#i think they had a claw thing made from sewing needles that they used to kill ppl idk

[bluuscreen]

redesigned an old creepypasta oc of mine. plus some doodles because i thought it’d be funny to ship him with jeff the killer [my personal headcanon version]

[justaticklishdeer]

Different Ways to Tickle

Voodoo tickles! Word count: just under 2k TW/CW: intense in spots, teases (a lil intense)

Ler!Rosie, Lee!Alastor

Alastor gathered up needles, threads, and sheets of felt and other fabrics. He stuffed it into a small bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He could do the doll at the Emporium of his dearest friend, Rosie. He opens the door and walks in, sitting down at a table and beginning to sew the doll together. He adds minor and major details – clothing, small buttons, little stitchwork here and there. Rosie was busy with clients for the time being, so Alastor wasn’t too worried about bothering her.

Rosie notices him with a smile. ‘Hello, darling!’ she says cheerfully, sitting down with him. He smiled up at her, humming softly in agreement when she asked to assist him. Rosie helps in holding fabric for him. She quietly helps in the making of the doll, conversation passed between the two overlords. Alastor would occasionally shift or have Rosie hold in a certain place–careful not to nick either of them with the needle. 

He finishes the stitchwork, admiring the voodoo doll he had made of himself. Shop was beginning to close up, and he quietly cleans up the mess from the dollmaking. He snaps his fingers, making the mess–except for his doll–vanish.

‘Simply a bit of boredom and creativity,’ he hums, scritching at the doll’s stomach, not expecting the awfully ticklish sensation transferred to his physical body. He jumps with surprise, nearly dropping the doll. She grins at him. “Alastor, dear..if you want–’

‘Nope, I-i don’t!’ Alastor stammers out, standing up with a grin. Anticipation flowing freely through his veins. His ears twitched and flicked as he smiled–well, genuinely. Rosie picked up the doll, examining it with an innocent look. ‘You know me, Alastor. Auntie Rosie can read you like a book. Despite you trying to hide it, I know what you want. You want me to tickle you, perhaps? Preferably through the doll is my guess if you had it oh so out in the open for me?’ she suggests, earning a squeak of surprise from the deer.

He nods shyly, and Rosie grins as she takes him by the hand. ‘Come along then, darling!’ 

She leads him to a guest room. ‘Lay down on the bed for me, alright?’ Rosie hums, waiting patiently as he hesitates before doing as told. He lays down as Rosie gives him gentle ear pets. He leans into it without realizing. She pulls away which earns a reluctant whine. ‘So, darling, would you like to know how this tickle session will go today?’

Alastor blinked helplessly. He knew she was good at verbally describing scenes, actions, and other things quite well. She never failed to have him a flustered mess of giggles and whines. Rosie grins down at him, knowing the helpless blinks were the only answer she would get. 

‘Good, then. So, how shall we begin?’ Rosie asks, picking up the doll which made Alastor squirm. She chuckles and croons, ‘Aww, is someone a jumpy fawn today? I haven’t even done anything, dearie! You’re already flinching away from the touches. Anyhow, let’s think this session up.’

She pauses for a moment, just holding the doll. Rosie smiles down at her eldritch deer friend, continuing, ‘So first, we should start with those ribs of yours. Us cannibals have a tendency to go right for those, so I think we could start there for a nice appetizer. Next, we’d slide down those sides of yours, nice and slow–’ A whimper from Alastor. ‘--then down to that adorable tummy of yours! Scribbling my nice claws all over that tummy, without even touching you. The doll will be our target, yet the feeling shall transfer to your physical body. Then, we could tickle those pretty ears of yours, and watch you writhe while you beg me to stop. Those feathery soft ears will be flicking around, and my little tickle fawn simply won’t know how to handle himself, now will he?’ Rosie croons, her voice right next to his ear. He was squirming and whining on the bed. She hadn’t even started. 

‘So, my dear. Are you ready?’ she asks, looking toward him with a loving gaze. 

After not even a moment of hesitation, Alastor nods. A clear sign of consent. She grins, fingers hovering over where the ribs would be on the doll. Alastor let out an airy giggle filled with anxiety and anticipation. Rosie gently runs her fingers up and down the dolls ribs, making Alastor whine and arch his back, his hands going to his ribcage. As if that would help at all.

‘R-Rohohosie–Rohohosie!’

‘Yes, sweetheart?’ she asks with the most innocent of glances, swallowing up the way he was snickering madly and wriggling around, trying his hardest to comprehend the feeling of being tickled without…being physically tickled. It was an odd feeling, that was for sure. He could feel the tickles, but nothing was touching him. 

The Radio Demon was snapped out of his wavering thoughts by a new sensation–Rosie had slid her nails down the doll’s side, making the deer jerk and giggle harder. ‘Oh, come on dear. You can laugh better than that! Turn that radio of yours up a few notches,’ she teases, continuing to tease at the doll’s sides. Alastor was curled up on the bed, giggling harder than he thought he could. 

‘Good boy! Oh, such a good boy! Look at you, taking this new approach so well!’

‘Roahahasie! Don’t tehease mehe!’ 

‘Why not, lovely? You seem to enjoy it. Look at that tail wagging,’ she croons, leaning down to nibble affectionately on his ear, sending another ticklish jolt down his spine. Rosie grins as she pulls back, stopping the tickling for just a moment. ‘Are you ready for me to move on to your ticklish, adorable little tummy?” she hums, a nearly sadistic growl to her tone of voice. He blinks helplessly. A yes.

‘Good, then.’

She grabs a feather. ‘You okay with this?’ she asks, looking over at her friend who nods and whines in giggly anticipation.

She uses the ‘quill’ end of the feather to draw shapes on the doll’s tummy, adoring the noises that came from Alastor. He snorted, whined, begged, laughed, all to try to get her to stop. She slowly traces around the doll’s stomach, loving the way Alastor couldn't seem to comprehend the feelings. 

He squirms and arches back as Rosie scratches on a particularly bad spot. ‘Ahahaha–R-Rohohsie! G-gehehentle! W-wahahait, no, thahahat might behehe wohohorse!’ She grins and gets very gentle, earning that wholesome array of squeaks and giggles she loved. Rosie reaches up on the doll to scratch between its sides and ribs, earning a fawnlike bleat. ‘Ahaha–! Rohohosie!’

She decided to move to a different spot, using her nails to slide up Alastor’s sides, underarms, his neck, and up to the feathery soft deer ears of his. Rosie gently traces up and down, earning wild snickers and squeaks. How could the most feared Overlord be so…adorable? It only took a few well placed scribbles or verbal teases and he’s a whining mess. 

‘Mmm! Ohoho–!” he snorts, his ears flicking against the ticklish sensation. There was no ‘good’ way to describe it. Despite being poetic in his language and personality, there wasn’t any way to describe what feeling he was experiencing. Fear, apprehension, comfort, excitement, giddiness…too many. Everything at once? No, no, focus– 

Alastor was jolted back to reality as the tickly sensation moved to his ribs again. He arched his back as Rosie tickled him through the doll, whining, “Rohohosie, oho gohod I cahahan’t–! I-I’ll d-dihie from–!” 

‘From what, sweetie? Me tickling the absolute life out of you? I don’t even have to touch you, darling! It’s simply a doll and some verbal teases, and that has you a whiny mess, dear.’

Rosie chuckles darkly as she slips her fingers under the doll’s clothing, scratching gently at its stomach. The deer lurches and squeals, laughter going silent for a second or two. ‘Rohohosie! Rosie! Nonono Rosie pleasepleaseplehehease–!’ 

‘Shhh, little tickle baby. You can handle it. Auntie Rosie knows your limits, and this isn’t nearly close enough to your breaking point. My little ticklish fawn, you can handle it. C’mon, sweetheart. You got this,” she encourages gently, continuing to scritch at that one spot. 

‘I-I’m nohohot soho sure about thahat, darlin’!’ 

‘"Tickle, tickle. Doesn't it just feel so good to giggle until you can't breathe? Oh, you must be loving every second of this, huh?" 

Alastor gasps for breath as she drags the feather down his sides, up his ribs. All through the stupid doll he just had to make. Rosie grins, continuing the torturous dragging of the quill end up and down. She moves to the hooves on the doll, earning a whine. The cannibal picks up the feather and Alastor lets out a giggly whine. “Darlin, I haven’t even touched your hooves, sweetie!’ she teases, her breath right up against Alastor’s ear. 

“I-I knowhow! But–th-the feeling-!’ Alastor gasps, his legs twitching. She was simply hovering her fingers above the doll’s hooves and his reaction was already becoming more frantic. She made a teasing tickle motion with her fingers and he whimpered. “R-Rohosie!’ he whined, trying to squirm away. Rosie has him lay back down. 

‘Hush, my little ticklish buck. I’m not even touching the precious doll yet! Such a powerless tickle doll in my hands, aren’t you? Yes you are!’ Rosie teases. Alastor gasps and squirms, trying to pull his hooves back. As if that would do anything for the deer demon.

The cannibal overlord finally reaches her fingers to his hooves, dragging up and down as slowly as she could. He gasps and squirms, actual tears starting to flow from the pure torture of the situation. Rosie smiles sadistically, scritching the feather up against a fluffy spot on his hoof. He shrieks and jerks back from the sensation, attempting to curl up. Rosie tsks softly, pushing him back down onto the bed gently. He whines with anticipation. She takes her hand off the doll for a moment. He looks up at her, all blissed out from the tickles. A loopy smile, wagging tail, and the slightest bit of drool coming out of his mouth. 

She smiles, reaching down to pet his ears. He smiles up at her, bleating happily like a fawn. 

‘So, darling, are you ready for a little more…gentler…tickles?’

A happy nod.

Rosie grins, fingers going to his tummy on the doll. ‘Such a good tickle toy for me, yes you are! What a good tickle fawn…’

She scribbles fingers over his tummy, earning a radio screech of feedback, then a loud laugh as he arches his back. Rosie continues the relentless pace, sliding up and down his tummy, sides, ribs–really anywhere she knew he was comfortable with and ticklish. He squeals and turns on his side as she twirls a claw around his navel on the doll. Both hands go to protect his stomach from the intangible forces. She keeps going at his navel, slowly dragging her claws around it. He started to cry from pure ticklish bliss–and probably partly overstimulation–and silently laughed.

Rosie stops at the sound of his safeword being cried out between laughs and tears. She sets the doll aside, and stands up to go grab him water.

Alastor sits up, residual titters escaping still. He gladly accepts the water from his friend. ‘You did such a nice job for me, sweetheart.’ 

He nods, drinking the water slowly.

‘Th-thahank you…for that.’

‘Anytime, sweetheart.’

She lets him cuddle up to her, giving him gentle ear scritches to help him calm down. He sighs softly, comfying up to her quietly. Rosie watches as he drifts off, and as soon as she’s sure he’s asleep, she settles down as well. 

One thought went through her head before she drifted off: Such a sweet Overlord. 

[norbezjones]

More @juneofdoom ! This is Day 24: "Let’s get you cleaned up." I did incorporate some of of the keywords (stitches & bandages).

Takes place: before Romance The Backrooms occurs

Contains: injured & bleeding Kalcal, scene where Zenobos has to stitch up the wound

Other things to know: this story takes place in the backrooms. Before Kalcal & Zenobos met the other 3 main characters (Glarence, Adiel, & Uri), the two of them were traveling together.  I wrote a story about how they met and started doing that here.

___________

“Ahahahaha!” Kalcal exclaimed, dancing next to the body of the hound he had slain.  “Another victory for me!”

“Um, K-Kalcal?” Zenobos stammered from behind him.  “You’re bleeding. . .”

Kalcal frowned, looking at his arms and trying to find the injury.  Sure enough, there was a gash on his shoulder, and cyan-colored blood was pouring out of it.  Had the hound scratched him with its claws?  He hadn’t even noticed.

Zenobos was turning pale, and he took off his backpack.  “I-I have medical supplies,” he told Kalcal.  “B-But I can’t stand the sight of b-blood. . . You’ll have to tend to the wound yourself, o-ok?”

“Okey-doke!” Kalcal said with a shrug.

Zenobos sat down on the floor, and Kalcal went next to him.  Zenobos took a few items out of his bag: a needle, thick thread, wet wipes, and wrap-around bandages.  “Here, use these to sew up the wound and tend to it,” Zenobos said, holding the items out but looking away as much as possible.

“Thanks, buddy!” Kalcal exclaimed, taking the items.  “I’ve never sewn up my own flesh before—this is gonna be fun!”

Zenobos put a hand over his mouth, looking sick.  “D-Don’t say that. . . I feel like I’m going to puke.”

“Oh, sorry buddy,” Kalcal said.  “I’ll just focus on this then, ok?”

Zenobos nodded.  “Y-Yeah."

Kalcal threaded the needle and looked down at his shoulder.  He tried to get a good angle, but soon found a problem.  “Hey Z,” he said, “I kinda can’t see what I’m doing here. . .”

Zenobos gulped.  “A-Are you asking me to do it then?”

“If that’s ok.  Sorry, I just don’t want to mess this up.”

Zenobos sighed and swallowed hard.  After a moment of silence, he said, “O-Ok then.  Give me the needle.”

Kalcal did so.  Zenobos turned to look at the wound, bringing his hands over to the gash.  “I-I’m going to start now, ok?” he said, trying not to get sick.

“Yep!” Kalcal replied.

Zenobos swallowed hard, and then, he brought the needle into Kalcal’s skin.  Kalcal screamed, and Zenobos winced—hold on, wait a minute.  Was that a scream, or a laugh?

“Are you ok?” he asked Kalcal.

“I’m fine, it just tickles!” Kalcal exclaimed, laughing again.  “Go ahead.”

Zenobos sighed and turned back to the wound.  Trying not to think too hard about the gruesome task before him, he started stitching up the wound.

Kalcal’s laughter throughout the process actually made it easier, not harder.  It made Zenobos pretend to himself that he was doing something fun & innocent, something nice. . . He could dream at least.

It was over faster than he expected, thankfully.  He soon found himself cutting the thread, cleaning the wound, and wrapping it.  “Phew,” Zenobos said, letting out a sigh of relief.  “I-I’m glad that’s done with. . .”

“Thanks, buddy!” Kalcal exclaimed, giving Zenobos a great big hug, startling the scared little entity.  “You’re the best!”

Zenobos smiled and patted Kalcal’s arm.  “N-No worries.”

Kalcal let him go and asked, “How’d you know how to do that, anyways?”

The question brought back a flood of memories.  There was a lot Zenobos could say in that moment, but he simply responded, “A human I met taught me.”

“A human, huh?” Kalcal echoed, grinning.  “That’s nice!”

Zenobos nodded, then changed the subject.  “Let’s stay here for a while,” he said.  “After a fight like that, you need rest.”

Kalcal nodded.  “Whatever you say, doc!”

[vianthegryphonart]

I don’t normally do horror themes, and I don’t think my art style really suits it, but I’ve really been enjoying @hootbon's Freakshow!AU, and I wanted to try my hand at putting Grif into it. I actually had been struggling trying to figure out how I wanted Grif to look normally, and took a break from it to sketch an idea for this AU. I ended up loving the sketch that became the full-body image here, and then I worked backwards from it to make the regular Grif design. 

