn’t even notice.”

“Nonono, Alya it’s not your fault I went crazy.” Marinette told her best friend. It really wasn’t any of her friends' fault. “Let’s move past that though. What now?”

“Huh?”

“What do I do now? I can’t let this keep happening. Something needs to change.”

“Maybe tone down your advances? Get rid of the schedule? This doesn’t mean you have to give up, it just tells us that we need to rethink our strategy” Alya suggested.

“I… I think I have to move on.”

“What?! Why?” Alya exclaimed. Marinette could imagine her face, Alya’s eyes wide and her glasses slightly slipping.

“Face it Al’s, I can’t even talk to him. He loves another girl, and that girl is most likely Kagami. And she and him are possibly dating. I’m still friends with her, I can’t ruin their relationship.” Marinette sighed, her mind conjuring up Kagami and hers’ orange juice meetups. Marinette couldn’t do that to someone she considered a friend. A rival in love would be okay, but Kagami had clearly won over Adrien. So, Marinette had to move on.

“I… It’s just strange to think about you not being in love with Adrien.” Alya puzzled.

“Honestly, I understand the feeling.” Marinette took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. She snapped forward, “But we’re gonna have to get used to it!” She declared, standing up and bringing her arms up determinately.

From that point forward, she really did.

1 - 2

[scullydubois]

Only the Light: Ch. 8

8/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, some fluff | currently: s2, ep 12, Aubrey | T (for now?) | 2.3k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic

Scully deals with the trauma of her nightmare when she and Mulder meet BJ in the park; a migraine leads Scully to breakdown to her sister.

[this is an especially angsty part...TW for mild implication of rape]

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

The rest of their breakfast passes without fanfare. After their conversation about love languages, neither feels like diving into particularly deep topics. Mulder spends their meal providing commentary on the songs other customers picked off the jukebox, turning Scully into a captive audience who occasionally nods, chuckles, or otherwise utters a phrase of approval. It’s not that they’re bored of each other, but that they feel they should preserve their energy for the taxing conversations sure to come along with the case. The electricity between them lingers in the air, waiting for a match to spark it. When the waitress asks if they want to split the bill, Mulder gallantly insists that he will take care of it, then pulls out the Bureau credit card with a wink his partner’s way. To Scully, his wink feels like a lighter flaring into flame. A brief moment of blaze, there and then gone again. One day, she swears to herself, one day she will let him ignite her heart. 

Back in the car, they buckle up and reacclimate themselves with 1994. The local country music station hums in the background, too low to make out any lyrics. It’s just a few stoplights to the park, not even long enough to get through an entire song.

They find BJ at a picnic table nestled among Aubrey’s fall colors. She notices them first, waves them over. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Mulder says as he and Scully take a seat across from the detective.

Scully is struck by reality’s intrusion on the version of BJ she met in her nightmare. BJ is not heavily pregnant; she does not even show. She’s not covered in blood either, but looking polished in a pantsuit. Yet the sight of her conjures up vivid images from the dream, ones that Scully hoped would stay hidden in her psyche forever. The resolute darkness of Duane Barry’s eyes, like his soul had been sucked out of him. The way droplets of blood splattered when he pulled BJ by the collar. And the image of her own body, how it had been desecrated and she hadn’t felt a thing. She felt nothing.

“How are you, BJ?” she asks, her voice stiffer than intended.

BJ rests her hands on the wooden table. “I’m okay.” Then-- “I’ve made some decisions.”

Scully nods, not wanting to pry. The three of them sit with the silence. Sometimes this is all you can do. Her courage gathered, BJ looks to Mulder. 

“I don’t know if Agent Scully told you, but I’m pregnant. It’s Tilman’s. It’s made things...complicated.”

“I’m sure,” Mulder replies, not particularly moved by this announcement. 

“I don’t think it will impact the case in any way, but I wanted to be open with you. Staying quiet about it was only making the situation tougher.”

“Well, thanks for sharing.”

Scully shoots Mulder a look, as if to chastise his blase attitude toward BJ’s courage. He doesn’t see it, which makes her feel oddly guilty, like she had talked about him behind his back. 

Across the park, a little girl plays with her dog. They run through a pile of leaves together, and she takes a tumble. 

“Ow!” the girl exclaims loud enough to be heard throughout the park. BJ stands up, her gaze snapping toward the sound. Scully turns, fighting the urge to join BJ. The girl’s mother bends to check the girl for injury and seeing that she’s okay, sets her on her feet. BJ exhales, joins the agents back at the table.

“The mothering instinct,” BJ monologues. “I've been feeling it a lot lately. I used to hate it when my mother hovered over me. I swore I'd never be like her.”

Scully’s throat tightens. She felt the gravitational pull too. I mean, she’s always liked kids, but she’s not sure she would be a good mother and so she’s tried not to think much about it. Certainly her situation is unfavorable for motherhood. What kind of life would it be for a kid to have their mother gone all the time? She knows what it’s like to tuck herself into bed without a goodnight kiss and a bedtime story...to feel like an afterthought in a parent’s life. It made her push herself harder, trying to shed the inadequacy her father must have seen in her. And still she fell short. Is it all in her head, this fledgling maternal instinct? Or is it a sign of changing brain chemistry?

“I think we all feel that way at some point or another,” Mulder says. For a moment, Scully thinks he’s read her mind. She’s about to ask him whether there’s such thing as a paternal instinct when BJ continues on--

“My father was a cop. A good cop. That's all I ever wanted to be. He'd say what we're doing here is nonsense. That you can't solve a crime from a dream.”

Scully is somewhat relieved to know that she’s not alone in failing to measure up to a father’s expectations. This is not the point of the conversation, but this is what her mind latches on to. Her own father felt that the X-Files was a waste of time,, and she could never put into words why the work was so fulfilling to her. It’s not medicine; the results aren’t as obvious. Yet she can’t help but feel like she and Mulder are tuning into a rarely heard frequency, listening to its message, and passing it on. Little by little that will change the world, won’t it?

“Well, I've often felt that dreams are answers to questions we haven't yet figured out how to ask,” Mulder offers, rising to meet the gravity of the moment. Scully wonders what question her nightmare was answering. She shudders at the thought.

---------

Her skull feels like it’s being cut in half with a chainsaw, there is no other way to put it. She’s lying stretched out on her motel bed, a washcloth over her eyes, praying the pain away. Migraines aren’t a common occurrence for her, but she recalls all the times her mother would turn off the television, pull the curtains, and lay flush in her recliner in an attempt to ward off the pain. As little as she was, Scully would pull a step stool over to grab a glass from the cabinet, then fill it with water and bring it to her mother like a dog itching for a treat. She’d get a ‘thank you’ from her mom’s quiet, steady voice and sometimes a pat on the head, but nothing she could subsist on. She always wished for a little more to fill the deficit in herself. Now she understood. Pain chips away at your capacity for love.

What had started as a dull roar now felt more like the scream of a banshee. It came on suddenly around 4 while she and Mulder were reviewing the evidence of the 1942 murders. Their day had been pretty slow, one of paperwork and manila folders and bureaucracy. Not a lot of progress on the case. It’s as if her brain weren’t working hard enough, and so decided to punish her by making work impossible. She let on nothing of her plight until the way back to the motel when she leaned her head against the window and Mulder asked if she was okay. She responded nonchalantly, saying it was just a headache, and he in his savior complex offered to stop for Aspirin, but she insisted she had some in her suitcase. She did--a bottle with only two left--and she took them both. So far they’ve done nothing to combat the pain. 

It occurs to her that her ardent desire to avoid coming off as a damsel in distress doesn’t exactly mesh with Mulder’s tendency to be the hero. What is she to make of that? Nothing, not in her current state of mind.

She lies there, wonders if it’s reached a late enough hour to change into her pajamas. She can’t deal with the monotony of the shower tonight, not even if Mulder’s on the other side. She turns, glances at the digital alarm clock. 8:09pm. Certainly that’s appropriate pajama time, right? She can never be sure that Mulder won’t come knocking on her door with a new interpretation of the evidence for her to shoot down or a theory somehow more outlandish than his original. She likes that they keep each other on their toes, but tonight that’s not where she wants to be.

Her head berates her for sitting up. She figures that if that’s wishful thinking, changing clothes will be too, so she lays right back down. She has gotten very used to ending up back where she started.

Seeing as modern medicine is failing her, she decides to try meditation. Missy swears by it, but Scully doesn’t see the benefit of willingly turning off your brain. She can hear her sister now: “It’s not about turning off your brain, it’s about transcending your thoughts and being present with the world.” Since when am I not present with the world, she always wants to reply. She can’t afford not to be present with the world.

But the older sister always has some semblance of sway over the younger one, so Scully closes her eyes and listens to the nothingness of the room around her. Well, it’s not exactly nothing, but nearly so. The mini-fridge, which she doesn’t dare touch even if the bill isn’t her responsibility, hums like it has something to prove. The remaining leaves on the trees in the parking lot rustle with the wind. In the adjacent room, Mulder’s TV is on. She can hear the droning chitter-chatter of sports commentators. Baseball, probably. That’s played in the fall, right?

She slips out of active listening and into mindless musing on her lack of sports expertise. Her father was never a sports junkie himself, but her brothers were. She was often made the referee of their wrestling matches or t-ball games, having been deemed more impartial than Melissa. And yet her understanding of plays and pitches and batting averages never progressed from there. She could name all 206 bones in the body in alphabetical order, but she couldn’t tell you what 3rd down meant. Usually she doesn’t care, but at the moment, this is making her indescribably sad.

Overcome by her isolation, she grabs the phone off hook, dials her own number. Melissa picks up right before it stops ringing.

“Hello?”

“Missy…” she doesn’t know it’s going to happen until she opens her mouth and tears fling themselves down her face.

“Dana, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you safe?” Missy’s voice is concerned but controlled, like a 911 operator. 

“I-I’m okay,” Scully manages, in probably the least convincing delivery ever.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the motel. Mulder and I are safe, we’re okay,” she stammers. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Melissa says with utter calm. 

“My head is pounding, Missy, and I know mom used to get migraines, but I’ve never felt anything like this before--” Her voice catches, a sob slips out. “And I’m scared, Missy. Something’s wrong with me.”

“It sounds like you need medical attention, honey.” Melissa always knows when to slip in a term of endearment. “Can Mulder take you to the hospital?”

“No, no, it’s not like that.” She squeezes her eyes shut, sees stars. She hopes Mulder can’t hear her crying. The embarrassment of hurting is almost worse than the hurt itself. She pulls the bed sheet over her head like some over-dramatic teenager. She wouldn’t be able to look Mulder in the eye if he heard this next part. 

She sniffles. “I’m six days late, and I’m never late, and I can’t be pregnant unless…” She wonders what would happen if she just stopped the sentence there and never spoke of it again. Could she do that? Would Melissa mind? 

She lets the bottom drop out from under her. “...unless they did something to me.” The words are barely audible, she hates to have them on her tongue. Worse still, she’s not even the subject in her own sentence. She’s the object, of course. 

She hears Missy take what she’s deemed “a cleansing breath.” Then--”Can you come home? Tonight, tomorrow morning?”

“I...What would I tell Mulder?” Her tears have stopped flowing, but her brokenness still lives in her voice. 

“Anything. That I locked myself out of the apartment, that it’s mom’s birthday, maybe the truth. That man will listen to whatever you say. He’s not gonna stop you.”

“Well, I have to tell the FBI something.” 

“Say you have a family emergency. Or that you’re experiencing trauma from work-related events. You don’t owe them anything, Dana.”

Scully knows this, but could never operate as if she actually believed it. The FBI is her job, her duty, her choice. How can she be up in arms about something she wished upon herself? 

She takes as deep a breath as the pain in her head will allow. “I’ll fly out tomorrow morning.”

“Call me with the deets before you take off. I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay.” Scully feels a rush of safety, of being held & supported. “Thank you,” she breathes. Missy has saved her from herself.

“You’re welcome. And Dana…?”

“Yes?”

“We’re gonna figure this out. Whatever it is, we’re gonna figure it out.”

Scully flutters her eyelids shut, feels the temptation of tears at the back of them. “I know...Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Missy echoes. “Get some rest, and try not to worry. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Scully wonders what gene her sister has that gives her such a distinct ability to say the right thing every time. She wishes she hadn't missed that boat. How much easier would life be? 

She notices that Missy has refused to hang up first. “Goodnight, Missy,” she says into the phone.

“Goodnight, Dana. Sleep well.” Her words are a balm to the soul. 

Scully puts the phone back on the hook, feeling like Missy just put hope back in her vocabulary. Hope or belief? Which is stronger?

[marril96]

Leather in Red

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena's encouragement to give in to one of your fantasies leads to a night of fun and discoveries about how deep your desires go.

Warning: NSFW

Editor: @impala-1979​

*****

"Go on," Rowena coaxed, eager, impatient. "Do it."

The whip was shaking in your hand. It was black as night, leather — genuine, for Rowena would accept nothing else — soft and smooth, a caress against your skin, the object as beautiful as it was frightening.

It seemed easier when it was a fantasy. An idea you had no intentions of pulling out of your head until one day you did and, much to your surprise, Rowena seemed as interested as you and wanted to give it a try.

"Naughty lass," she'd teased you as your cheeks burned and your eyes kept wandering away from hers, unable to face her. Unwilling to, for there was only so much embarrassment you could take.