There’s more info about Freakshow!Grif under the cut. As well as a little sketch of him interacting with Freakshow!Gangle.

-Instead of a plush, he’s based on the fake taxidermy that freakshows would sometimes display, claiming that they were mythical creatures. 

  -Compared to his normal form, this Grif is made up of more parts, the front half of his body, the back half, the tail, his forearms and his head all being separate. And unlike how his normal form is fairly uniform over all his parts, each of Freakshow!Grif’s parts are different with things like fur length, fur texture, and the shades of grey varying. Other differences are as follows:

Instead of furred forelegs and cat-like forepaws, this Grif has scaled bird legs and talons.

The claws on Grif’s front feet are now actual claws, curved and sharp, and he also has them on his back feet too.

His beak isn’t plush and is instead a hard material with a serrated edge.

He also has teeth inside his beak. These teeth are almost like a second jaw, he can bite down with them while still keeping his beak open. The teeth themselves are needle sharp and slightly recurved.

Instead of embroidered eyes, he now has glass taxidermy eyes, with black sclera and pupils that are always elliptical.

-He doesn’t have much damage to his body because generally if something attacks him it will tear him apart by breaking the stitches holding him together, rather than by making new holes in him. He does have a notch in his left ear though.

-Grif is often used in shows where they need a wild animal. Sometimes that could mean acting like a circus big cat, balancing on objects, leaping through hoops of fire, that sort of thing. But it could also mean being a danger for others to face, for instance I could imagine someone having to walk a tightrope with Grif prowling underneath ready to maul them if they fall, maybe even him jumping up to snap at their feet.

-He used to only do the bare minimum in shows, not really feeling motivated to do them, and generally just not wanting to bother. Caine punished Grif for this by having his wings torn off. After all, if Grif was going to be lazy and not use them properly, he didn’t deserve to have them. Grif puts as much effort as he can into his performances now. He still does the bare minimum when he isn’t in front of the audience, though.

-When not performing, Grif is generally very chill. He prefers to lounge around and not do much. Grif doesn’t really socialize with anyone, he’s not one for conversation, but he also doesn’t like being on his own, and will often just flop down near where other people are and watch or listen to whatever they’re doing. Outside of performances, Grif isn’t particularly aggressive, however he will defend himself if someone tries to hurt him or annoys him too much.

-Grif despises being restrained, and anything that makes it hard for him to move normally will put him into a panic-induced rage. He will fight tooth and nail to free himself, even if that means injuring himself to escape, he absolutely would chew his own foot off to escape from a bear trap. He will also lash out at anyone that gets close to him, even if they are trying to help him, everyone is a threat to him when he's trapped.

-Relationship with other cast members: 

Likes Ragatha (she sometimes helps sew him up when his stitches get broken). 

Neutral with Gangle, Zooble, Kinger, Pomni, and Kaufmo. 

Dislikes Jax and AIngle (since I think both would have tried to mess with him by restraining/trapping him at least a couple of times).

Hates Caine (for obvious reasons).

-And here’s a little sketch I did of Gangle and Grif fighting after Grif accidentally broke AIngle’s mask. Grif is not going to win this fight, it’s fairly easy to tear him apart, but he won’t go down without a fight. Gangle will probably be nursing a shredded ribbon or two afterwards.

[faydingrain]

Clovis Maclain

“That’s probably a good stopping place~” Lottie leaned down to put out her flame with a quick puff.

Meanwhile, her older brother was seething. “Why didn’t you tell me that happened?”

“Well I didn’t expect all that to happen~”

He grit his teeth. “Those assholes…I’m gonna—”

“Kill them?” Lottie finished, ‘ufufu’-ing. “I think it’s a bit late for that~”

“Wait,” Kai interrupted. “Did you find them, or…?”

“Nope! I called their families and none of them had made it home. Rather unfortunate, isn’t it?”

“You’re way too calm about it…” Enzo commented.

“Well, nothing I can do but hope they died quickly~”

An uncomfortable silence rocked the room.

“Aaaaanyways,” Ayan announced, “how about we move on?”

“Okay!” Lottie agreed. “Your turn to scare, Clovis~”

“...Thanks…”

***

Perhaps raging in a junkyard isn’t the smartest thing to do with one’s free time. However, under the pressure his father kept building on his shoulders, he wasn’t sure how else to cope with his situation. Counseling wasn’t exactly a viable option for him, and texting his crush could only do so much.

His chest rapidly rose and fell, knuckles flared around the battered baseball bat. Shattered glass, crushed aluminum, and dented steel could only do so much.

There were no more screams left in his lungs today. His playlist still rampaged through his earbuds, but his isolated therapy had come to an end. So, taking a deep breath to settle his heartbeat, his feet began dragging him off, distracting his mind through useless meandering.

The bat made a firm “thunk” as it was discarded off somewhere. Then, the boy shoved his hands in his pockets and searched for a song more in tune with his current mood. Roaming about the undesired remnants of humanity as one of their own—despair, fury, mixed together with a hell of a lot of teenage angst.

It was an odd, void-like darkness that ripped him from his brooding. Junk was stacked all around this opening, as if it had been here for some time, despite him knowing that it hadn’t.

He put away the buds and stepped closer. It truly was empty, devoid of sound, image, sensation. But when he stuck a hand to verify his reality, he found it bleeding through, as if the blackness was swallowing him.

Still in the midst of his angst session, he sighed. Fuck it. Can’t be any worse than this shithole, right?

And in he went.

As if submerged in ink, he pushed through an odd force deluging the space. There was nothing but the emptiness for quite some time until long threads of string hanging over him came into view. First, it was a couple. Then, more and more threads appeared, weaving around each other with no apparent purpose. They didn’t exactly seem like spider silk, but more like…actual thread, for use with textiles.

The whimsy of spiraling threads was quickly dampened upon Clovis spotting several men bound by the same thread, with blood pouring from their sewed eyes, and agonized moans rumbling through their sewed lips.

“Oh, how did a little boy get in here?”

He turned. A young woman in a witch hat and plenty of ribbons was dangling from her web of string, legs tangled among the fine hairs. An unsettlingly peaceful grin was plastered on her face.

“Ah, you’ve seen. That’s no good.”

Suddenly, his wrists were seized by string, and his body arched in such a way he couldn’t resist without injury. He cried out as he struggled in attempt, though.

“I can’t kill you, but I can’t let you leave after this.” The witch woman nimbly uncurled from her threads, then maneuvered between the rest to come face-to-face with her intruder. A claw-like apparatus made of long sewing needles was attached to the back of one hand, and she used the fine points to gently stroke his skin. “What should I do?”

Any and all protest was caught in Clovis’s throat.

“...I know!” The cold needles ghosted his lips. “I’ll simply silence you.”

He hardly had time to struggle before a prepped needle was summoned in her hand and thrust into his skin. The pain elicited a sharp scream, but that only aggravated further pain. The thread being pulled through his lips made his skin crawl, and he cried out once again as he felt the needle pierce back through.

All the while, the woman was eerily calm, almost seeming to enjoy the actions she was taking. She may or may not have begun humming to herself as she continued. Or maybe she was speaking to him in a sing-song voice. He was too focused on the pain to really notice.

Up and down, in and out the needle went, making crying out in protest more and more futile, trapping him in a hell of vital obedience. His face was wet and the skin around his lips burned with stinging pain.

“Well now,” the woman spoke as she threaded the opposite end of his mouth, “we’re not going to tell anyone about this, are we?”

When he didn’t respond, she ripped the thread upwards, causing the strings to crush the skin it laced together. Frantic moans hammered at the inside of his lips, but he managed to nod despite the sensation.

“Oh reaaally?”

She pulled tighter. Somehow, he found it within him to nod again despite the added resistance to the thread with the motion.

“Good.” She released the tension, assumedly with her magic, and watched as he sighed in relief. “Good little boys keep their mouths sewn shut, or I’ll sew it shut for you~”

Tying off the end, she then released his bindings, stepping back as he collapsed to the floor.

“Is this where you came from?” She pointed, though not waiting for an answer. “Well, off you go, then!”

He wasn’t sure if he believed it was a dream when he awoke alone in the junkyard. The black portal was gone, but the pain in his face rang clear.

His hands trembled as he felt the merciless string binding his lips shut, silencing any calls he could make for help.

Scaretober 2023

Brisk Wind on a Dark Trail

Midnight Moon

Gargoyle's Watch

Cold Stones in the Fog

Spirits Rising

Haunted House

Witching Hour

Bubbling Cauldron

Candy

Eyes

Spider Silk

Feathers

Tail

Scales

Fangs or Talons

An Offering of Blood

Dark Ritual

Spook Scary Skeletons

Carnivàle Morte

Still-Beating Heart

Sharpened Blade

Mask

Looming Shadows

The Devil's Hand

Monster

Reflection in the Mirror

Rusted Chains

Stitches

Precious Jewels

Incantation

Halloween

Epilogue

[biggest-stupidhead]

So I was wondering if I could request something like Levi x reader where they get into an argument right before a expedition. The reader gets hurt on that expedition and Levi feels guilty. Kinda thinking angst and a bit of fluff at the end c:

I loved writing this sm! thanks for sending it in anon!

Summary: You grapple with Levi before a stressful mission.

Word Count: 2.3K

__

"Behave yourselves and enjoy this 'cause it cost the corps two months worth of our budget!" The chef announced as plates of meat were uncovered in front of the soldiers. Your mouth watered as you watched Hange slice the thick slabs of meat on the platter.

"Worth every penny." She hummed as she slapped a piece onto her plate. Levi rolled his eyes and looked up at Erwin, who was sat across from him. You elbowed him and shot him a dazzling grin.

"Lighten up cap, it's not often that we get to enjoy this stuff."

"It'll likely be the last for most." Levi grunted and your grin fell from your lips.

"So macabre." Hange snickered as she gnawed on a piece of meat.

"It's the truth." Levi's cold eyes were locked on Erwin who nodded in agreement.

"Well I plan on savoring it." You quipped, popping a piece into your mouth and chewing it dramatically. Levi scoffed and crossed his arms, ignoring his full plate.

"-Sasha! That's my hand!" Jean cried out, you had to cover your mouth in a futile attempt at hiding your amusement. Sasha had her teeth sank into his hand as Connie desperately tried to pry her from Jean.

"Sasha! Don't make me knock you out!" Connie pleaded as he caught her in a choke hold.

"Damn kids." Levi growled, as he glared at the teens from across the room.

"They're having fun! You should try it sometime." Hange kicked Levi under the table and you chuckled around another mouthful of food.

"I'm good." Levi's lip curled in disgust as Sasha was wrestled to the ground, the two boys finally subduing her.

"They're young, let them figure it out themselves." You assured him, gently resting a hand on his elbow. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second at this. Your touch was fleeting before your hand fell onto the bench between the two of you. He sighed loudly, finally grabbing his fork and picking at his potatoes.

The atmosphere was warm and made you feel so...whole. Even if you knew that Levi was right, tonight was likely the last time you and your comrades would dine together. But even if that was the case, you would be grateful for this happy memory. The peace was short lived however. Jean and Eren broke out into a fist fight, a rather pitiful one at that.

Within a few short minutes, the two were a sweaty mess, both huffing and staggering as they held their fists up. Levi got to his feet and stalked towards them, a deep scowl etched on his face.

With only two blows, the pair was on the floor, clutching their stomachs as Levi towered over them.

"Go to bed." He ordered. Jean vomited and Levi's lip curled in disgust.

"And clean that shit up." He added curtly as the dining hall murmured, recovering from the excitement. Sasha whimpered from her post as she struggled against her binds, feet kicking loudly against the wooden floors. As the soldiers filed out of the room, you made your way to her to free her. She sighed in relief as the gag was pulled off her mouth and the ropes slashed.

"Thanks miss." She gushed as she rolled her tense wrists.

"Don't mention it." You smiled as you reached into your pocket and passed her a loaf of bread.

"Did I mention how much I love you?" She grinned as she accepted the food and dove in for a hug.

"Actually, I don't think that you have." You giggled as she began eating the bread behind your shoulder as she hugged you.

"mf, well I sure do!" She exclaimed around a full mouth.

"You'd better go catch up with the others." You suggested with a firm pat on her back. She stood and jogged out of the dining hall, half eaten loaf in hand.

"You're too soft with them." Levi scolded from the doorway. You waved him off as you joined him, walking side by side out of the large room.

"They need it." You assured him, gently brushing your shoulder against his.

"The last thing they need is to be coddled." Levi argued.

"Levi, I think that sometimes you forget that they're fifteen." You paused outside of his office, leaning against the threshold as he unlocked the door.

"I haven't forgotten." He mumbled as he pushed the door open.

"Okay." You rolled your eyes, brushing off his especially sour mood.

"Don't you have formation plans to look over?" He asked as you followed him into his office.

"I thought we could go over them together." You shrugged, dropping down onto his couch.

"I'm not looking at them now."

"Then why should I be? Do you think I can't comprehend a simply formation we've used for years?" You were half teasing, but there was only so much crap you could take from him.

"Sometimes it seems that way." He agreed, falling into his desk chair. Your eyes narrowed and the food that had felt so good in your stomach moments before seemed too heavy.

"Why are you extra shitty tonight?" You asked even though you knew the answer. He always got moody the days leading up to missions.

"I think you know why." He looked up from his papers to shoot you a pointed glare.

"You need a nap." You attempted to rein in the easy banter, but Levi was persistent.

"I need you to get the fuck out of my office." His words stung, and you barely caught the hurt expression before it crossed your face.

"I'll see you in the morning." You said as you stalked across the small room and out of the door, closing it softly behind you. Levi groaned once he was sure you wouldn't hear him, his head hit his desk hard as he tried to fight off the migraine that had been creeping up on him since dinner.

__

As promised, the next morning he saw you. Or rather, he caught glimpses of you as you readied your horse and helped the younger soldiers make last minute preparations. The day ahead was going to be long and taxing. Mostly comprised of traveling out of the safety of the walls. Erwin had allowed for just enough time for the scouts to travel, timing it just so their departure from the gates would be well after sunset.

His morning was shittier than usual, Hange had been annoying, and Erwin had been stubborn as ever, continuing to dismiss his lack of an arm and insisting on joining the corps on the mission. So when you didn't brush up against him and crack one of your shit jokes during the long ride, he knew that he had royally fucked things up.

He still hadn't spoken to you when the lifts hoisted the scouts over the wall and into titan territory, or when the lanterns were the only light that guided them through thick trees.

When the first rays of sunlight fell onto the abandoned city of shiganshina, you stood stoically beside Hange and Moblit. He had missed his window, now it was time to focus on the mission. He could only hope that both himself and you survived.

__

As the morning wore on and the battle turned from bad to worse, you knew that chances of survival became slimmer. The only thing you could do was trust in Hange, Erwin and Armin to form a plan to defeat the Reiner and the beast titan. The colossal had yet to show his face, making you more uneasy. The small victory of bringing down Reiner was short lived as a barrel flew over the wall and the sounds of distance explosions echoed through the walls.

"Bertolt is in there!" Armin screamed as you watched the barrel fly overhead.

"What do we do!?" Connie cried as you flew through the rooftops.

"If he transforms, there will be nothing we can do!" Armin yelled over the wind. Eren's titan jogged ahead as you made your way towards the center of town.

"We have to do something!" You yelled, desperate for a solution. Luckily he didn't immediately transform, instead rushing to Reiner's side and addressing him first.

"I'm going to regroup with Hange!" You said, as Bertolt zipped towards you.

"Hurry!" Jean yelled after you as you flew away, pouring on the speed.

You reached Hange's team to find them struggling with some dysfunctional thunder spears.

"(Y/n)! I'm glad you made it! Was that Bertolt inside of there?" Moblit asked as you landed heavily on the tiled rooftop.

"Yeah, it's him. We don't have long before he transforms. We've got to get back to the kids!" You informed them and they all leapt off of the rooftop, rushing back in the direction that you had come from. You only made it about half way there before a blinding mushroom cloud and a clap of thunder overpowered your senses. Hange reached out for you, snagging your wrist. Moblit pushed the two of you down and you screamed as the blast took him in a blinding light. You and Hange fell down a well, a mess of limbs and tangled gear. You couldn't tell if it was your blood or hers as the two of you laid motionless in the shallow well.

"Hange!" Your ears rang as you shook her desperately. Her face was covered in blood, you could tell that her eye was missing already. You began clawing through your pockets in search of gauze, the taste of iron made you want to gag. With shaky hands, you wrapped her head, covering her exposed eye socket. She woke moments later, hands shooting out to grab you.

"Your face." She groaned, hand falling to rest on your chin as she slowly sat up.

"What's wrong with-" You froze mid sentence when you realized that was why you tasted blood. She dug into her own pocket and produced a needle and some suture. She sewed the large gash, which ran from the apple of your cheek to the corner of your mouth.

"We need to check for survivors." Hange grunted as she bit off the remaining suture, you nodded in agreement.

__

As you stood on the rooftop staring at the two lifeless bodies, you knew immediately who had to be chosen. Hange clutched Mikasa to her chest as the girl cried, tears running off her pale cheeks.

"Levi." You whimpered, his bloodied face turned, eyes wild and tortured.

"Get back, I'm giving the serum to Erwin." He ordered. Floch hauled Eren away from Armin, who's charred skin smoked in the late afternoon sun.

"You can't." You cried, tears stinging the wound on your cheek.

"I will." Levi growled.

"Now leave!" He pulled the syringe out of the case and filled it with the opaque liquid and your chest squeezed painfully.

"But-" Jean's hand closed tightly around your bicep as he began pulling you towards the edge of the roof.

"Let's go." Jean's voice was strangled, and you realized that all of you felt this loss deeply. He needed you to be an adult here, needed some reassurance. So you leaned into him and allowed him to pull you off of the roof, wrapped securely in his arms. As you hugged him and Connie a few rooftops away, the sound of a titan crashing through buildings made you look up. Levi landed near you, head hung low and empty syringe in hand.

The thin beast shoved the screaming boy down its gullet and you gasped when you saw its face. You knew it was Armin, and you felt ashamed at the surge of relief that flowed through you.

__

The sun beat down on your shoulders as you sat beside Sasha on the wall. Levi and Hange had gone with Mikasa and Eren about an hour ago, leaving you in charge of the remaining kids.

"Here they come!" Connie called, pointing excitedly at the group as they used the last of their gas to scale the wall. Levi didn't bother joining the group, instead favoring to walk in the opposite direction. You rushed after him, legs pumping as you ran across the wall. You snagged his wrist and tugged on it gently.

"Levi." You had no words, only able to form his name in a raspy voice.

"I should have chosen Erwin." He said numbly, too weak to even try pulling free of your grasp.

"It's over. We reclaimed Maria. You made a hard choice, I can't say it was the right one but.." Your words failed you as he turned to face you. You had never seen him look so hopeless, lips glued into a frown and eyes searching for validation.

"You did what had to be done." You assured him as you took a step closer, the tips of your boots touching his.

"Did I?" His brows knitted together as your hand slipped into his.

"Yes. You did, you gave us a chance." You slowly leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him. You were surprised when he melted into you, his body pressed close, breath tickling the skin behind your ear. Your hands gripped the harness on his back in an attempt to ground the two of you. He sighed and breathed you in, his own hands coming to rest at the small of your back.

"We'll figure this out." You said into his neck, lips brushing the skin there unintentionally.

"I'm glad....that you survived." He said into your messy hair, which was falling from it's hold. His hand slid from the small of your back to rest between your shoulder blades.

"Me too." You let out a small laugh half sob, allowing a few more tears to slide down your cheeks.

"Let's address those shitty kids." He said as he pulled back, and you nodded, giving him a watery smile as the two of you fell into a matched pace once more.

[yourtamaki]

the wanderer’s lodestone

dabi x f!reader

word count: 3.6k

warnings: violence, detail of injury, murder, morally grey reader, dry humping, mutual masturbation, oral (m receiving), angst ending

if there was one thing dabi has learned over the years, it was that people always fell in one of two categories. there were those who would meet his gaze and those who avoided it. he’s not sure which is worse. the brave ones and their wide eyes, always staring at his marred skin with such sick fascination it made his palms itch in the worst way. or the spineless bastards whose eyes stayed glued to the ground when he walked past only to gawk at him like a sideshow freak when they thought he wasn’t looking.

two sides of the same judgemental coin, all part of the same corrupt society that preaches love until someone doesn’t fit their mold. it was getting harder to differentiate between them and at some point he stopped trying all together. what did it matter if he couldn’t remember how it felt to be regarded like a human being? he didn’t need to be human to carry out his vengeance, he only needed to be alive. 

that changed when he met you. 

it wasn’t his cleanest break-in but he couldn’t care less, too busy focused on not passing out from blood loss. it was shit luck that the alley he had chosen to rest in was part of a new hero’s patrol route. the kid was clearly scared out of his mind when he realized dabi wasn’t just another thug on the streets, his pale face illuminated in the night by blue flame. it was a shame, for a rookie the kid had talent with his dagger quirk, being able to throw and call them back at will, even change their trajectory midair. he could’ve made it far in the ranks. 

dabi wondered if they’d bury him with his daggers, scorched bones and all. 

it wasn’t his problem anymore. all he cared about was finding something clean to wrap the nasty cut on his abdomen. there was no special reason he chose your bedroom window to climb through. it was the first apartment with a fire escape he stumbled upon just far enough away from the ashes of the pro hero that he wouldn’t have to worry about being followed. your dim window was the first he reached and it didn’t take much effort to jam a knife between the glass and the lock to force it open. he thought the place might be empty for the night when he stepped inside and heard no signs of life. he got to work tearing the bedsheets in long strips and was nearly done when you walked in. 

there were people who met his gaze and there were people who avoided it. you were neither. 

you saw him. 

even in near darkness, your eyes found his and didn’t flinch at the monster that stared back. the room stayed silent as you seized each other up save the drops of blood that slipped past where he held his wound shut and splattered on the floor. 

“could you not rip my sheets up?” 

your voice was enough to startle him from his initial shock, twirling the knife once before going back to cutting up the fabric. “i need them more than you do. i’ll be gone in a minute, scream and i’ll kill you.” 

you scoffed but didn't reply, walking across the room and flipping the light on in a bathroom he hadn’t seen earlier. a wave of irritation washed over him as he watched you rummage through drawers. who would turn their back to someone who broke into their home? did you have no self preservation? 

you walked back, tossing several things onto the bed before making your way back deeper into the apartment. “close the window on your way out.” 

and with that you’re gone. a part of him wanted to chase you, to tie up the loose end but the memory of your eyes kept him frozen in place. the thought of those same eyes looking at him with fear made his gut twist and he didn’t understand why. he grabbed whatever you tossed at him, the few strips he’d managed to make and left the way he came. it’s not until he’s found an empty alley to rest in did he inspect the items. ace bandages, an entire bottle of hydrogen peroxide, fish wire and a sewing needle. 

your kindness tasted like pity and acid. he couldn’t convince himself to spit it out even as it burned a hole straight through his tongue. 

dabi hated you and he etched that hatred into his skin, stitch by painful stitch. hated you for reminding him that he had yet to purge the weakness from his soul. the same weakness that forced him to walk past your apartment over the next few weeks. it was stupid to stick around in the city for so long, especially after killing that hero. he told himself it was to make sure you’d upped your security since he’d tumbled into your home but it sounded the excuse rang hollow with no one to hear the lie. 

it became such a mindless part of his routine it took him a moment to realize one night that your window had been shattered open. his throat tightened almost painfully, your eyes flashed in his mind and he was flying up the fire escape a moment later. 

a lean figure was pulling open drawers when the sound of dabi stepping on broken glass made him whip around. it’s a pain, not being able to turn the man into fuel for his ever hungry flames but he didn’t think you’d appreciate him saving your house just to burn it down. 

the man’s movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, taking desperate swings that left him wide open for dabi to sneak under his defences. he’d just managed to grapple the intruder into a chokehold when the bedroom door creaked open and both men’s attention snapped to you. 

“you done yet?” you asked and dabi had to force himself to speak under the full weight of your gaze.

“were you here the whole time?” you nodded, acting far too casual for his liking. “why the fuck didn’t call the cops or something?” 

“i figured you’d show up.” you cocked your head at the incredulous look he threw you. “what, you thought i didn’t notice you coming around all the time?” 

he clicked his teeth in annoyance. “well, what do you want to do with him then, sweetheart?” 

it was a test and it was clear you knew it, glancing down at the intruder that had started weakly clawing at his arm. dabi would kill the man regardless of what you said but your answer would speak volumes on where you stood in this society rotted by false gods. 

“i don’t care what you do, just dump the body far from here.” you didn’t blink once as you sentenced the man to death, didn’t blink as dabi shifted his hold and the echo of a snapped neck rang out in the room. you held steady and a begrudging respect rose up in him.

he heaved the man over his shoulder, being mindful to keep the head hidden from your line of sight. you’d already passed his test, there was no need for you to see it any longer then he’d already made you. he just had to know if you were putting on a front or not. if you were, it would’ve been all the more likely for you to put in a tip about a certain villain that lurked around your neighbourhood. 

but instead you had held his gaze, didn’t look at him any differently and dabi didn’t want to know why he felt so relieved for it. 

he honoured your request, carrying the body through back alleys and shadows to the very edge of the city. his thoughts wandered, as they always seemed to where you’re considered, wondering how soon he could see you again while he watched the flames climb high into the night sky. 

“a tarp? seriously?” he’d lasted two full nights before his feet led him back to your fire escape and the brand new thick tarp that covered the missing window. you were in bed this time, reading a book the title of which he couldn’t make out with the dim light from your bedside lamp, not even bothering to look his way as he made himself comfortable on the window sill. 

“shitty landlord is taking his sweet time replacing the glass so yeah. tarp.” 

“you should move. i hear there’s a lot of break-ins going on around here.” he didn’t like how much your huff of laughter to his poor attempt at humour felt like a reward. 

“not all of us can afford to live in the hero sectors, you know?” 

the venom in your voice when you mentioned the hero sector caught him off guard. they’re one of the more subtle forms of corruption present in all cities with a hero presence. living in the hero sectors ensures one’s total safety from any threat. from robberies to natural disasters, a hero’s priority is focused on the rich who can afford the protection. no hero will ever admit to it, though. on paper, the sectors don’t exist. and yet the heroes flock to the same handful of neighbourhoods the moment a threat occurs. another underhand tactic to keep the poor in their place and the rich comfortable. 

you’ve become that much more interesting in his eyes.

“so, you here to bleed all over my sheets again or what?” 

dabi scoffed, “no, but i was hoping you could take these stitches out and we’ll call it even for saving your ass.” he could rip them out himself but where was the fun in that?

“yeah right. who saved who first?” despite your grumbling you waved dabi over, gesturing for him to sit on the bed while you went off to grab supplies from the bathroom. 

he expected you to pull up a chair once you returned but instead you placed a hand on his chest and pushed him onto his back. it took all his concentration not to flinch when you straddled him, your hand trailing under his shirt, fingertips grazing his burnt flesh as you pulled his shirt up, bundling the material and forcing it into his mouth. 

“you might wanna bite down on that, i’m all out of painkillers.” 

there was a gentleness in how you cut the stitches from his body, how you took care to dab an alcohol soaked cotton pad over each one. it made his chest go tight, unable to recall ever being this close to someone and not walking away with new scars. 

dabi found himself lulled into a trance by the rhythm of your hands, a trance that shattered as your fingertips strayed from the path of the cut, following the rows upon rows of staples that held him together instead. he watched your face closely, waiting for the disgust and horror to swim to the surface but your eyes kept the steadiness they always seemed to have. 

“does it hurt?” you whispered. 

he wanted to tell you that it didn’t hurt, not in the way you thought it did. that the nerves beneath his burnt and darkened flesh had died long ago and he couldn’t even feel the patterns you were now tracing on his stomach. it’s the unblemished skin that hurts, that always hurts. the parts of him that still cling to life. 

the human brain processes pain differently than any other stimulation it feels. pain never dulls, never vanishes no matter how long it lasts. every waking moment, his own mind tortures him with fresh waves of pain and never lets him forget the countless staples that pierce his flesh and tear him open everytime he moves. 

there’s so much he could tell you but the words refused to come out, burning up in his throat and leaving him choking on the ash. 

you didn’t push when no answer came, prying his shirt from his clenched teeth and pulling it back into place. “you’re good to go, stranger.” 

his hands that had been clenched by his sides twitched when you started to move away from him and judging by the tilt of your head, it didn’t escape your notice. you settled back over him and this time he couldn’t stop his hands from gripping onto your waist, trying to stop you from shifting.

“stop that.” he said through gritted teeth.

you gave another roll of your hips and smirked when his fingers dug deeper into your sides, “stop what?”

“you’re a fucking menace, you know that?”

“yeah. but you like it.”

he hated that you were right. but he’d be damned if he gave you the satisfaction of seeing him lose it from a little grinding. he used his hold on you to push you back slightly, spreading his legs even further until you were straddling his thigh instead. syrupy smugness filled his veins seeing you flustered for the first time since he’s met you.

“go on, don’t get shy on me now.” you were quick to shake off any reservations, growling at his teasing tone and grinding down on his thigh with a desperation that sent a thrill down his spine. “just like that, make yourself feel good.”

he couldn’t wrap his head around how right this felt. there should have been a moment of hesitation from either of you as you walked hand in hand over a line you’d have no way of crossing back over but instead you melted into each other, all his senses heightened and flooded with you, you, you. 

he was so focused on memorizing every minute expression that crossed your face he didn’t realize you were asking for help until you moved his hands from your waist to your ass. he was more than happy to take over, setting a brutal pace that had you crying out, bunching his shirt up in your fists to try to stay grounded.

“c’mon baby, let go.”

you cum with a strangled cry and he can feel every pulse and clench of your cunt through the layers that separated you. your whole body shook in his arms as he helped you ride out your high before you collapsed on top of him, your head buried in the crook of his neck. he let your hands wander up and down his sides but grabbed hold of your wrists when they started to make their way between his legs.

he was about to tell you to forget about it, to not worry about the ache that sat heavy and hard in his jeans but the pout on your face when you looked up made him freeze. 