After all, it wasn't every day that your girlfriend found out you'd fantasized about whipping her, about having her at your mercy and giving her none. Every time you were by yourself and your finger reached for your clit, it was those images that brought you to the edge of pleasure. Rowena at your feet, her pale, white body adorned with welts. Whimpering. Writhing. Begging for more — and oh, gods, there was more. There was always more, and it always felt the best — almost as good as the real thing.

Sometimes better.

You’d written it off as nothing more than silly daydreams. Something your mind had conjured up to spice up your alone time, to make it juicier. To make you come undone without hassle. Never in your wildest dreams, though, did you think Rowena would be into it. That she would all but demand you try it out. She saw it as a challenge, yet another shiny toy to play with in the bedroom like many before it.

Rowena MacLeod was picky about a lot of things, but when it came to the bedroom, she was willing to try anything. She had her dos and don'ts, her limits and preferences, but she was up for giving anything a try. Nothing was too much for her, and nothing was too out of the ordinary.

If it involved sex, she was interested.

"Don't be shy, darling." Her voice was as patient as it was teasing. She licked her lips, flicked her tongue over them in such a way that you imagined it on you, in you, boiling hot against your dripping pussy.

"I'm no-I just…" You swallowed. Eyed the whip in your trembling hand. Swallowed again.

Rowena's brows furrowed. "What's the matter? Have you changed your mind?" Disappointment flickered over her face; she quickly smoothed it out with a smile, one of those kind, caring ones that made you fall in love with her. "We don't have to do it if you don't want to."

"It's not that," you said. "It's just… What-what if I hurt you?"

She smirked, a cat that got the cream. A naughty, teasing cat, and you were the squirming mouse in her paws. "Dear, I think you will find that's the entire point of this ordeal."

Heat spilled into your cheeks. Embarrassment at your weakness, at your insecurity. "N-no, I mean, what if I hit you too hard?"

"I've got my safe word."

"Right." Just as you'd discussed. "But still—"

"Don't you worry your pretty wee head about me," she cut in. "I know what I'm getting into, and I'm perfectly fine with it. I thought for sure you would be, too. Isn't this what you wanted?"

She was looking at you, expecting an answer. Expecting a yes, for it was exactly what you'd wanted, what you'd daydreamed of for years.

Thinking of it, though, and actually doing it were two entirely different things.

Gulping, you gave a small nod.

"Good," Rowena said. "Now relax and do it." Her eyes found yours, locked with them in a stare so intense it almost — almost — scared you. "Hit me."

"Okay."

"Good girl."

You couldn't hold back a smile. Her praise never ceased to fill your heart with warmth.

"Turn around," you said, as you did in your fantasies.

Rowena raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not obeying — not yet. She was never one to do what was asked of her. It made the game all the more fun.

"Now," you ordered firmly, tightening the whip in your hand.

She blinked, a sweet, innocent girl. As if. "And if I refuse?"

"I'll have to punish you." It felt silly saying it out loud, but you stood your ground. Willed your face to remain stern, serious.

Rowena laughed, a sugary-sweet sound that reeked of mockery. "Is that so?"

"Uh-huh."

She snorted.

You grit your teeth, irritation coiling in your veins. "Turn around, Rowena."

"If you want me to turn around," she purred like the teasy, naughty kitty she was, "you are going to have to make me."

Your pussy throbbed at the thought. Images you'd gotten off to so many times filled your brain. Rowena's pale body red with welts. Lips begging for mercy and eyes, stubborn, begging for more. Heat pooled up in your stomach, sliding lower ever so slightly the more you pondered on it.

Giving into the fantasy, you swung the whip. It cracked against Rowena's skin as deliciously as you'd always imagined it. One of the most beautiful sounds in the world.

She hissed, and for a moment your heart swelled with worry, with fear that overrode all your other sensations. Had you hurt her? Had you caused her pain — the kind she hadn't wanted?

A smirk as wide as her ego spilled across her mouth, and all your fears dissipated in a flash. She eyed her shoulder, where a welt the color of her nails was blossoming. A stark contrast to the milky white of her skin. She laid her finger over it.

You wished it was your finger there. Wished you were the one to trace the reddening. To feel it, play with it. Admire your work up close.

Soon, you told yourself. The game had only just begun.

"Is that the best you got?" Rowena asked in a bored tone. A challenge, a dare for you to try harder, do better.

What a lady wanted, a lady shall receive.

You struck her again, this time across the chest, a tad harder. The bruise bloomed up instantly, a rich, beautiful red. Heat burned down at you, bit at your quivering pussy. A bit too fast, but who could blame you? Rowena was at your mercy, bare just for you. Inviting. Enticing. Yours to do what you wanted with, and gods, did you want to do more. So much more.

Rowena blinked nonchalantly.

You laid down another lashing, right across the second one. This elicited a yelp, a squeaky little whine that brought a smile to your mouth.

"You've been a very bad girl," you said.

Pride flashed across her face. "The worst."

"The worst," you agreed. "You should be punished."

"I should."

"Turn around."

She pouted.

You held up the whip. "Now."

Eyes once again finding yours, she slowly turned around. Her back was art, a canvas of milk and freckles that dotted it like stars. Perfect. Untouched. Unclaimed.

Until now.

The whip struck almost as if it had a mind of its own, your hand nothing but an instrument, a tool helping it do what it was supposed to. Rowena breathed. Her skin flushed on impact. Your pussy tensed, writhed, throbbed like a heart. An overly excited, enthusiastic heart.

To think you used to be ashamed of these fantasies.

"I'm afraid," you said, breath hitching in your throat as your heart raced in sync with your pussy, "you still haven't learned your lesson."

Another crack of the whip. Another red line across that beautiful back, a thing of beauty itself.

"Maybe you're a bad teacher," Rowena teased.

That earned her another strike, and elicited a gasp, which was followed by a laugh. Taunting. Mocking. Proud.

"You're not making it any easier for yourself," you said, striking her again. The crack of the leather against her skin sent shockwaves through you, turned your blood to lava. Your pussy was drenched, the slick dripping down your thighs. To think you were supposed to be the one in control here.

As if.

When it came to your body, Rowena always had the last word. Willingly or not.

"Who said I want it easy?" she purred.

You imagined that delicate, delicious little mouth on your pussy, sucking you up, drinking you dry. Pushing you over the edge you were so close to already.

"Fair point." She was always a complicated creature. As naughty as she was beautiful. An angel and a demon all in one.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked with a chuckle.

You rubbed your thighs together, craving friction. Yearning for it like an addict. "A bit." You tried for it to come out nonchalant, but the tremble in your voice, the traitor, gave you away.

Rowena snickered.

You lashed at her, painting more red amidst a sea of white. Pushing the heat all the way down so it swallowed your pussy whole, made it beg for release.