“can i?” you asked, so close your warm breath fanned his face.

“you don’t- i didn’t…” he didn’t want you to think that this is all he’d wanted from you, that this wasn’t why he was compelled to return to you over and over. you seemed to understand his silent struggle, gracing him with a small smile. 

“i know. i want to.” any hesitation vanished at the challenging look you gave him while you freed his cock from its restraints. you held your palm out to him and dabi spat into it, never breaking eye contact as you do the same and wrapped your hand around him, coating his length in the mixture of you. you took as much care touching him as you did cutting his stitches, careful and sure with each stroke, sweeping a thumb over his sensitive tip to gather the precum that leaked like a faucet. 

as you worked his cock, he grabbed your leg that had fallen between his and pulled it up until your thighs were spread over his own. he couldn’t help the low groan that escaped him when he slid a hand into pants and past your panties and felt just how wet you were, sinking two fingers inside you just to hear you whine from the stretch. 

it wasn’t the best angle but dabi made it work, crooking his fingers and letting his rough palm slap against your clit with each thrust. when your eyes started to roll back into your head, he used his free hand to grab the back of your neck, pressing your forehead to his and making sure your vision was filled with nothing but him. 

“keep your eyes on me, don’t fucking close ‘em.” your mouth fell open as you nod, somehow keeping your pace steady even as he felt your walls fluttered around him. “show me that pretty face you make when you cum, sweetheart, i wanna see it again.” 

“‘m cumming ‘m cumming oh fuck- ! ” you gasped as your orgasm hit you. he moaned right alongside you as you squeezed just underneath his blunt tip in a sudden death grip, the pain-laced pleasure was almost enough to push him over the edge. 

you dropped to your knees quickly as you felt his cock twitch in your hand, popping the head into your mouth and rolling his heavy balls in your hand. the sudden sensation of your wet, hot tongue pressing at his slit had him shooting rope after rope of cum down your throat and his head spun when you swallowed every drop and showed him your empty mouth. 

dabi pounced, tackling you to the ground, cradling your head before it could hit the floor and crashing his lips onto yours so hard he already knew he’d have to give a gruff apology when they ended up bruised. he chased the bitter taste of himself that lingered on your tongue and shivered when your tongue ran across his scarred bottom lip and you didn’t recoil at what you felt. frantic, rough kisses melted away into a lazy make out that banished all but one thought from his mind. 

he could get used to this. he wanted to get used to this. 

“hey,” your voice pulled him back down to earth, something soft glimmering behind your eyes and dabi didn’t want to look away until he figured out what it was. “i wanna show you something.”

you wiggled out from beneath him, making your way to the window and pushing the heavy tarp out of the way before stepping onto the fire escape. 

following you up the winding stairs felt natural, like he was born to witness the small smile you threw over your shoulder to make sure he was keeping up. 

the view at the top was underwhelming. too many buildings pressed too close together, all the exact same height as the one you two stood on stretching as far as the eye could see to create the most painfully ordinary view he’d ever seen. but it was quiet. the roar of the streets below couldn’t be heard at all and dabi hadn’t realized how loud it all was until deafening silence took its place. and it was cold. cold enough that he couldn’t tell if the ache in his lungs was from the freezing air or the hazy memory of white hair that floated through his mind.

it was the closest thing to peace he could remember feeling in years. 

“you like it?” you were watching him closely, hopping from foot to foot and he didn’t know what possessed you to come out wearing only your flimsy sleepwear. you seemed proud of the little hidden treasure you found and something stirred in his chest thinking about how you chose to share it with him. 

“‘s nice.” he said, reaching out to cover both your hands in his and using just enough of his ever burning flame to warm you both. he found himself waiting once more for the sudden twist of revulsion in your features, for you to jerk away from his touch but you sighed in contentment as heat seeped back into your fingertips. you brought his hands up to your face, making him cup your cold cheeks and closing your eyes to savour the warmth. 

it was as you nuzzled into his palm that dabi realized exactly how dangerous you were to each other. undeserved kindness and crooked smiles and sharing secrets. he hadn’t earned any of these things and yet you handed them to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

and he’ll take them. because that was the nature of the fire he had been cursed with. it takes and takes and takes and you’ll be left with nothing to show for it but the grey ash of your generous heart. and in return you’d lull him with the false belief that he is more than the hatred that flows through his veins, that there was still a person buried under the mountain of rage he carried inside him. he doesn’t think he could survive without it but you would make him believe that he could. 

he’d destroy you. you’d ruin him. 

this, whatever this was that was growing between you was doomed to end before it had even started. he should leave you on this rooftop, leave the whole damn city and forget whatever you had tried to awaken in him. but dabi could never resist the call of destruction, would always want to know exactly how hot and how bright things could burn. what did love look like when it’s been bathed in flames? 

dabi pulled you closer, determined to find out.

dedicated to: @saintdabi​

[wherethewordsare]

Because you said it so wonderfully and i crave more, please my love give me more of this 🥺

”Jaskier saying that people weren't made to be alone and Geralt shooting back something about barely being human anymore”

Pretty please

As always, thanks @kuripon for the beta reading and edits TT~TT

You Gently Gift it to Me: Geralt hated Jaskier. That was to say he hated how easily Jaskier reached for him, how he did not flinch away when Geralt grew close to him or how casually he would touch Geralt’s shoulder, his arm, even his hand. It made Geralt recoil into himself, his skin growing tight and hot where Jaskier’s hands landed, felt even through the layers of armor. 

But most of all, Geralt hated how much he craved every single one of those things and how desperately he wanted to push into every touch like it was a lifeline to a drowning man. 

He was grateful that Jaskier seemed to understand when the touch was simply too much, never rolling over in the dark to press against Geralt and retreating if Geralt scowled. Though he always scowled, he just assumed there was something particular Jaskier had picked up on. And he never pushed, he never took or invaded beyond that. 

Part of Geralt wished he would, wished that Jaskier could hear the way his blood screamed under his skin while they sat around the fire and the world seemed too small and too large until Jaskier would press his shoulder easily into Geralt’s and the tension in his body would melt ever so slowly. 

The worst of it though was the too tender look in Jaskier’s eyes when Geralt returned from a hunt, battered and bleeding, as if Jaskier himself had been inflicted with the wounds. Geralt wouldn’t let him tend to the wounds, no matter how he hovered or how he fussed or how much he needed those same gentle hands on the parts of him that felt like were breaking into pieces. 

This time had been a particularly spectacular fuck up on his part. The cockatrice had a mate apparently and they were smart enough to flank him. He had taken down one while the other sank it’s razor sharp claws into his shoulder and arm. He could barely move it after that but he, by some miracle, still managed to slay the other beast. 

Looking down he knew that it was too much blood dripping out of his armor. He had survived worse, but this wasn’t good. Stitching it up was going to be another matter altogether. 

When he finally stumbled back into camp, it had taken Jaskier exactly three seconds before realizing what was happening and jumping up to rush the witcher. 

“Sit down, darling, come on, right there…” He was nearly frantic, his eyes never settling on one particular part of Geralt as he took in the damage. Geralt could only sit and let the bard ramble at him. 

Then he couldn’t. Jaskier was on his knees between Geralt’s thighs, leaning in, deft fingers undoing the buckles of his armor with a kind of familiarity Geralt couldn’t begin to understand. The aching tiredness in his bones warred with his need to escape those bright blue eyes that seemed to pin him in place. 

Instead of pulling away, mostly because he could barely move, Geralt schooled his face into the look that usually made Jaskier retreat. The air smelled of fear and blood and salt. When those same eyes met his, they were shining wet and Jaskier was blinking rapidly. 

“No, Geralt. Not this time. If I don’t help, you’ll bleed out,” Jaskier said firmly. Geralt’s armor fell away, catching only for a moment against the bulk of his good shoulder and then those hands were on him, tugging away the remains of his ruined shirt. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled in warning. Only when fingers, steady and warm, grazed against his sides did he pull away, remembering himself. Remembering the things he was allowed. Gentleness had never been on that list. He simply couldn’t afford it. 

“No, you’ll never reach this one where it is. Just let me help you,” his voice broke and that smell of salt seemed to flood against Geralt’s tongue, hot and bitter and bright. 

Still he flinched away, his hand coming up to protect his wound from Jaskier’s prying eyes and prying fingers. He looked away from where Jaskier hovered too close, too warm, and too kind. He felt the tension of it behind his eyes, in his fingertips; the need to reach out and hold screaming in his sore muscles and torn skin. 

“I’ve done this alone plenty of times, Jaskier. This time isn’t any different,” he said flatly, tugging the small medical kit of theirs from the bard’s hands. “I don’t need you to do it.” It felt like a lie, one that hollowed him out and rang in his chest. He needed. 

Jaskier didn’t move from where he sat, his head tilting to catch Geralt’s eyes. “People weren’t made to be alone, Geralt,” he whispered. Slowly, hesitantly, his hands covered Geralt’s on the kit, not pulling it back but waiting. “You don’t have to be alone. When was the last time you let someone care for you?” 

He felt sick and his head swam. He knew his hands would never be steady enough to hold the needle and thread, but still he could not relent so easily. 

“I’m not a person,” he snarled, pulling so far back he nearly tipped off of the log completely. “I’m a mutant, Jaskier. I haven’t been a human longer than you’ve been alive.” He tried to roll his shoulders but winced as more blood seeped from the gashes left there. 

“That’s a load of shit, Geralt of Rivia, and I don’t care what your ridiculous pride says.” Jaskier’s voice shook but his hands were still steady, not pulling away for once. It was too easy to give in and hand over the pack.

Geralt turned his face away as he relented, unable to watch as those same hands slowly cleaned his wounds, dosed him with potion and poultice and sewed his tattered body back together. He bit down on his inner cheek to stop the stifle the small noises that seemed to bubble up in his throat every time Jaskier brushed away the gore or carefully pressed into his skin. 

While he sewed, his free hand rested on Geralt’s shoulder blade, more as a way to soothe than to move the process along. Geralt could hear him humming softly, a tune that was all at once familiar and unknown to him, as though he had heard it dozens of times in a dream.

He wanted to ask about it. He wanted to lean into the warmth of Jaskier’s body and rest while his body healed. 

He wanted to pull away and retreat into the dense woods around them and not come out again until he had had a chance to figure a way to discourage the bard from following him. It only took a moment to consider turning around on the path and not seeing Jaskier there for that thought to be banished nearly instantly. 

For his part, Jaskier did not flinch away when growled at, did not stammer or falter when Geralt winced and tensed. All he did was continue his litany of soft words and half remembered melodies while his hands never once left Geralt for a moment. 

When he was finished, he wiped Geralt’s skin again with what could pass as a reasonably clean cloth before helping him, albeit unnecessarily, to his bedroll. He let himself be maneuvered carefully into the furs, a waterskin pressed into his hand with a gentle nudge to drink. It dawned on him with frightening clarity that Jaskier wanted to do this for him. His chest ached with the want of it. 

“When was the last time you let someone care for you?” He had asked with that look in his eyes that made Geralt feel too seen, too exposed. He tried to think of an answer that didn’t make him sound pathetic and alone in this world but that answer simply didn’t exist. No one cared for witchers, no one had to. They were built to exist without the need of compassion. 

No one except Jaskier, who now pulled his own bedroll close to his but did not lay down. Instead sat up, his hand hovering unsure. Geralt swallowed, his throat tight. Slowly, he lifted his good hand and wrapped his fingers around Jaskier’s wrist, pulling it towards his head. For a moment he let it hover there, unsure, until Jaskier leaned down slightly.

“Geralt, I won’t…” He licked his lips and took a shaky breath. “Only if you want, but know I’m not going to tell you no and I would never-”

“I know.” It sounded harsh even in his own ears so he tried again. “I know and I want you to.” Geralt closed his eyes as he brought Jaskier’s hand down the rest of the way. 

Slender fingers slid into his hair and blunt nails dragged gently across his scalp making his whole body tingle. It felt like heaven and he groaned as everything else faded away. 

Above him Jaskier began to hum softly again, that tune he still couldn’t place. He cracked an eye open and turned slightly, making Jaskier’s fingers drag over his forehead and down to his cheek where he let them rest lightly. 

“That’s not one of your usual songs,” Geralt murmured. He felt nearly boneless under the attention of those fingers. For a moment he wanted to drag the bard down into the bedroll to feel the weight of him against his chest but that would be asking for too much. 

“I didn’t realize I was humming it. It’s not mine, you’re right,” Jaskier smiled, humming through a few more bars. “My gran used to sing it to me and my sisters. I sometimes hum it when you’re tossing and turning.” In the dying firelight, his cheeks flushed. “I won’t anymore if you don’t-”

“No, please,” Geralt turned again, pressing his cheek into Jaskier’s palm. “Please. I-” he huffed. “It’s nice.” He felt his insides quake as Jaskier shifted ever so closer, his hand sliding easily back into Geralt’s hair. 

He made no move to press in after that and Geralt was immensely grateful and also deeply disappointed. 

He could see himself easily trusting those hands that had pulled him back together, even when they couldn’t see the wounds they darned back together. As he drifted into sleep, Geralt thought that maybe in the morning, he’d like to still feel what it was like to be cared for.

[hellerism]

(Regarding your jewelry post earlier) in secret good supernatural demon dean gets an ear piercing and dean gets it redone after Michael lets it close

im sorry this took so long to answer but i was inspired and ended up writing 1.2k about deans bodily autonomy as related to his earrings

---

Jimmy Novak had once described angel possession as like being chained to a comet.

With all due respect to Jimmy, Dean disagreed.

Maybe it had been like that with Castiel, who—incredible as he was—had only been a regular angel at that point. But being possessed by Michael, first and most powerful of the archangels, the leader of the Host of Heaven, was like being at the center of a perpetual supernova. Dean was exhausted from the strain, weary down to his bones. Deeper than that, even; his very atoms burned with exhaustion.

Worse than that, though, was the way he’d been trapped in his own body. Michael had kept Dean as a prisoner in his own mind, filling out his limbs with a strange presence, dressing him in clothes he hated, torturing with Dean’s hands. Killing with Dean’s hands. He’d thrashed against Michael in his head, clawed at his prison until his metaphorical fingers bled, but he was powerless against him. All he could do was watch.

Now, even with Michael gone, Dean still felt the ghost of his grace running through him, angry and burning and utterly wrong, nothing like the gentle warmth of Cas’ grace he felt whenever Cas healed him.

He stood at the mirror in the bunker’s bathroom. He’d taken a long shower and changed into familiar clothes, but the feeling of Michael still lingered. He examined his appearance in the mirror, ran his finger over the tiny scars on his earlobes where Michael had let his earring holes close. Earrings were, apparently, not Michael’s style; one of the first things he’d done after he escaped that church with Dean’s body was yank them out and throw them away.

It was a tiny thing, really, in the scheme of things, but right now, looking at his bare ears, something in his chest curled inward.

See, he’d wanted earrings growing up, wanted to look like the pretty boys in the magazines scattered around motel lobbies. But John, of course, would allow no such thing. As he got older, Dean reasoned to himself that earrings would just get in the way of hunting. Some monster would rip them out during a fight, and then he’d have to deal with injured ears on top of everything else. So he told himself.