Damn it! It was too soon. You weren't done playing — you'd only just started. Damn Rowena for convincing you to go through with this. Damn your body for being so into it.

Sensing your struggle, Rowena looked back. "A problem, dear?"

"Nope."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?" Her eyes traced the slick on your thighs. Lips curled into that naughty smirk. "So you are not dripping wet?"

You rolled your eyes.

"I take it you are about to come. Or are you already coming?"

"Shut up!" You struck her lower back, and the little hiss that left her mouth only made the pressure worse.

She laughed. "I have to say it's impressive. I haven't even touched you, and here you are, drenched to the bone. If I'd known it was this easy, I'd have let you whip me a long time ago."

If you'd known it was going to be this easy, you would have told her about your kink a long time ago.

Even in your fantasies, it took a bit of time for you to get into it, to warm up. In person, it was almost instantaneous. Magic, one could describe it as.

Not entirely surprising for Rowena herself was magic personified. There was nothing the woman couldn't do to you. All it took was one look, and you were hers. Under her spell. A willing slave bursting with pleasure.

You cracking the whip didn't change that. She still had control over you. Still ruled your body without so much as a single word. She just did, and you loved and hated it all at once, and you never wanted it to end.

There was no better feeling than being hers. No greater state of being.

You swung the whip again. And again, and again, and again, and each crack and accompanying hiss and moan brought you closer to the edge. It was akin to an ache, but a pleasant one, one you craved, wanted, needed.

Even so, you did your best to hold back; you wouldn't come without her touching you. Without her finishing what you'd started. It would only be fair, after all the pain you'd inflicted on her.

But, gods, it was hard. Your body begged for release, screamed for it with every nerve.

Noticing your struggle, Rowena said, "It's okay, darling. You can give in."

"No," you said, defiant. "I can hold it. We're not done yet."

"Och, we are totally not. But you're so close already. Take care of yourself this time, and next time I will take care of you."

"You sure?" She always did it for you. You always wanted her to.

"Aye. Go on. Let me hear that beautiful voice."

So you did. You relaxed, flicked your clit with a single finger, and allowed the pleasure to ravage you. It came in a wave of heat, so hot it burned, but it burned so good, and, gods, you never wanted it to stop. Your clit pulsated, nerves going off like fireworks. Pussy throbbed. Thighs shook as a new trickle of slick coated them. Mouth fell wide with satisfied moans.

"That's my girl," Rowena said, licking her lips.

You imagined that pretty pink tongue on you, inside of you.

Soon. This was just round one. The night was still young.

"God, Rowena," you moaned as the high subsided, still rubbing your clit, wishing the sensations back. Impatient for the next ones. "I never knew… I…"

She chuckled. "Seems you've found your niche."

That was one way to put it. "Guess so."

"Ready to continue?"

You breathed in and out. Steadied your legs. "Only if you are."

"I'm good with a few more lashes."

"Perfect. Turn around."

"Okay. But dear?"

You raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not god. I prefer queen."

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie​​ @oswinthestrange​​ @songofthecagedmoose​​ @apurdyfulmind​​ @getthesalt-sam​​ @metallihca​​ @salembitchtrials​ @jay-eris​​ @hellsmother​​ @elizabeth-effie​​ @shadowgirl-vsb​​ @rowenaswife​​ @wonderifshelikesroses​​ @xfireandsin​​ @liddell-alien​​ @hotdiggitydammit​​ @lae-lae​​ @darkhumorsblog​​ @angel7376​​ @cherrypierowena​​ @evil-regal-vampiress​​ @hellbentredhead​​ @angel-e-v-a​​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​​ @carryon-doctor-lock​​ @fangirlxwritesx67​​ @theeasterbilby​​ @midnight-lestrange​​ @oster-hagen​​ @impala-1979​ @gracib16​

[dcforts]

[monday 1: feather]

“What the-?”, shouted Dean stopping short on the garage door.

The Impala. The Impala was black. Well, it had always been black, but it was black also on the inside. And at a closer look, it appeared to be full of black long feathers.

Sam’s tall figure bumped into his back when he caught up with him on the door.

“Wha… how did this happen?”

Dean said “How in hell should I know?” and took a few steps towards the car.

Sam followed him and started circling the car as well, crouching to get a better look inside. It was full.

“I don’t like this,” said Dean who was getting nervous. “I want them out of my car now.”

Sam raised his arms in an attempt to calm him down. “They don’t seem to be doing… anything. But I’m not sure we should touch them till we know more.”

Dean sighed but didn’t protest.

“Do you think these could be… Cas’?” Sam tried after a moment.

Dean looked at him from over the roof of he Impala. “What, you think he came in here, shook off some feathers and then bolted without saying anything?”

“I don’t know but… they are definitely too big to be some birds’ and didn’t he say his wings were black?”

Dean was already fishing out his phone from his pocket and by the time Sam stopped talking it was already attached to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Cas. What the hell. What did you do to my car?”

“Dean? What did… what happened?”

“There are feathers everywhere. Did you lose some from your wings by any chance?”

There was silence on the other line and Dean gave Sam a look. He was guilty.

“Oh. I’ll be over shortly.”

“Wai-“ but he had already closed the call.

Dean rolled his eyes. “He’s coming.”

*

Dean didn’t lose sight of the Impala and stayed alert for the whole time that it took Cas to arrive. He wasn’t going to let anything (else) happen to Baby and if those feathers were not as harmless as they seemed, well, he had to be ready to intervene. To stop… whatever.

When Cas entered the garage followed by Sam he didn’t seem particularly worried so Dean felt slightly reassured.

Cas stepped closer to the car and examined the feathers that were pressed against the windows.

Finally, he took a step back and sighed.

“Well?” prompted Dean, who couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“They are harmless. They hold no power and haven’t done any damage to your car. Don’t worry.” He concluded with a small smile.

“Oh, good.” said Sam. He opened a door and they cascaded out. There were thousands of them.

“Are they yours?” Dean asked.

Cas opened his mouth but didn’t seem to be able to hold Dean’s gaze. He looked down at his feet, and looked embarrassed when he said “I’m afraid so.”

“Wh- do you mind elaborate on how on earth they got here? Didn’t you say your wings were not on this level of reality or bullshit like that?” asked Dean.

“I- I’m not sure,” said Cas, still avoiding his eyes. “It is as you say, but I’m in the process of losing them, so maybe this is a side effect.”

There was a moment of silence, then Dean asked again. “Okay. But why did they show up here?”

Cas shrugged and offered nothing. Great.

“I haven’t been here in days.”

As if Dean didn’t know that. He decided to let go. It was fine, the Impala was fine, they were all fine.

It took him the whole afternoon to get rid of them all.

*

Then one morning Dean opened his eyes in his bed in the bunker and he saw it: a mountain of feathers covering the chair just beside his bed.

He closed his eyes again and opened them up again. No new results. They were really there.