When he’d been turned into a demon, on the other hand, free of those pesky human inhibitions, he’d walked into the nearest tattoo parlor the day after Crowley whisked him away from the bunker and left an hour later with his ears pierced. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple black stud in either ear.

Months later, when he was back in the bunker and once again human, after he’d shaved his face and trimmed his hair and started to feel like himself again, he couldn’t bring himself to take out the earrings. When was the last time he’d done something like this for himself? He liked how he looked with them in. They looked good. He looked good. Throwing them away would be a waste of a perfectly good pair of earrings, anyway. Honestly, it just made sense to keep them in.

The next morning, he’d walked into the kitchen to find Sam and Cas at the table eating breakfast. Well, Sam was eating, at least; Cas was absorbed in some book Dean didn’t recognize. They both looked up as he walked in.

“Morning. I made pancakes,” Sam said, gesturing to the platter in the middle of the table. “You feeling okay?”

“Never better,” Dean said. He almost hoped that Sam wouldn’t mention the earrings and just let him get his pancakes in peace, but then Sam’s eyes flicked to his ears.

“Those are new. You keeping them?” There was no judgment in his voice, just genuine curiosity.

Still, Dean had flooded with self-consciousness, struggling not to think of John. His hand went to his ear, his finger playing with the backing. “I mean. I don’t hate ‘em. Just seemed easier to leave ‘em in. For now.”

“They look good,” Sam assured him, and gave him a little smile, then returned to his pancakes.

Dean grabbed a plate and slid into the seat next to Cas at the table, piling pancakes onto it. As he reached for the syrup, he caught Cas staring at him.

“What?” Dean asked after a few seconds, his face growing hot, but neither of them looked away.

“Piercings suit you,” Cas had said finally, and then returned to his book.

Dean had flushed red to the tips of his ears. He finally turned away to see Sam smirking, and he had to resist the urge to tell him to shut up, grateful at least that neither of them were making a big deal of it.

So it became a normal thing, Dean wearing earrings. He bought a few different pairs of studs over the years—a gold set, a silver one, ones inlaid with tiny blue gems, but mostly he stuck to the black ones.

He loved how he looked in them. He loved the compliments he got, from both men and women. And every day that he wore them, the voice of his father in his head, the source of his shame, grew smaller and quieter.

But Michael hadn’t cared about that. Michael cared about how useful he could be as his vessel, as his sword. The Michael Sword.

Dean couldn’t stand his reflection anymore. He stormed out of the bathroom and down the hall to his room and rummaged around until he found his first aid kit, a brand-new sewing needle, and a lighter. He yanked open his nightstand drawer and paused as he looked over his few pairs of earrings. His favorites—the first pair of black studs—were long gone, thanks to Michael. So instead, he settled on a pair of small gold hoops that Claire had given him last Christmas.

She’d tried to pass it off like it was no big deal, tossing him the wrapped package and muttering something about how he couldn’t keep wearing those lame studs forever, but Dean invented that move. He knew what it had meant to her to give him something, and he treasured the earrings for that. Still, he hadn’t worn them yet. Hoops were less practical than studs; with his luck, they were bound to snag on something during a hunt, and he didn’t want to risk losing them.

But caution be damned. He was going to do this for himself. The monsters would simply have to work around him this time.

Back in the bathroom, he flicked open his lighter and held the needle over the flame to sterilize it, then wiped it clean with rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit. It occurred vaguely to him that he might want to go to a professional for this, like the first time, but he couldn’t wait that long. Besides, he could do this. He’d seen movies.

He braced his ear with an unused bar of soap, took a deep breath, and stuck the needle through his earlobe, wincing slightly at the pinch. He removed it and quickly stuck in one gold hoop, then repeated the process on the other side.

It was done in less than two minutes. Dean studied his reflection in the mirror and poked gently at the hoops, and for the first time since Michael had inexplicably left him, a real smile spread over his face.

It felt right. He looked right. He looked like Dean again. He could still feel the remnants of Michael’s grace in his veins, but it was Dean’s body. He was taking it back again, starting with a pair of gold hoop earrings.

[cosplayinamerica]

Cosplay Repair by Rocket Props

My name is Jacob LaRocca.  I am an electro-mechanical engineer, who has always been a scifi, fantasy, video game, and comic nerd.  I played with legos and k'nex my whole life, and that translated into a bit of a niche medium in middle school -- Duct Tape.  I'm not talking about duct tape wallets, or things like that.  I'm talking about prop swords, axes, weapons, and larger models.  It only grew from there. 

All through college, I found myself commissioned to make props and models, mostly swords and hand prop replicas from movies and video games.  I attended my first New York Comicon in 2012, and IMMEDIATELY was hooked.  I attended a number of conventions, and started to interview prop and costume YouTubers for a podcast at the time.

This is really where my passion started to grow.  I found some people in my area who also loved cosplay, and we started hanging out and making together.

My first Dragon Con was where the itch to repair costumes hit me.   I was still only starting to develop my own skills in cosplay, and had only brought one costume.   After wearing the costume for a few days (and through the parade)  there were a number of reasons why I  didn't want to keep wearing it. 

I realized that I had brought nearly ALL of my supplies with me as I hadn't finished it before I arrived, so I went to the pharmacy, bought a huge piece of cardboard, some markers, and a few things I didn't have with me and started repairing costumes.  I've attached a picture of the sign. 

The response was overwhelmingly positive, and I got to meet SO many incredible people and cosplayers, as that year, the con didn't have a booth for repairs.  I absolutely loved getting to see people's costumes up close, and as a cosplayer myself, It made me so happy to be able to help people fix the unexpected problems they weren't prepared to, and let them show off all the hard work and passion they put in! 

I think the most fun part so far, is trying to figure out how to fix things with whatever is on hand.  Its a fun and interesting problem, and rather than carrying EVERYTHING possible, I've narrowed down my tool set to basically be able to fix 95% of the problems I encounter.  

This Zoidberg Jesus by @KevinClose is still one of my FAVORITE stories to tell.  I fixed a few of the parts of his costume over the course of this Dragoncon because I vividly remember fixing his claw, and hearing this very Zoidberg-like noise as he slurped the built up condensation out of the glove that had been spirit gummed to his face.  It was so gross and hilarious, I could barely fix his claw. Cosplay has brought so much to my life.  I am a people person, and always have been, so the aspect of community is a huge part of it.  I love seeing people passionate about something, and I love helping them express that passion.  I currently teach classes in foam fabrication, and am constantly 3D printing something for the myself of someone else.  

For the most part, the cosplay community is incredibly welcoming to any and all.  I think the biggest thing cosplay has brought to my life is a little bit of focus on where to spend my boundless creative energy that a day job doesn't necessarily let me use.  

Cosplay can literally involve any amount of fabrication techniques, power tools, hand tools, and more.  It has given me the excuse to expand my toolset and knowledge to use every single tool in the 40k square foot makerspace I am a member of.  

Mostly, I feed of others' passion, so when someone is passionate about cosplay or character, or a character in a movie has clearly been designed with passion and skill, I immediately feed off that passion and can create something myself using that energy.   Eventually, I hope to turn Rocket Props into a full time job, educating, creating, and making things that inspire people.

I am open for commissions, both for 3D modeling and fabrication.

Find out more http://www.rocket-props.com/

Total Repairs since 2015 Cosplay Repairs: 2500 + Record in One Convention: 372 over 4 Days (SDCC 2017) Bottles of SuperGlue Used : 21 Bottles of Accelerant Used : 3 Sticks of Hot Glue Used : 100+ Bobby  Pins: 300+ Safety Pins: 2000+ Shoes Repaired : 30+ Sewing Repairs : 500+ Duct Tape Rolls Used: 10+ Gaff Tape Rolls Used: 10+ Zip Ties Used : 500+

You can see the full list of tools I carry on my website, but I would say you can fix the majority of problems with the following.

Medium Viscosity Superglue Superglue Accelerant Hot Glue Gun (Batter Powered or Lighter) Black Gaff Tape Heavy Duty Duct Tape Bobby Pins Safety Pins Wig Tape (Useful for all SORTS of things) Sewing Kit with Straight and Curved Needles Leather Awl with Waxed Nylon Thread

BONUS: Bamboo Skewers

[rainbowvamp]

Choices made, Roads Taken

babe wake up new princess bride au chapter just dropped.

Full text beneath the cut. Warnings for talk of marriage as a necessary step in a woman's life, fear of homelessness, and I don't think anything else but I've written 20k since I last edited this, so if there's anything else let me know and I'll add it.

5k for the red team weekly prompt ""In life you always have a choice. Sometimes it's easier to think that you don't."

Relationships: Mergwen (platonic), and Gwen & Elyan (siblings)

Elyan tells Gwen that she has to be married by Summer's End because he's selling the forge to pursue vengeance on their father. Gwen doesn't particularly want to be married to some man she doesn't love. Enter Elyan's friend Merlin.

At least she doesn't have to get married.

---

She is 17 when Elyan tells her she has to be married soon. They have been barely scraping by for 2 years, but they have been making it. There’s no reason that Gwen can think of that anything should change, that Gwen should move on. Elyan has shown no signs of taking a wife, and who would take care of him when she was gone?

When she asks this question, he doesn’t answer, face stoney and set against emotion. She has a terrible clawing feeling that she knows what will happen once she is married.

He starts making inquiries around the village. Plenty of men are interested, but in secret, Elyan always asks Gwen “yes or no,” always gives her the choice. She refuses to be married to a man who will not treat her kindly, or is too old or too young, and eventually she runs out of men in nearby villages to marry, and Elyan loses his patience with her.

“There has to be someone, Guinevere. Someone! I can’t search the five Kingdoms for your husband, and your time is running short. You must be married by the end of the summer.”

It is already middle spring. Gwen’s blood is audible in her ears as it rushes through her, carrying the heart sinking knowledge with it.

“What have you done, Elyan?” She whispers it, afraid to say it any louder than she must.

Elyan won’t look at her, finds anything else to set his eyes on while he thinks up an excuse. “I just think you’re getting old.”

It’s a cruel thing to say, and he knows it, but his voice is distracted, and his eyes shift from place to place, never quite settling while he speaks. He lies, and she knows it.

“Again. The truth this time.”

When she sets her hands on her hips like that, it reminds him of their mother, and it makes him feel contrite. She knows this, because he told her once, as a joke, and she’s used it against him ever since.

“I’ve sold the forge. The new tenant will take the house and the forge come Autumn. You have to have somewhere to go by then. A husband will take care of you.”

“And what about you?” She glared at him, biting her cheek to stop herself from yelling. “What are you going to do? Unless you’re courting some woman I don’t know about?”

Elyan’s eyes settle at their feet, hands behind his back, childlike, caught completely in his lie.

“I’ve been studying.” Elyan said, but his eyes never left their feet. “I’m going to travel, learn more.”

“To what end?” She asked, and Elyan still did not look at her.

“I cannot tell you.” Finally his eyes meet hers, and Gwen had this terrible, sneaking suspcion that she dared not speak.

“You’ll get yourself killed.” She said instead, and Elyan’s shoulders squared.

“And if I do, I’ll know you’re taken care of. You choose a husband by midsummer, so you can be married before autumn, or I choose one for you.”

Gwen sets her jaw and fists the fabric of her skirt to keep her nails from digging into her palm, drawing blood as they seem to do so often these days.

“If you force me to marry someone I do not care for, I will hate you forever.”

Elyan looks away from her and grabs this leather forge gloves. “Maybe. But you will be cared for. That much I will assure.”

Elyan leaves, goes to the forge for the day, and Gwen is left with the day’s chores and the laundry of two other families to attend to. She starts with the laundry, because she needs to have it back by tomorrow morning. The chores can wait. They often do. The house is nowhere near as clean and tidy as it was when father was alive, but they are making it, and making it is as much as she ever hopes for anymore. She loves her brother, but if he marries her off, she will never forgive him.

—

She says no to three more men before Elyan comes home from the forge one day with a dark haired man who must be older than her by a significant amount. He looks 25, at least, but Gwen doesn’t look at him much. She hopes that if he thinks she’s rude, he’ll lose interest.

“Guinevere,” Elyan rarely uses her full name to introduce her, but he is trying to sell her off like a prize pig, so it only makes sense that he would use it now. “This is Merlin Emrys. He’s a merchant, and a physician, passing through town. He’ll be having supper with us tonight.”

It goes without saying that he’ll stay the night as well. She and Elyan have shared their parents bed numerous times to give lodging to a traveler. It’s easy money, good money, but Gwen is tired from washing all day, and angry besides because Elyan had chewed her out for not choosing a husband again that morning and she was still miffed about it.

“I’ll set an extra plate,” Is all that she says to her brother, taking more vegetables from her stock to cut up and add to the stew she’d just put on. It would stretch a little longer with the vegetables, but wouldn’t be as filling. She could’ve added more of the dried meat, or even baked a quick bread, but she was trying specifically not to impress this man who was traveling alone and hadn’t mentioned a wife yet. While Merlin and Elyan talked, Gwen got out the guest linens and made the cot, set the little house to rights as much as she could, and stirred the soup regularly.

“That smells excellent, Guinevere. I’ve had road rations for so long, this meal will be a treat.” Merlin tells her, and she doesn’t turn from where she’s stirring the pot when she answers.

“I’m glad.” Her tone is curt and she doesn’t sound glad at all. She doesn’t feel glad. She wished this man would just disappear. She wished Elyan would keep the forge and they could continue on as they were. Gwen didn’t care for boys, or for marriage, and why she should have to, just because Elyan wanted to study swordplay and kill-

She stopped her train of thought there. It was treason to even think it.

At least her brother wanted her married off and far away before he tried. It was a kindness as much as it was a cruelty.

Gwen wondered if she’d ever see her brother again once she married. It’s not like the King is an easily accessible person just waiting around to be-

“Guinevere, tell Merlin about your sewing. The embroidery you were doing for the Henrick’s bridal gown.” Elyan is trying to show her off, make her brag. Politeness dictates how she behaves, but it doesn’t dictate her tone. She leaves the spoon sitting on the little fire burning stove and goes to the back of the cottage where her needlework is kept. She’s nearly done with the embroidery for the future Mrs. Henrick, and it’s very beautiful, even if she said so herself. She brings the whole basket over and plops it on the table unceremoniously in front of Merlin. He doesn’t even flinch, which aggravates her, but she pulls out the embroidery carefully, making sure the needle stuck in the fabric is right by where his hand will grab it, hoping he’ll stick himself.

He does not, unfortunately, stick himself. His hands are ginger, delicate, as he handles the soft blue fabric. The embroidery thread is as white as anything the Henrick’s can afford, and Gwen has been working on it for weeks, her labor a wedding gift to the bride-to-be. The stitching is some of her finest, delicate flowers in the soft white thread, birds and a few trees scattered in among them.

“This is beautiful.” Merlin’s fingers trace a bird, following the bird’s life cycle from the youth, through the bird of it’s young, to a tree that symbolizes it’s death. It had been a good idea, but she hadn’t thought anyone would notice.

Elyan probably told him about it.

“It’s a shame you won’t have time to make something like this for yourself.” Merlin smiles up at her like that’s not the most tragic thing he could have told her.