He hadn’t seen Cas in two weeks.

“It happened again.” He told Sam over breakfast. “I found a bunch of feathers in my room.”

“In your room?” Sam lifted his eyebrows.

“Yeah.”

Sam sat down across from him with his second cup of coffee. He had a weird look on his face.

“You think there might be something wrong with Cas? This never happened when he lost his grace before.”

Dean passed a hand on his mouth and chin. “I don’t know.”

“What did he say?”

“Uh?”

“Didn’t you call him?”

“Uh, not yet.”

“Dean.” Sam’s jaw twitched. “You should call him. I don’t think it’s an accident that they showed up in your car and in your room. Maybe he misses you.”

Dean bolted out of his seat and tried to appear busy to avoid eye contact. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. “Okay, first, it is our car.”

Sam laughed. “Whoa, did you really say that?”

Dean ignored him. “And what does his wings have to do with me?”

“I don’t know!” said Sam widening his arms. “But maybe he does?”

Dean gave in. He went back to his room and started the call. It had rang a few times when Cas finally answered.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Cas,” he said. “Listen, it happened again. The feathers thing.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Do you have any idea on why this may be happening? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I think it has to do with my sleep pattern.”

“Your what?”

Cas sighed on the other side of the phone. “Sleep pattern. I told you Dean, I’m losing my grace and what you describe occured only when I’ve been asleep. In my understanding it seems that my wings are responding to what my mind conjures while I sleep. They are confusing dreaming and traveling, so although I don’t physically move, on some level, a part of me does.”

Dean frowned. Too much information to process at once.

“Are you saying you are basically sleepwalking?”

“Something like that, yes. But I don’t really move. And I seem to be leaving a trace behind.”

“And you… dreamt of coming here into the bunker last night?”

He didn’t say “sitting in the chair next to my bed”.

“Not exactly.” said Cas vaguely and didn’t add anything.

They both stayed silent for a moment.

“Cas?” prompted Dean, who was starting to lose his patience.

“I was dreaming of you.”

Dean gulped and wished he didn’t ask. “Yeah. Right, it makes sense. They were... they were in my room.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s good to know it’s nothing too serious.”

“Yes, you don’t have to worry.”

“Alright,” he sighed. “See you soon?”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek for how desperate that question had sounded.

“I hope so.” Cas offered simply.

*

Dean got used to it. It became a familiar sight, to see them sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes in the library. Dean would find Sam sweeping them from the couch with an annoyed look on his face. But the best days were when he woke up and they were the first thing he saw on the chair next to his bed. After a while, they just made him smile. Of course it was worrying how much more often Cas needed to sleep and that what had been a mountain was now just a few handful of feathers and that could only mean that the process of losing them was almost complete. But it was also as if Cas was saying “Hello, I’m thinking of you”.

They hadn’t seen each other in almost two months and he had texted to say he was going to be at the bunker in the morning.

Dean was feeling giddy and restless. He scrubbed clean the counter of the kitchen, rearranged the books scattered in the war room, and moved the tables three times like it mattered if they weren’t perfectly aligned.

He got into bed earlier than usual but couldn’t sleep, so he watched a movie and read for a while and when he finally closed his eyes, half of the night was already gone.

He woke up touching something incredibly soft. He moved his hands to try and determine what it was but it was neverending see of softness. He opened his eyes and he was left breathless. There were feathers all over his blanket, on his pillow, on either sides of his bed.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds to take in what his life had become, but he was feeling a little smile tucking at the corner of his mouth.

He got up and wandered into the library, eyes searching for a familiar trenchcoat.

And there he was on the other side of the room, standing next to Sam.

Cas’s eyes found him as soon as he entered.

“You made it” Dean said, smiling.

“Hello, Dean.”

Sam looked between them both, mumbled something and left the room in a hurry.

Dean circled the table and leaned on one side.

“So? What did you dream of last night?” he said rising his eyebrows and crossing his arms.

Cas shook his head. “Nothing relevant.”

“Is that so?”

“Why? Did you find something?”

The look in his eyes was playful.

Dean bit back a laugh but didn’t respond.

“I think I will stick around for a while. If you’ll have me.” Cas said tilting his chin.

Dean’s heart made a somersault and his brain stopped working for a second. “Of course.” he finally managed to say.

Cas took a step towards him.

“At first, I thought it was normal to dream the things one is most familiar with or misses the most.”

Dean nodded, his mouth dry.

“But all I dreamt of was being here. So I figured that maybe I should have just let my wings take me where I really wanted to be.”

“Yeah, makes sense.”

“Does it bother you?” he asked, and Dean read in his eyes that the question meant more than it appeared. His thought went to all the feathers that he’d found in his room and the feathers that were still now on his bed. There was a lot more in that question.

Dean took a deep breath. “No. I- I want you to stay too.”

Cas beamed at him.

“Okay then.”

_

thank you for organizing this! @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21

[wonkasmissstarshine]

The Chocolate Prince and The Lovely Maiden {Willy Wonka x Rose Bucket AU}

Chapter 2

Once Upon A Time... The Chocolate Prince

Tagging: @holdmeicant @frozenhuntress67 @pastelmoonwitche @arinnasweetslove​

A/N: Some chapters may have Disney references, some may not. If you see them, tell me what reference it is you saw 😉

If there was definitely one mysterious figure that resided in Candania, it would be the kingdom’s very own prince. Prince Willy wasn’t one to make public appearances. He wasn’t one to frequent trips to Sweetstown. He sometimes barely even left his own room. Some subjects even doubted that King Wilbur’s son even existed.

Wilbur and Willy had a very estranged relationship. Barely would they even dine together, but when they did, no word or even a glance would be shared between the King and the Prince. 

Things haven’t been the same for the royal family since the Queen’s death. Wilbur was heartbroken at the loss of his wife. It was said that she was slain by a beast, but the guards who found her were skeptical. She had been slain, for sure, but they weren’t so sure that it was a beast who had done so.

Alas, they had no proof. 

The death of the Queen was only the first cataclysm in the rocky relationship between Wilbur and Willy. Wilbur was getting older, and that meant he would soon get to a point where he could no longer carry on his duties as King. He was hoping that his son would one day take over the throne.

But with Willy, it didn’t seem that it would be very likely.

He hated the idea of ruling over the entire kingdom. Everyone looking up to him. Just all that...all that...responsibility. 

And lately, his father had been prospecting the idea of marriage to him.

Marriage.

The gall of his father to suggest such a thing. 

It was bad enough that Willy was stuck in the position of a Prince, soon-to-be King, but to be stuck as a husband that wouldn’t even love his own wife? What was even the point of marriage? Why would anyone even want to be married?

Ugh, he’d never understand it.