She turns her glare to Elyan, because she can’t very well glare at a man she’s just met. Elyan refuses to meet her eyes and she knows that at the very least he’s told this complete stranger that he’s looking for a wife for his sister, and at worst he’s offered her up to him.

She wants to call him a bastard, but she holds her tongue. She’ll let it all seethe inside for a while, and yell at Elyan when this man leaves in the morning.

“Times are hard.” Is all she says before taking the basket back to it’s corner and going back to the stew.

Usually Elyan helps her cook, but he’s entertaining their guest, and probably trying to show off how skilled she is, how domestic she is, all the wonderful wifely thing that she can do.

She hates her brother in that moment. It heats her skin and makes her nose twitch, her shoulders tense and her fingers keep losing their grip on the spoon because she wants to throw it at him.

She wants to throw a tantrum, is more like it. She is almost 18 though, and she can’t afford to gain a reputation like that. Throwing spoons, cursing at guests, those are the sorts of thing that leave women spinsters, and she doesn’t have that option anymore. Elyan is selling their home, and if she doesn’t get married she’ll be homeless right along with him.

Maybe that would be preferable, even if Elyan would hate it. He’d never abandon her, leave her alone on the streets. At least then they’d be together. Elyan is barely 19 as it is. How ready could he possibly be to be alone?

“Guinevere?” Elyan’s voice is amused, concerned, when he calls for her, but it startles her just the same, and she drops the spoon in the stew. It’s too short for the pot and she curses under her breath when it sinks beneath the stew. She’ll have to fish it out now, and Elyan is calling her again, and what does he want, what could he possibly want!

“Here,” Merlin puts his hand on her shoulder and gently, softly, coaxes her back from the stove. He smiles at her, even as she feels tears starting to well up and she’s so angry with him, and Elyan and the world. “Let me.” He mutters something softly under his breath, and spoon… floats out of pot, settles back against the side. Her mouth falls opened, awed at the spectacle, but Merlin just smiles, shrugs like this isn’t a giant, terrible secret that he should be keeping.

Magic is illegal in Camelot.

She looks at Elyan who levels her with a look that she can’t quite read. At once it tells her to be quiet, and to accept it, and to trust him. She swallows back her fear and nods, offering a half smile to Merlin before grabbing a clean towel to pull the hot spoon from the pot, dunking it in dish washing bowel to get some of food off the handle.

Merlin sits back down and continues whatever conversation he was having with Elyan while Gwen gets out flour. She hadn’t wanted to bake a bread, but now she needs something to do with her hands and she needs something to settle her stomach. She was having trouble swallowing, or she’d have gotten herself some water, maybe even a bit of ale to settle her nerves. She feels lucky that her knees don’t give way beneath her.

A magic user. Elyan had brought a magic user into their home, told him about how he was trying to marry Gwen off. The man had blatantly brandished magic right there at her stovetop and hadn’t even batted an eyelash.

Elyan was trying to get them both killed.

Personally, Gwen had always believed the rules around magic users were far too harsh and the consequences overblown, but she had never imagined that she would be harboring one. If this man is wanted for magic use, and they come looking for him here, they’ll kill all three of them. She can’t help anxiously glancing over her shoulder at Elyan, whose face is relaxed and posture so at ease considering they could very well be in mortal danger.

She sees a flash of red, her father’s lifeless body covered in blood, having to re-dirt and pack the floor of the forge to remove the stains. She remembers the merciless way the King killed their father for demanding a fair price for a sword and wonders how much they’ll all be tortured for Merlin being here if they come, when they come. Of course they’ll come. Camelot’s ruler is cruel and hateful and they will come and kill him, and them, and maybe everyone in the village.

“Gwen,” Elyan’s hand is on hers, darker than hers, like their father, and she looks at it and sees him, for a moment, sees her father touching her hand and telling her everything will be okay after mother died, promising her a bright future, squeezing it in joy-

“Gwen,” Elyan says again, lower this time. “Guinevere, I need you to let go of this.”

She looks from his hand to her own beneath it. She’s holding a knife dangerously close to her own hand, like she meant to cut her palm. She doesn’t remember even grabbing this knife. She’d been grabbing the flour, to make bread. She was going to make bread. Why did she have a knife-

“Guinevere.”

“I hate it when you use my full name.” She whispered, her hand still clutching the knife, knuckles becoming pale from the tight grip.

“I know. Can you let go of the knife please.”

“They’ll kill us, if they find him here.” She can’t stop herself form saying. Her mind is gone, somewhere else, the only thing left the part of her that had worked like a dog day and night for two years to keep them afloat.

“No one is looking for him.” Gently, Elyan takes the knife from her hand by the handle, setting it aside. She finally feels the sensation return to her body, her limbs feel heavy and her head feels empty and she needs to sit, she needs to sit.

Elyan takes her by the waist when she starts to fall, and guides her to the table, sitting her down.

“I’m not wanted for my practice. No one knows about it, except you two and old friend from back home.” Merlin speaks quietly, but Gwen doesn’t look at him, watches Elyan as he tends to the stew.

Gwen realizes that her body is shaking. She’s sitting still but her whole body is shaking, even her eyes, at the thought that she might lose Elyan.

“It’s been a hard couple of years for us. Please forgive her.” Elyan says from the stove, and Gwen doesn’t even speak up to defend herself. Her hand is shaking where it rests of the table, and she jumps nearly out of her seat when another hand, not her brothers, rests over it.

He is so pale for someone who claims to be a traveler. Is all that she can think. “Guinevere. I have a potion that helps relieve pains of the mind. Would you like some?”

“No, we don’t-“

“She’ll take it.” Elyan spoke over her, and she has at least the mental soundness to look over at him and glare.

He says nothing back, just nods to Merlin to confirm what he’s said. Merlin goes to a bag that Gwen hadn’t noticed, a beautiful shade of deep green and pulls out a little glass vial from it. He unstoppers it and puts a couple drops in the glass of water beside her hand and swirls it around.

“A full dose would put you to sleep. This is just to take the edge off, calm your nerves. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Gwen’s lips purse, and she feels like she wants to speak, but she doesn’t know what to say. What could she say? This man is helping her, which is kind of him, but he’s putting them in danger.

“I won’t marry you.” Gwen says without reaching for the cup in front of her. “Whatever Elyan has told you.”

“He said you’d say that. That’s why I don’t intend to marry you.” Merlin smiled softly at her, and she looked at her brother, confused, now.

“Merlin is a physician. He’s been looking for an apprentice for some time.”

“I don’t know anything about medicine, or potions.” She looked at the medicated cup warily.

“Apprentice usually implies that I teach you.” Merlin tries to laugh with her, but she doesn’t laugh along.

“Magic is illegal in Camelot.” We could both be executed goes unsaid, but is still heard clearly in the room.

“I’m very careful. I never use magic unless I have to, and up until a little while ago, only two people alive even knew I had magic. Now it’s up to three.” He smiles, but it doesn’t make Gwen feel any better.

“You’re going to sell me to this man.” Gwen asked her brother, her fear making her far more candid than she usually would’ve been.

“I’m not selling you to anyone.” Elyan’s voice is tense, and Merlin pushes the potion laced cup toward Gwen again.

Gwen can’t decide if she should drink it or not. She doesn’t want to, but if they’ve paid for it, it feels wasteful.

“I’m just looking for someone to help me. It’s nothing nefarious. Most of what I do is legitimate medicine, science based, not magic based.”

“What about the part that isn’t ‘most of it?’” Gwen crossed her arms over her chest and leaned away from him in her chair.

Merlin should be caught out, but instead of looking upset, he smiles. “Elyan said you were quick.”

“And a good pupil. Mrs. Henrick even taught her to read.”

Merlin raised his eyebrow. “A woman who can read isn’t exactly uncontroversial.”

“Reading is not a crime punishable by death.” Death by fire, on a pike like terrible horrible criminal. They don’t even kill you first, just set your body aflame.

“No, I suppose it’s not.” Merlin leaned forward a bit. “You’re very practical. Stubborn. You’ll keep my on my toes, keep me from getting complacent.”

“So you’ll take her on?” Elyan asked from the stove, and Gwen scoffs, outraged.

“Yes. Assuming she’ll have me. We’ll have to get you a horse.” Merlin goes back to his bag and pulls out parchment, a tiny glass bottle of ink and a pen. “Traveling clothes, I assume, a good pair of riding boots.” He opens up the bottle and dips the pen, using nicer penmanship than Gwen has ever seen outside of a book to pen the list. “Warm undergarments. A bed roll. I’m sorry the road won’t always be very comfortable, but I do have a home in Ealdor where I stay during the winter. It’s very comfortable at least.”

Gwen looks from Elyan to Merlin, and back, but she doesn’t catch either of their eyes, both too caught up in what they’re doing to look at her, to even notice her.

“Was I ever going to get a say in this?” Gwen asked, her throat dry and cracking, tears welling in her eyes at being completely ignored and pushed over.

“Gwen,” Elyan said, stopping stirring the soup and looking at her. “You’ve made it very clear you don’t want to marry. I can’t support you after the end of the summer and you have to have somewhere to go. Merlin has very graciously offered to give you a job and housing in exchange for working with him. He’s not asking to marry you doesn’t even want to marry you, he just wants to be able to tell people you’re married so no one gets suspicious of a man and woman traveling together, so you can keep your honor. Maybe once you’re on the road, you’ll meet someone you love who you can marry and make a family with.”

Gwen can hardly believe what she’s hearing. She isn’t getting a choice, is what he’s saying. She’s not getting any sort of choice in how the rest of her life goes, and he’s acting like she should be grateful.

“How dare you.” She said, teeth gritted. “You didn’t even ask me first.”

“I can’t afford to keep asking you, Gwen, or you’ll be out on the streets, homeless and begging. I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’ll be just fine on your own? What’s so wrong with traveling together, Elyan. You’re fine with me traveling with a strange man with gods only know what intentions, but heavens forbid I travel with my brother who loves me?!” Gwen stands, but she’s shaky and has to use the table to catch herself. She can’t even stand up straight she’s so upset. Merlin gets up and comes around the table, but she back away from him, angry that he would even presume to come near her. She stumbles and Merlin waves his hand and a chair is beneath her, keeping her from hitting the ground.

“Stop that!” Gwen yells and she gets up again, more successfully this time. “Stop it!” She yelled again when Elyan tried to grab for her. “You can’t just dictate my life for me Elyan, I’m almost 18, and I deserve a say in how I live, where I live, and who I live with. I’m not going to risk my life for a stranger. You don’t even know this man. What if he doesn’t want a wife because he’ll just take from me what he would a wife? Do you even care about that? Did it even occur to you? I’m not a dog that you can give to the neighbor when it’s time for you to go away, Elyan, I’m a person.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Elyan raises his voice now, in his sister’s face like he hasn’t been since they were children. “I need to know that you’re safe, and Merlin owes me a life debt. He will keep you safe. He will protect you when I can’t.”

“Why not? Why can’t you protect me, Elyan? Say it!” She puffs her shoulders up, her lips thin and her jaw aching where her teeth clash together and grind, helpless and pulsingly angry.

“Because I’m going to kill the king!” Elyan finally admits it, and Gwen is satisfied at the admission, but equally as horrified to know that her prediction was correct. “I’m going to kill the bastard that murdered our father in cold blood over 300! I’m going to kill him.” The last words are soft again, and Gwen feels her anger become cold, abate a bit.

Their fathers death has always bothered him. Of course, it bothered Gwen as well, and she had been angry too, but not like Elyan had been. Elyan had always regretted losing that fight, not being able to avenge their father’s death. She knew that he hated Uther, but this… she was afraid for him.

“It’s almost impossible to kill a king. Greater men than you have tried.” Gwen whispered, but Elyan shook his head.

“I have a plan, but they’ll catch me. I need you to be far away, and safe.” He takes Guinevere’s shoulders in his hands and looks her straight in the eyes. “I’ll visit you every couple of years for a while. By the time it’s done you’ll have nice, sweet, beautiful children, and a husband, and you’ll be settled. But for now, I need you to go with him.”

Gwen swallows hard. How can he ask this of her? To abandon her brother? It just doesn’t feel like an option.

“You’ll be all alone.” She finally said, tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s always been us. You’ll… who will you have, out there, on your own?”

“I’ll have my memory of you, and mum, and father. Please Gwennie.”

“You swear he won’t ask me to marry him?”

“Not unless you want him to.” Elyan nodded, and Gwen sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her sleeves.

“And he’s honorable?”

“One of the most honorable men I’ve ever known.”

“How did you meet him?” She asked, swallowing around the lump in her throat again. She feels insane, even thinking about agreeing to this, but Elyan was on a death wish of a mission, and Gwen couldn’t go with him. Being a physicians assistant did sound a lot better than being married to a man she didn’t love.

“He was attacked by bandits in the woods a year before father died. I helped him fight them off, took him to his horse so he could patch himself up. He promised me he owed me a favor.”

“A life debt.” Merlin added. “I would’ve died if not for your brother. I promise, I only want to help the both of you.”

“Why have I never met him before.”

“He has magic. I thought it better he not be involved with you.”

“You knew about his magic?” She looked over her shoulder at the man who was smiling at her, far too warmly for a man she’d only met today.

“I removed an iron cuff they were keeping on him. It was practically red hot.”

“Magic and Iron don’t mix.” Merlin explained. “It dampens my abilities. They got it on me and I was basically powerless.”

Gwen took a deep breath, and then nodded, final in her decision. “I want one.”

“One what?” Elyan asked, but when she looked back at Merlin, she thought he already knew.

“I want an iron cuff, or something iron that I can put on you, in case you try something. Elyan may trust you, but how men behave amongst themselves and how they behave with women are not always corresponding.”

Merlin… smiled, of all things, and with another wave of his hands, his parchment and quill were in his hands again.

“Done. An Iron ring, I think. So you can always wear it.”

Gwen looked at her brother, who was smiling far too much for someone who had just given his sister away to a stranger.

“Fine. But I still don’t like it.”

Elyan pulled her into a hug and she was powerless to resist it. She wanted to be angry, but she was just exhausted, empty from the emotional whiplash she’d just experienced.

“I still think you should take that potion. To settle your nerves.” Merlin said.

She looked down at the cup wearily but then, as a sign of trust, picked it up and drank it’s contents down, eyes never leaving Merlin’s.

“Thank you.” She said, and Merlin smiled.

“I think dinner smells ready. Let’s eat, shall we? You can ask me any question you still have, if you like.”

—

Gwen, Elyan and Merlin burn down most of a candle that night, talking through the logistics of Gwen’s stay with Merlin. Everything from sleeping arrangements, to supplies, to clothes is set to parchment agreed to. Gwen racks her brain for anything and everything she can think of to make him agree to in front of Elyan, who he owes a life debt to. Gwen knows that Merlin owes her nothing, and she doesn’t trust that he’ll agree to anything more than what she he does right now.

“I think that’s everything.” Merlin says, smiling wide despite the bags forming beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry you’re both ready to sleep, and so am I. Thank you again for your hospitality.”

“Thank you for taking care of the washing.” Elyan laugh, looking over his shoulder to the dishes had been washed and dried by Merlin’s magic. It had been remarkable to witness, even though Gwen’s skin had crawled with the fear of being caught the entire time.