King Wilbur had been requesting his son’s presence. He’d received a very important letter from one of the neighbouring kingdoms. The contents within the letter had to do with his son. Daniel, the head of the guard, searched all over for the Prince.

Willy was nowhere to be found. But, there was one place that Daniel figured the Prince might be. The castle itself was rather large which meant there were many rooms. There was everything from a library to the ballroom, the kitchen and the dining hall, and many, many bedrooms.

But for every known room, there were hidden nooks and crannies. There was one in particular that Willy liked to spend his time in. It was a room hidden beneath the castle the that Prince discovered when he was a young boy. He always went to his secret room when his father was becoming too much for him.

Willy liked this room---his sanctuary, his safe haven---because it was the one room his father didn’t know about. It was where he could be himself.

Daniel stood in front of the secret door that led to the Prince’s secret room. He knocked the secret knock. The door creaked open, and Daniel took a step inside. He made sure that it was closed tight, so that no one else would discover the door.

The Prince trusted Daniel with knowing about the secret room. He in no way wanted to betray that trust. Daniel was the only friend that the Prince truly had. Willy could confide in him.

“Prince, your father is requesting your presence” Daniel called out, still searching for the Prince. “Something about a letter”

“I’m sure whatever it is, my father can deal with it” Daniel jumped when Willy spoke from directly behind him. The Prince had a knack for sneaking up behind people. Willy held up a wooden spoon. A brown, creamy liquid was dripping from it. “Could you taste this for me?”

Daniel partook in Willy’s request and ate from the spoon. An exquisite taste met the taste buds on his tongue. “Your highness,” Daniel saw the way Willy looked at him, and corrected himself. The Prince was not a fan of the formal title. “Willy, this is marvelous”

Willy grinned, satisfied. “Thank you! That means I’ve finally found the right recipe”

Prince Willy had a secret passion for chocolate making. But if his father ever found out, he’d be furious. Willy often made secret visits down to Sweetstown to drop off a new batch of chocolate and candy to the town’s candy store.

Of course, no one knew he was the Prince whenever he went, because no one knows what the Prince actually looks like.

“Now, back to the matter at hand” Daniel said, getting back into business. Willy just rolled his eyes and went back over to his big pot of chocolate. “A letter has arrived today and your father wants to discuss the contents with you!”

“What could be so important about some stupid letter?” 

“Well, it pertains to you... and that situation” Daniel alluded, knowing Willy wouldn’t want to hear the actual word.

Willy’s jaw clenched. “Fine. I’ll be up shortly, but I’m not saying a word! He can do all the talking, and I’ll just listen. Barely”

Wilbur was pacing back and forth, reading the letter, while waiting for his son.The letter contained a written agreement for a marriage between his son, and the Princess of Champonia, Lady Scarlett Beauregarde. Wilbur wish he didn’t have to do this, but his son was leaving him no choice.

Willy had to get married before he’s crowned king and if he’s not going to pick a wife for himself, then Wilbur had to pick a wife for him.

If only Princess Briar was still alive. If only the kingdom of Blossom was still standing. 

Blossom and Candania both stood together as the two biggest kingdoms in all of the realms. King Wilbur and his wife were close to the King and Queen of Blossom, Florian and Marigold.

Willy was only ten when Princess Briar was born, but the two of them had been betrothed from that very moment. They were set to be wed on Briar’s eighteenth birthday. Willy couldn’t understand why he was engaged to a baby.

But, unfortunately, Briar wouldn’t even live to see a first birthday. Blossom was under attack by an unknown assailant. By the time help had arrived, the kingdom was nothing but smoke and ash. Strangely enough, no bodies were found. Not even Florian, Marigold, and Briar’s. But even if they did survive, they couldn’t be found anywhere. 

It was safer to presume they had been killed and their bodies had been taken. 

Now, thirty years later, a new wife has been chosen for the Prince. Princess Scarlett was apparently a high maintenance woman. She only wanted the best of the best and got everything she wanted. Apparently, she was also very arrogant. Thought she was better than everyone else because of her place in society.

Ideally, it wouldn’t have been Wilbur’s first choice for a bride for his son, but he was getting older. His son needed a wife, and she was the first to reply to the King’s request.

“What is it, father?” Wilbur turned around to see his son. Willy stood there, his jaw tight and his fists clenched by his sides. He just wanted to hear what his father had to say and leave. 

“Willy,” Wilbur started. The letter crinkled in his hand. “I have received this letter from the kingdom of Champonia. I have found you a wife. Her name is Scarlett and--”

Willy cut Wilbur off. “She is not going to be my wife! How many times do I have to say it? I’m never getting married!”

Wilbur seethed. “You will if you are going to be King someday”

“But I don’t want to!”

“You don’t get a choice on the matter!” Wilbur yelled so loud, his voice almost echoed throughout the entire castle. “I have spoken, son. Princess Scarlett will be coming in three weeks time. We will be hosting an engagement ball, then we will start planning the wedding”

And without another word, Wilbur turned on his heel and walked away. 

Willy was left standing in his spot, both angry and saddened by the news of his engagement. What had he done wrong in his life to be forced into marrying into a loveless marriage?

His father would say he loved him, but Willy doubted he did. If he did, he wouldn’t be forcing him into marriage. He doubted that his father even loved his own mother. 

There was no such thing as love.

Love was a fable. A fraud.

“I just don’t understand, Daniel” Willy vented to his closest friend. The both of them were out on the track, riding horses. It was an activity Willy did frequently to help clear his mind. Especially when it came to matters concerning his father. “I don’t understand why he can’t understand. This isn’t the life I want”

“I know this may not be what you want to hear, Prince” Daniel spoke. He was already regretting what he was about to say, knowing Willy would argue the idea. “But he just wants what’s best for you, because he lo--”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” Willy hissed, baring his perfect teeth. “Love!” He scoffed. “There is no such thing”

Daniel shifted on top of his horse. “Well, I wouldn’t say that...” He thought of the girl who worked in the bakery in Sweetstown. She was the reason he made frequent visits to the town. “There’s this girl. She’s the baker’s daughter. Boy, is she ever lovely”

Willy fell quiet. This whole topic had reminded him of dreams he was having. It was dreams of a girl he has never met before. Daniel noticed the Prince’s silence. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes” Willy nodded. “I’ve just been having... odd dreams lately”

“Odd?” Daniel tilted his head. “In what way?”

“They’re of this girl. I’ve never met here before but the dreams are incredibly vivid” Willy explained. Sure, he found the dreams strange, but he also found the girl’s presence in them comforting. “She has long blonde hair, and even though her face isn’t always clear, I can make out brown eyes”

“Is she pretty?”

Willy gave Daniel an incredulous look. “I hardly think it matters. She’s not real anyways”

“Why do you think your brain would conjure up an image of this woman?” Daniel was sure asking a lot of questions today. “Maybe you’re dreaming her up because deep down, just maybe, you do want to love someone, and you want someone to love you back”

Willy cringed. “Ew”

Daniel just rolled his eyes. He knew the Prince’s opinion on love and romance would never change.

But he hoped that this girl that Willy dreamed up is real and is somewhere out there. That maybe she could change Willy’s mind.

Maybe then the Prince wouldn’t feel so lonely anymore.

But, as fate would have it, Prince Willy would find himself escaping to the Grand Forest on the fateful day. And he would see her. Under the pretty pink leaves. Picking the fresh red cherries.

The girl he thought wasn’t real.

The girl from his dreams.

The one who would cure his loneliness.

The one who would make him believe in love.

[helaintoloki]

The Stars and You

pairing: Bucky Barnes (winter soldier) x reader

warnings: angst, mentions of death, the slightest bit of fluff

notes: this one is pretty length but I’m actually really proud of it considering i wrote it at three am haha nice.

summary: the widow of James Barnes and the mother of his only child, y/n does her best to pick up the pieces left behind in the wake of the war. but her quiet life is soon interrupted when a face from the past comes back from the dead to say hello

Tired eyes gaze lovingly upon the sleeping babe in the pink bassinet, soft snores leaving her tiny lips as she dreams of whatever her growing imagination is capable of conjuring. Your hand comes to gently caress the soft skin of your daughter’s cheek, and your heart aches with longing as you admire your baby. She looks so much like her father, the same nose and same sparkling blue eyes. Her hair was yours, her chin missing the dimple that his own once sported, but there was no denying that James Barnes was her dad.

You thought of James often; you wondered what it would be like if he hadn’t fallen from the train, if he had returned victorious and anxious to have you back in his arms again rather than a solemn Peggy Carter standing at your door with a military issued envelope in her hand and an apology from her trembling lips. She had lost someone too.

But while the world celebrated the end of the war, you found yourself and your daughter alone in the hospital room. James wouldn’t be coming home to you, nor would he ever be able to hold his own daughter in his arms. Rose would grow up without a father, would know loss all of her life, would mourn and miss a man she had never met, and would pay the price for Hydra’s sins. None of it was fair, but you took the cards life had given you with a head held high and a determined heart. It would have made him so proud.

“Goodnight, darling,” you coo softly as you press a featherlight kiss to Rosie’s forehead before flicking on her nightlight and quietly exiting the room. With your only company now tucked in for the night, you carry yourself to the living room on aching feet and a despondent heart. It was only seven after all, and you often liked to listen to your records over a cup of tea before bed.

The lights are off, a strange sight seeing as you had left them on before tucking Rosie in for the night. Ray Noble and His Orchestra echo eerily throughout your home and fill your ears with music and your heart with dread, for you hadn’t so much as touched your record player all evening. Someone is in the home.

Silently do you tip toe through the hallway and towards the living room, back pressed firmly against the walls and dainty hand clutching the kitchen knife you’d swiped along the way. Your brain is muddled with panic and it becomes more difficult with each passing second to remember the little things James had taught you if the need to defend yourself ever arose. His directions were scrambled and unclear in your mind as anxiety became the driver of your thoughts. The living room is in sight, and a shaky breath escapes you at the sight of the black silhouette listening to a song and sitting in a chair. Listening to James’s favorite song and sitting in James’s chair.

Midnight, where the stars and you.

Midnight and a rendezvous.

“I know you’re in there,” you anxiously call from the doorway, body pressed up against the wall beside it. “M-My husband will be home from work any minute now so you better go or else! I’ve already called the police.”

You are met with deafening silence, and the perspiration forming on your palms make it difficult for you to maintain a steady grip on your knife. You are on your own, but the intruder doesn’t have to know that. You hope to god they haven’t seen Rosie’s photo on top of the mantle or the gold star hanging above it.

The dark hallway is bathed with light as one of the lamps in the living room is flicked on, but you don’t dare peek your head inside. What if they have a gun? What if they’re pressed up against the other side of the wall, waiting for you to enter so they may attack. Rosie fusses in the distance and you know you must at least attempt to stop them before they hurt you both. Maybe if you scream loud enough the neighbors will hear...

You lunge forward expecting to see a masked robber or murderous prison escapee. Knife clutched tightly in your hand you ready yourself to attack but falter at the man before you. The man who still sits quietly in James’s chair. The man who is-

“James?” You whisper, voice thick with so many emotions that it constricts you from raising your voice any louder.

He looks different than the last time you had seen him when you had watched him kiss your pregnant belly and waved him goodbye. There was scruff along his once clean shaven face, his hair was in dire need of a haircut, and his china blue eyes that once danced with laughter and sparkled with love were now cold and hardened by something you could not name. And it wasn’t until then that you noticed the dull light glinting off of the shiny piece of metal he bore in place of an arm. This man was James Barnes, but he was not your James Barnes. No, this man was a stranger. An imposter.

“Y-You’re alive... They told me you were dead. Peggy said you fell off the train!” Emotion overcomes your rational thinking as the kitchen knife slips out of your grasp and onto the carpet. You step forward, pause with hesitance, then step forward again. “James, what happened to you?”

He says nothing to you, nor does he run forward to scoop you into his arms and kiss you feverishly like you had imagined he would so many times before. It’s as if he doesn’t know you or doesn’t care that you exist at all. You are a familiar face from an unfamiliar past, and he knows that he should not have come here. He doesn’t have the time to explain, doesn’t have the time to remember you enough for this all to mean something, doesn’t have time to pretend that he could have something normal again.

A baby’s shrieking cry forces both of you to jump in surprise, and dread pools in your stomach like hot lead. Though this man looks like James and perhaps is him too, you do not want him to see Rosie. Not like this. But when did women in the 40’s ever get what they wanted?

Her cries rouse him from his trance, and the man is on his feet in an instant. Trying to stop him is like trying to move a large boulder: impossible and pointless. If he wants to see her, he is going to see her.

“No, please,” you beg, tugging at his flesh hand (you’re afraid to touch his opposite) and digging your heels into the plush carpet beneath him. He only casts you an impatient glance, once that warns you to stop and demands you to comply. And you do. Reluctantly do you guide him towards the nursery, sit him in the rocking chair in the corner of the room, and hand him your fussing baby.

“Her name is Rose,” you utter softly in defeat, a stray tear falling silently down your cheek. “My baby. Our baby.”

His cold eyes gaze down upon the squabbling, red faced little creature in his arms. The soldier had never seen an infant before, especially not one that looked like him. She was beautiful, and though he was trained to detach from his emotions, he couldn’t deny the tug at his heart that came with the sound of her quiet sneeze.

“Won’t you say something?” You plead. “Anything!”

Still no response.