“It’s the least I could do after you fed me. I’m going to go and check on my horse one last time.” This is just a way to let them talk alone, Gwen is sure, and she appreciates it.

She goes to put on her night dress behind the screen and Elyan changes as well. The night air is still cool, not yet the sticky summer heat that will soon come. So much for married by summers end.

“Thank you for agreeing to this, Gwen. It means the world to me.” Elyan smiled at her where she was climbing into bed.

“Don’t thank me. I didn’t really have a choice.”

“In life you always have a choice. The you’ve made is for the best.” He plants a knee on the bed so he can kiss her forehead and then goes to turn the candle out. Merlin takes this as his cue to come in. He settles on the cot in the kitchen without tripping or fumbling, which irritates Gwen just a little because she’s lived in this house all her life and still sometime stubs her toe on the kitchen table in the dark.

“Good night, Gwen, Elyan,” Merlin said to both of them, and Elyan returned the sentiment, but Gwen did not, huddling down into the covers.

Maybe she had had a choice, but her choices were limited, severely, by Elyan’s will. As she laid there, trying to fall asleep, she remembered what mother had told her once, about how excited she’d been to marry her father, and how much her mother and father had loved each other. She thinks about how her father won’t be there to hand her off to her future husband, as silly that tradition seemed, and even Elyan might not be there for it. Who would stand beside her at her wedding, if she married, if Elyan was dead?

Maybe she should get married, if only so Elyan can be there.

But to who? Who could she possibly marry? She wasn’t in love with anyone, didn’t even really fancy anyone. There weren’t that many people to fancy, in all honesty. Pickings were slim, and she liked plenty of the boys in the village, but not nearly enough to marry them.

She always had a choice, Elyan was right. She chose this, even if Elyan orchestrated it. She would just have to live with it.

Traveling with an illegal sorcerer was better than being married, at least.

[teenwolffan-with-nolife]

The Witch and The Wolf Pt.39

Word Count: 2,319

Characters: Derek Hale, Peter Hale, Isaac Lahey, Reader

Pairings: Eventual Deek Hale x Witch!Reader

Warnings: angst, some fluff

A/N: last part of the year?

A/N 2: Can literally anyone leave some feedback on the series? I want to know if people are actually enjoying it

A/N 3: Happy Holidays

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

“Derek, what are you doing?” you felt his hands travel down your waist as he stood behind you.

“I missed you,” he whispered. 

He pressed his lips towards your neck as you closed your eyes softly, clenching your jaw.

Before you could protest, you felt your back hitting the wall, Derek’s lips pressed against yours as he put his hands on your thighs, lifting you gently. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he began walking to his bed. He put his hand on your head, pulling it back roughly, pressing his lips on your neck.

You breathed heavily, closing your eyes as you held onto him tightly.

---

You opened your eyes, taking a deep breath as you jumped up, feeling your neck aching. You must have fallen asleep.

You sat on a chair, next to Derek’s bed as he still laid there, unconscious.

Maybe he was really tired, and maybe that’s the reason he didn't wake up.

You checked your phone, scrolling past the messages from everyone. It was nearly 7 AM, which had made about four hours since Derek collapsed. 

Your mind thought back to your dream before you shook your head.

You’d be lying if you said you didn't miss him, that you didn't still love him, even after everything. But the pain you felt after he cheated on you, even after he said he didn't love you and he never did, it still hurt. You tried to ignore it for the most part. The two of you were doing just fine as friends for the past couple of weeks, before last night anyway.

You began to grow more worried, seeing Derek still asleep. You ran your fingers through his hair, looking down at him.

“(Y/N)?” his eyes were still closed as he said your name softly.

“Derek, I’m here,” you frowned, holding his hand.

“What happened?” he opened his eyes, holding your hand before sitting up.

You sat next to him, stroking his hand softly.

“I don’t know. You just collapsed. Are you okay?” you asked.

He nodded, rubbing his head.

“Headache?” you said.

He nodded again, as he massaged his head softly.

“I don’t think drugs work on wolves,” you said.

“Do you have any idea what happened?” you asked.

“No. Well, sort of. I’ve been blacking out since I healed Cora,” he replied.

“Since you healed Cora? It’s been weeks,” you frowned.

“I’m aware. But I’m fine. I’ll get through it,” he said.

“That’s not good,” you shook your head.

“I'll be fine. Uhm, thanks for staying with me,” he nodded.

You smiled softly as you heard Peter’s voice, as the door opened.

“I didn't interrupt anything, did I?” his eyes motioned to Derek’s bed then back at the two of you.

You let go of Derek’s hand, inhaling deeply as you stood up.

“I’ll see you later,” you smiled softly, walking away.

---

You stood at the door, in front of the McCall’s house. Your phone had died before you had a chance to text Isaac. You knew he was staying with Scott now.

“(Y/N)? It’s been a while,” Melissa wrapped her arms around you tightly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, it’s been a while. How are you doing?” you stood next to her, walking into the McCall house as the two of you walked to the kitchen.

“Well, everything is crazy, but we’re managing,” she started.

You heard someone’s voice behind you, turning around as your face dropped.

“Agent McCall,” you said in a monotone voice.

“(Y/N),” he replied with the same tone.

“I think you need to get to work,” Melissa motioned to Agent McCall, glaring at him.

Before either of you said anything, he walked away.

“So… he’s staying with you,” you started.

“He’s on the couch, it’s nothing special,” she shrugged.

“I know it can't be easy,” you replied softly, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“As I said, I’m managing,” she smiled softly.

“Well, how about you sit down? I know Scott and Isaac probably aren't up yet, so I’m gonna make you some coffee and some breakfast,” you said, leading her to a chair.

“Oh, (Y/N), no,” she started.

“I insist,” you said.

She nodded softly, as you began making some eggs, and some coffee.

“Hey, Mrs.McCall, me and Scott,” you heard Isaac start as his face dropped, looking at you.

“Hey,” you said.

“Oh my god,” he ran to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as you hugged him back.

“You’re… alive! Where have you been?! Why didn't you answer my calls? Or texts? Or tell me you’re okay? You’re back! Oh my god,” he began to bombard you as ran your fingers through his hair.

“I’ll explain it all later,” you shook your head.

“Uhm, no. You’ll take me to school and you’ll tell me everything,” Isaac tugged on your arm.

“Wait, I’m making Melissa breakfast you little needy. You need to sit down also,” you motioned to the chair as he rolled his eyes, sitting down.

You could see the smile on Melissa’s face as you continued making eggs for the four of you.

---

“That’s… something. No powers? At all?” he asked softly.

“Not until I figure this demon crap out. But being human is so boring,” you sighed.

“So, you basically, spent the last few weeks with Derek,” Isaac started, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What are you trying to say?” you frowned.

“Nothing, I’m just saying to use a condom,” you immediately smacked Isaac’s arm.

“Shut up. God, you're worse than Stiles,” you sighed.

“So, you’re telling me you don’t still like him?” Isaac asked.

“I didn't say that,” you shook your head.

“So you do like him,” Isaac said.

“I didn't say that either,” you sighed.

“I don’t get it,” Isaac shook his head.

“I’m saying that I don't want to talk about this right now, okay? Of course, I still care about him, but I’m not ready to forgive him for Jennifer. About what he said. I just don't want to talk about this, okay?” you raised your voice slightly, resting your head on your hand, and your elbow on your car window.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac said, his voice low.

“It doesn't matter. Sorry,” you shook your head.

“Well, for what it’s worth, you two belong together,” Isaac replied.

You scoffed slightly, driving into the parking lot of Beacon Hills High. 

“Well, how are things going with you and Allison? Are you still madly in love with her?” you replied.

“We’re friends, okay? And Scott’s one of my best friends,” Isaac rolled his eyes.

“I thought you said Scott said it was okay,” you asked.

“He did. I still feel bad,” Isaac sighed.

“Well, that guilt is what makes you a good person,” you gave him a fake smile as he rolled his eyes.

You smirked, before hearing your phone off, getting a text from Derek.

“Hell no,” Isaac said, as you looked up, seeing the twins approach Scott.

“They’re… what's going on?” you frowned.

“So much crap has happened since you left. For example, Scott, Stiles, and Allison are going crazy. But that's not important right now, I’ll tell you later. I need to go help Scott,” Isaac grabbed his bag.

You kissed his forehead softly.

“Be careful,” he waved to you as he got out of your car, walking to Scott.

---

“Stop moving,” you glared, taking the needle as you stuck it into Peter’s finger, hearing him yell out.

“You know, you don't have to be so rough,” he winked as you pulled the string through his finger.

“That hurts,” he grunted.

“Good.” 

You continued sewing his finger back on, as he continued whining. You ignored it, purposely pushing the needle into the wrong place.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Derek said, covering a small laugh.

“I don’t get why I can’t help you with this,” you shrugged.

“You don’t have powers. It’s just Peter,” Derek assured you.

“Exactly. It’s just Peter,” you sighed.

You turned to face Peter, before clenching your jaw, running your fingers through your hair as you sat down in front of him.

“So, now’s the part you tell me what I risked my life and digit for,” Peter said.

Derek looked at you, before opening the box, revealing Talia’s old claws. It was all that was left of her after the fire.

You held Derek’s hand softly, knowing this wasn't going to be easy for him. 

“They’re all that was left of her after the fire. I need to ask her something, and this is the only way to do it,” Derek explained.

You laid the claws on the table, looking back at Peter then at Derek.

“Fine, but under one condition. I get to keep them afterward,” your face dropped as you gave Peter a look.

“Sentimental value. She was your mother, she was my sister,” you could tell Derek was holding back his tongue as he raised an eyebrow.

“What? Am I not allowed a little bit of sentiment?” Peter exasperated.

You looked at Derek, as he looked back at you. He motioned to Talia’s nails silently, asking you your opinion.

You shrugged, shaking your head. It was his choice.

“Fine,” Derek put the claws back into the box, handing them to Peter.

Peter smiled cheekily, as you got up, walking away with Derek.

“What do you think he wants with them?” you asked.

“I don’t know, but he can’t do anything that bad… right?” Derek asked.

You leaned against the wall, as he crossed his arms, standing in front of you.

“I have no idea. We’ll just have to keep a close eye on him,” you said.

“Well, let’s do this, yeah?”

---

You sat on your knees, in front of Derek while you held his hand, stroking it softly.

“Peter, I swear if something goes wrong, I’ll kill you,” you threatened. 

“That won’t be my fault,” he replied.

“Whatever,” you glared at him, looking back at Derek.

 Derek opened his mouth to speak, before shutting his eyes tightly, squeezing your hand as Peter stuck Talia’s claws into the back of Derek’s neck.

You looked at Peter, as he breathed heavily, clearly struggling as Derek’s grip on your hand softened.

You waited there anxiously for a few minutes, before Peter pulled away, pushing away from Derek. Derek gasped for air, his face covered in sweat. 

“What happened? What did you see? Did she say anything about me?” Peter immediately began asking Derek questions, as you stood up next to him.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He nodded softly, clenching his jaw as he looked at Peter. His eyes were bloodshot as he looked up at you.

Peter continued to nag him, asking him about Talia as Derek ignored him. Derek stood up, pushing past Peter as he walked out of the loft.

“Derek?” you ran after him, running out of the loft.

---

“That’s… a lot. Peter’s the last person I’d expect to have a kid,” you stood outside the loft, leaning against your car door as Derek stood in front of you.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Derek scoffed.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly.

“Yeah… I don’t think I realized how much I missed her,” Derek started.

“Don’t you ever miss your mom?” Derek asked.

“Well, I don't… sometimes I do. I don’t like thinking about her,” you shook your head softly

“It’s been almost 8 years and I… I still think about them. About all of them,” Derek said softly.

“But that’s normal. Derek, you went through something… something big,” you said.

“I lost just as much as you. You barely seem to think about it,” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“That’s… no,” you started.

“Your grandparents are dead, your mom’s siblings, all dead, you don't have any other cousins or any other family that’s still alive. Well, besides your dad… but,” you tensed slightly as you looked down, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“(Y/N)?” he said softly. Your eyes watered as you shook your head.

“My dad’s not… he’s dead,” you whispered.

Derek was silent for a minute before speaking.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked.

“I lost control of my powers. I killed him,” you sniffled as you turned away from Derek.

“It's not your fault,” he stroked your cheek softly, turning your face to look up at him.

You looked up at him nervously, before inhaling deeply.

Screw it

You stood on your toes, leaning up as you pressed your lips against his.

Oh crap

You immediately regretted your actions as you broke the kiss, your face red as you shut your eyes in embarrassment.

He put his hands on your face, kissing you once more as you stumbled back slightly, hitting your car as it began to honk loudly.

You broke the kiss, as the two of you began to laugh.

“Nice way to end the night, yeah?” Derek smirked.

“Oh, shut up,” you scoffed.

You heard your phone go off, getting a text from Isaac.

“You have to go?” he asked.

You nodded softly, wrapping your arms around your waist.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

“See you tomorrow,” you kissed him again, before leaving.

---

“Isaac,” you dropped your bags, running to him as he wrapped his arms around himself, rocking softly.

“What happened?” you wrapped your arms around him tightly, as he held onto you.

“I-It was so cold… I can’t stop thinking about… my dad, t-the freezer,” Isaac stuttered as his voice broke. You could feel his tears on your sleeve as you stroked his hair softly.

“What happened?” you asked.

“I-I don’t…” he began to hyperventilate, gasping for air as you shushed him, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

“You don’t have to talk, kid,” you whispered.

You heard Isaac cry softly, laying down in your lap, as you continued to hold him, running your fingers through his hair softly.

[tweetracer]

Hi ♥️♥️ would you be comfortable writing a poly or one on one (any) where one of the boys feeds on the reader during sex because they know she likes it. Feel free to ignore this if you're not okay with that ♥️

NSFW POLY!LOST BOYS x FEEDING ON FEM!S/O

The first time you suggested the boys feed from you during sex David choked on his drink and Paul did a full spit-take. Everyone turned towards you with wide eyes and exchanged confused glances.

“Kitten that’s...”

“A great idea, babe!” Marko was quick to chime in, smile sharp-toothed and eyes sparkling with mischief. He was already clambering over the couch to get to you when Dwayne grabbed him by the back of the jacket, holding him off of you with a sharp yank.

“We should discuss this first” Dwayne’s low rumble made your face grow hot, and judging by the patchy blush blooming on Marko’s cheeks he was thinking the exact same thing.

David sat on his chair, watching with an unreadable expression while the four of you sat on the couch- trying to hold a serious conversation about boundaries and safety precautions (which was growing increasingly difficult considering how far Paul’s hand was inching up your thigh).

You explained (with no small amount of blushing) that you’d been thinking about it. Something about a vampire’s ferocity and power was just.. enthralling, and just looking at those teeth made your fingers itch to reach out and touch them.

David had been quiet for a long time, listening to the discussion with lidded eyes before he finally stood- commanding the space immediately as everyone turned to look at him.

He walked slowly, heavy boots echoing in the cave as he took his time making his way to you, clearly enjoying all the attention.

David stood in front of where you sitting, criss-crossed on the couch, looming over you for a long moment before crouching to look at eye level. You held each other’s gaze, refusing to look away despite his heated stare. You always were one to playfully challenge his dominance

“One bite each, got it?”