“What have you done with James? With Bucky? Who are you?” You demand, tone harsher now due to your desperation. No one had prepared you for such a reunion, no one had warned you that your love could come back from the dead, no one had warned you that you would be greeted with a shell of your husband in his place. What were you to do other than to be angry and desperate and afraid?

“Won’t you answer me?!”

“‘Your eyes... held a message tender.’”

“W-What?” You sniffle, heart aching at the sound of your husband’s gentle voice.

“‘I know all my whole life through, I’ll be remembering you.’” The words are jumbled and out of order, slow and unsure coming from his lips, but recognition hits you instantly.

“Midnight, the stars and you,” you recall with a tearful laugh. “It was our song.”

“Our song,” he repeats softly. Then, looking down at the baby now nestled soundly against his chest, “our baby.”

“Our baby,” you reply gently, a smile on your face despite the tears that now steadily fall down your cheeks.

“You... your name is y/n.”

“Y/N Barnes,” you agree. “Your wife.”

“My wife?” Bucky repeats back with evident surprise etched across his face. He looks at you then, the ghost of a smile painted across his lips. “Pretty wife.”

“Yes,” you laugh, dabbing gently at the tears under your eyes. “Pretty wife. Oh, James. I’ve waited so long for your return, and now you’re home.”

“Home,” the soldier repeats, and there is a dull ache that spreads throughout his body at the word. Home was wherever Hydra told him. This was not home. “I can’t stay.”

“W-What?” You ask stunned. “W-Why not? Of course you can. You’re home now. Rosie and I, you can’t leave us again.”

“Not safe,” Bucky murmurs, carefully handing Rose back to you before rising from the rocking chair.

“Of course it’s safe. I would never hurt you, Bucky. I-If you’re worried about someone finding out then I won’t tell. No one has to know. It can be our darling little secret,” you explain hastily, a trembling smile flashed his way as you try to hand Rosie back to him. He won’t accept her, and your heart beats with panic. He can’t leave, not yet, not when you just got him back.

“Bad men. You’re not safe.” He pushes past you and towards the doorway, towards the exit.

“I-I can call Peggy,” you say hastily. “Yes, Peggy will know what to do. Stay a minute and I’ll call Peggy!”

You’re in hysterics, the thought of losing your husband for a second time proving too much to bear on your already broken heart. Bucky stops you in your tracks, hands grasping firmly at your upper arms and blue eyes staring down at you. The frost has melted, and you are met with pleading eyes that desperately beg you to understand.

“No Peggy. No phone calls. You stay here,” Bucky insists gently. “They will find you if I stay.”

“Who?” You follow his gaze towards the bright red star on his shoulder, guilt filling your veins. “The bad men... they did this to you?”

“Yes,” Bucky affirms. “I have to go back or they will hurt pretty wife and baby.”

“But I just... I just got you back,” you snivel. “Isn’t there another way?”

His eyes themselves hold remorse and heartbreak. He can’t remember you, but he knows that he loves you. And your goodbye pains him more than any torture Hydra has ever put him through.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. Warm flesh and cool metal cup your cheeks as he leans down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. This is goodbye.

Salty tears run down your face as you begin to weep, and you observe through blurry vision as he repeats the action to your daughter.

“Will you ever come back?” You ask in the faintest of whispers, leaning into his touch as he raises a hand to cup your cheek and wipe your tears away.

“I will do my best.”

Hydra will find him again, and James will be forced back under the ice. Time will escape him, and by the time he is finally free it will be too late to find you again. Your home will be filled with strangers and you will be gone, a gravestone and a graying Rosie being the only remnants of your life.

But for now, Bucky leaves you with a kiss goodbye and a heart full of hope for the future. A hope that maybe someday you’ll see him again.

| tags: @bubbabarnes |

[dungeonsnconcepts]

One shot for use in the middle of a relatively mundane campaign

I have this idea to throw my DnD party into utter confusion by having them come across some serious eldrich horror (cthulhu mythos) in the middle of a high fantasy campaign that hasn't had any horror in it up to that point. This should hit around level 10, and last a couple levels till 12 or 13, but could easily be modified to be a few levels lower or higher.

Nightgaunts should have a pretty heavy role, and I'll attach an image of homebrew creature stats for them, or it will follow in another post. They have a vaguely human shape, but are thin, black, and faceless. Their skin is slick and rubbery. They sport a pair of inward-facing horns on their heads, a long barbed tail, and prehensile paws which are used to "tickle" their victims into submission--when they strike a player, they deal psychic damage, and cause a DC 8 wisdom saving throw or you are paralyzed for a round as you laugh. They can also fly using a set of membranous (nearly bat like) wings. They make no sound. I really want to run with that last line: even when they land on something, there is no noise, or if they are hit with a weapon, and no noise is made, or as their wings flap, nothing.

If anyone in the party wants to become a warlock, I'm going to give them a chance to become a warlock of the Great Old Ones (because GOO warlocks are awesome), as a result of this event - perhaps they find a brain tube which connects to them and reaches towards the GOO to mediate a contract with them, or maybe they find the GOO persue their dreams after the event.

I'd also like to make it into a sort of endurance test event, as there don't seem to be many of those in 5e. That means the creatures will often have maximized hit points, and minimized damage, so that they take a while (8 or more turns, ideally, rather than the 2 or 3 I usually see) to knock down, but only chip away at the players hit points.

Magical PCs will find that they are negatively affected by the mind altering ways of the GOOs, while physical characters find less so. Druids have the worst of it (followed by wizards and sorceror), Fighters resist it best (barbarians a close second). Clerics and paladins find themselves in a weird place, they are affected, not as bad as arcane classes, but their God seems to be reached as if through a barrier of oil or slime. This means that all players take 1d4 psychic damage per day (Fighters, paladins, barbarians, rangers, and non-arcane rogues have resistance, druids always take 3 or 4), preventing effective long rests from resetting their hit points (although long rests will still reset spells and hit dice, and they can use hit dice during these rests) while within the sphere of influence of the GOO.

This can be flavored as they feel severe unrest, and at the edge of their memory they know their dreams were awful. Whoever is the most effected in the party might wake up with a bloody nose, or having scratched at themselves in their sleep, and after a few days the worst affected find they have done things in their sleep- like conjuring illusions that persist after waking for 1d4 rounds or minutes (depends if they enter combat with it), or painting horrific images, or carving words on the walls.

As they approach town things start to get weirder and weirder. If they take this as a sign and attempt to leave, a mad-man will attack them on the road ranting about "what came out of the waters". If they still don't take the bait, eldrich horrors will escape from the town for the rest of the campaign (to tip them off that this is ongoing), and it will scale along with their level to be utterly horrifying when they get there (if they haven't dealt with this by the time they are level 16, Elder Ones might be in risk of breaking into our reality and wrecking it, if they flat ignore it until level 20 they might get the bad ending "and then the whole world went mad; you guys missed a quest marker somewhere").