The boys all nodded, eyes still trained on him as they waited with baited breath.

“I didn’t hear an answer.”

A chorus of ‘yes sir’ was mumbled out, Paul already leaning closer towards where your knee was slightly hanging over the edge of the cushion.

All of you remained in that moment of limbo, everyone holding back and waiting for the moment you’d be allowed to continue. David held onto that for as long as he could, forcing patience- letting everyone in the room understand who was in charge.

NSFW

David gestured for Marko to move and settled down in the center of the couch, reaching out to scratch the vamp’s head when he leaned back into David’s space for attention.

Gloved hands reached out towards you and you took them gratefully as David pulled you to straddle his lap, looking up with a lidded, hungry gaze. He licked his lips instinctively and you couldn’t stop the small whine that escaped you.

His pace was painfully slow as he gently scratched a smooth line down your sides- reveling in your involuntary shiver. His wide palm was flat against your entrance- forcing you to open your legs wider.

Fingers pressed absently at your center- massaging and dipping into you through your underwear. David hummed in appreciation at the growing wetness against his fingers, holding them out to Paul, who enclosed his mouth on the digits eagerly and without shame.

David didn’t bother to look away from you when he growled out a soft-

“Sic ‘em”

The words made your back arch slightly, motion only emphasized when you felt the slight dip of weight shifting closer as Marko sidled up to press near-chaste kisses along your neck and cheek. He was always the sweetest when it came to foreplay.

Dwayne, on your opposite side, leaned over- arm extended around the back of the couch with a low sigh, using one hand to squeeze your ass with and almost embarrassing sense of casualty.

Paul, still on the floor, slipped between David’s knees to get closer and tug up your shirt that dare impede him from being able to press kisses along your spine.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to pair off with one or two of the boys on occasion- but being together as a group never failed to make your thighs shake. Especially when you were at the center of their ministrations.

Your heartbeat thrummed loudly in your chest, breath catching when you felt David’s fingers brush delicately against your neck. Calloused hands were gentle as he tugged your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor unceremoniously.

The boys were pressing hungry kisses against your warm skin but you felt no teeth; no slight pull of skin and dizziness from their feeding.

It was then you realized.

The reason the boys weren’t already digging in

They were waiting for you.

Marko had explained it to you before- the hierarchy of feeding. It was an important ritual for vamps and while the others would playfully challenge each other for ‘rank’ meals are the one time the sacred place of dominance was never fought.

The strongest, the leader always drank first, leaving the others to wait for their permission.

Only then could they eat.

And here they were

Waiting for you.

The sentiment would’ve brought tears to your eyes if David wasn’t lifting your hips to bring yourself onto him, pulling aside your underwear and letting out a satisfied groan as you took him so easily. You whimpered, eyes screwing shut as he held your hips- letting you adapt before he started moving again.

Your breath was short and ragged as he lifted your hips in a smooth, snapping motion. Paul was still kneeling between David’s legs- leaning forwards to press his chest against your back and pressing increasingly hungry kisses to your bare shoulders.

With excitement curled tight in your abdomen you let out a whimpering breath, extending your arm outwards towards David- who gently wrapped his fingers around your wrist and brought it to his lips.

The kisses there were cool against you skin which felt like fire to the touch. You watched, eyes lidded as he lapped at the skin- gently licking and sucking till it turned purple.

Then you felt the sharp pinprick of teeth against you arm and at your pleasured gasp, Dwayne’s hand tightened where it was pressing into your thigh. David’s hips snapped up suddenly- your moan echoing in the cave.

The feeling of cool lips pressed to your wrist made you whimper, thighs shaking. When he pulled back his lips were red, tongue darting out to lap up a stray droplet that had begun to trail your arm.

Your breath rattled in your chest as you watched him, an aroused blush creeping down your neck as Paul kneeled low; giving playful little nips across your shoulders and leaving mouth-shaped bruises all the way down.

The blonde pressed a kiss just above your hip, the tender touch followed by the sharp pinch as fangs pierced your skin. You let out another gasp, hands balled up in the lapels of David’s jacket and a moan ripping from your throat as he snapped his hips up into you again.

It was all so intoxicating- so dizzying then again that might be the blood loss and even without the now steady rhythm of David’s thrusts you would have found yourself close.

You whimpered with pleasured pain when you heard Dwayne push closer, his hard on not-so-subtly pressing against your side as his big hands reached to grab your own. He lifted it to his mouth to press a tender kiss against your palm before pulling you a closer to sink his teeth into your shoulder.

Distracted by the soft kisses and sharp pain of teeth pushing into skin you didn’t notice Paul and Marko swapping positions till Paul was suddenly next to you- leaning to claim your mouth in a kiss.

All of the bites you’ve sat through so far have been tender, they hurt, yes, but hardly more than the sting of a sewing needle.

You didn’t realize you wanted more until Marko came up behind you.

His clawed hands pushed aside your hair and his low growling rumbled in your ear. Your back arched up as David picked up his pace- chasing his end while Paul and Dwayne pressed themselves into your hands, panting and snarling as they increased their speed.

You were close to your climax, already inching towards the finish when you felt a sharp stab of pain in the back of your neck.

Unlike all the previous bites before this was deep and commanding, it held you in place and ached all the way down your spine. You couldn’t move even with David’s hips snapping hard against you.

You were at the will of the teeth in your neck...

And it felt amazing

Marko snarled, nearly feral as he held you still, rutting against your legs and moaning against your neck. Later they would swear your blood was the sweetest they’d tasted- and when David finally finished inside of you with a loud groan, you felt the world spin.

Paul and Dwayne weren’t far behind, panting hot in your ears as they jerked against your near limp hands- desperate for friction as they came, covering you in a mixture of cum and blood.

You were so so close

It was hard to hear and you doubted any of the other vamps did as they came down from their high but Marko’s breath was sharp in your ear, teeth digging in tighter as he growled out soft words only for you.

“Mine”

...

You weren’t sure if you passed out from blood loss or just because that was, undeniably, the best damn orgasm of your life but when you came to, all four vamps were hovering over you- frantic as they decided whether or not to get you to a hospital.

The world was swimming and your body was numb with pleasure as you waved them off, limbs too exhausted to do much else. Not that you would need to, Dwayne was already cleaning you off with a damp towel while Paul fiddled with bandaids, tongue sticking out as he opted to put the Spiderman one on your hip and the Wolverine on your shoulder.

It could’ve been hours or minutes before they finally settled down, handing you a bag of chips and some water for your blood sugar. They were too worried to move you from the couch to your nest so instead they opted to nestle themselves around you, looking just as satisfied as you felt.

Paul hummed from where he was squashed between you and the back of the couch cushion- long legs stretching out and dangling over the edge before mumbling-

“Thanks for dinner, doll”

[marshmallow-phd]

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

**

The theatre was loud, opposite of its normally hushed nature. People were yelling back and forth, saws and drills screeching as they tore through wood. In the background, sewing machines could be heard, along with the occasional curse as the needle got stuck in the fabric. One person, however, was quiet, focused. The paintbrush in his hand was small. The hairs tightly pressed together in order to create the perfect details on the backdrop. Erik was hunched over, sitting cross-legged on the stage floor as he squinted at the distant forest he was perfecting. Setting your bag down in the second row, you headed up the stage stairs.

“Hey,” you said softly in order not to scare him. 

Blinking, he turned around. His glasses were on the very tip of his nose, having slipped from the slight bit of sweat that had conjured on his face from the glaring stage lights. With a green speckled finger, he pushed the frame back up to its proper position. “Hey! I thought you had a project?”

You shrugged. “I did, but… I kind of hit a wall and needed to give my brain a rest. I’m sorry, I guess I should have gotten lunch with you anyway.”

“That’s alright. If you want, I still have half of my sandwich left.”

Smiling, you ruffled his hair. “Thanks, I’m not really hungry.” Minseok’s dismissive response had ruined the idea of food for you. Later you knew you would be starving, but right now food sounded like a great way to churn your stomach and see what it had been brewing all morning. “I’m just going to go hang out in the seats, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “No one will bother you or question it. Not that anyone would notice in the first place.”

“It’s pretty crazy around here, isn’t it?”

“You missed the big explosion when Dorothy couldn’t find the armchair for the second act. Turns out, someone just leaned a piece of wood for the set against it and hid it from view. Still took us half an hour to find it.”

You snorted. “Wow. I’m actually kind of sad I missed that.” You kissed his cheek, careful to avoid a smear that you were sure he had no clue about. That stupid guilt knocked once again.

The seat was only slightly comfortable, the cushion long ago worn down from a thousand performances. You stewed there in the second row. Though it wasn’t appropriate during shows, you didn’t think anyone would care if you set your feet on the seat in front of you. Folding nearly in half, you hid your face from those who might look your way as you cranked the handle to get the gears in your head to turn. 

Confusion seemed like too weak a word to describe what was going on in your head. You were angry, frustrated, sad, relieved. There had to be some language in the world that tied those emotions all together. You just didn’t know it. Perhaps that one word could be the pill you needed to no longer feel this way. If you could shove all of that into a single box, you would be fine. But is it ever that simple? When you closed your eyes and tried not to think of anything in particular, Minseok’s face faded into view. You’d shake your head to drive the image away. It came back anyway.

You felt powerless against this unseen pull, this innate desire to see him again, even after what had just happened in the courtyard. Your mind made excuses, told you that if you simply asked him to explain then he would. Looking up at Erik, you sighed. 

There was no comparison because they were two different people. Erik was the sensitive artist, the kind who went to coffee shops on Friday nights to hear a mediocre guitar player sing his “poetry” because he believed everyone deserved an audience. Minseok, on the other hand, was a strange combination of math lab nerd and soccer team captain. He was goofy and dorky, easily amused by corny jokes, but also had the physique of someone who ran five miles in the A.M. for the fun of it. What you couldn’t figure out was what drew you to him in the first place. In any normal, not-already-dating-someone situation, you wouldn’t have been interested in his type. Yet, it was almost… effortless, being around him. Even after all these years, you sometimes had to force yourself into conversation with Erik. Comfortable silences didn’t exactly exist in your relationship, but you always chalked that up to your own personality. Now you wondered if those moments would be better with Minseok. 

Was this a normal thing? You heard stories of college sweethearts all the time and for the last few years, you thought you and Erik would join that club. You hadn’t thought about marriage, per se, but you hadn’t seen an end either. The idea of coming to a fork in the road had never occurred to you. While logic and third party advice you’d casually picked up over your life told you to stick to the left, you were being drawn to the right. One road you could easily see where it led, signs, clear pastures, and everything. The other way wasn’t as clear, disappearing into thick woods that were both inviting and foreboding. You didn’t know if there was another side for the road to come out to. The only way you would ever find out would be to follow it. 

You were able to sit there in that second row seat for a few hours, surprisingly, with your phone and the internet as your companion. Only occasionally would you contemplate that fork again. Left, right, left, right. Easy, hard, easy, hard. In the end, you decided you needed to see Minseok again to really decide. 

The stage manager called it quits late in the afternoon. Erik washed up his brushes and came to meet you. “Hungry yet?” You nodded, more for something else to do before you were alone again. “Good. I’m starving.” Taking your bag like the gentleman that he was, he waited for you to stand up and then walked you out of the theatre.

Dinner ended up being a small burger joint that Erik had been craving all day. You gave no complaints as you started salivating at the thought of their fries. Surely they had to have some sort of secret, addictive ingredient to make fried potato sticks so incredibly delicious. The two of you ended up splitting a large basket of the side. It stayed equally in the middle of the table so no one could say that the other was hogging. Yes. Safe. Easy. Seeable. 

Erik offered a follow up to dinner, but you feigned exhaustion (though there might not have been any faking truthfully, as your mind was tired from constantly running throughout the day). He walked you all the way to the door of your room. As usual, he told you goodnight and leaned in for a kiss. But unlike your normal anticipation, you flinched back to avoid his lips. He stared at you in confusion. Clearing your throat, you made it up to him by kissing his cheek before running for cover in your dorm. From the light of the hallway, you could see that Erik stood on the other side for a few seconds, hesitating to understand what had just happened, before finally walking away. 

Teeth clenched down on your bottom lip, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket. Thankfully, Willa was still out so you were alone. The glare of your phone burned in the darkness. You squinted as you moved your thumb across the screen, unlocking it before opening the contacts. The number you wanted was easy enough to find. The pad of your thumb hovered over the little green phone. It accepted the slightest touch and switched over to calling mode. You placed the speaker to your ear. 

Rrriiinggg. Rrriiinnngggg. 

“Hello?”

You sucked in air. He’d answered. You didn’t have a plan for this. You didn’t have any sort of plan after pressing call. You’d hoped that he was one of those people who didn’t have a voicemail set up. 

“Hello? (y/n)?”

You hung up. 

**

Minseok watched you stalk off in the exact direction he wished you hadn’t. Anywhere else; he would have been fine with you going anywhere besides the theatre where your boyfriend was. His wolf growled and clawed with jealousy. Why was he so stupid? Since when was keeping his mate a secret more important than being with you? Of course he wanted to eat lunch with you, to see how you got along with his brothers. But the idea of Baekhyun figuring it out had caused him to panic. As obnoxious as Baekhyun could be, he wasn’t stupid. At some point during the meal, Minseok would have done something a little overprotective and Baekhyun would have started to connect the dots. Unfortunately, he’d already picked up on something. 

“Oooo, breaking the rules, are we?” The brat even had the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows at the eldest wolf. 

Not holding back, Minseok swung, hitting a good target on the upper arm. 

“Ow!”

“First, it's not a rule,” Minseok grumbled. “Junmyeon simply suggested that we don’t date. Besides, you’re one to talk. How’s Daisy?”

Baekhyun was hardly phased. He sported a cheeky grin. “She’s great.”

Bored, Sehun asked, “Can we just go eat now? Who cares who Minseok was flirting with?”

“I wasn’t flirting with her!” Minseok shouted. He explained in a lower voice, “She’s having trouble in her math class so I’m doing Sungkyu a favor and helping her out so she can pass. That’s it.”

“So why didn’t you want her to eat with us, then?” Jongin asked innocently. 

Minseok flinched. Jongin was more observant than anyone would give him credit for. Not that Minseok was subtle in any sense of the word. “I didn’t say that I didn’t want her to eat with us. Knowing you all, you would have let something slip about what we are.”

“Minseok, we all caught that she was willing to join us,” Chanyeol said. 

Huffing, Minseok grumbled, “Are we going to go eat or should I just go by myself?”

Shrugging off the odd behavior, Baekhyun turned and headed for the parking lot. Minseok was quick to follow, feeling smaller than normal surrounded by his pack members. In his head, he pictured himself running back towards the theatre, bursting through the doors, and - in true dramatic fashion - declaring you his. 

That would be a complete disaster. He should only do that if he wanted you to never talk to him ever again. 

Minseok hardly paid attention as Chanyeol drove them to his favorite pizza place. He was in a trance as the others took control of what to order. Physically, he sat in the booth next to Sehun with Baekhyun on the other side. His shoulder was pressed into the chipped wooden guard rail that ran along the wall but he hardly noticed the uncomfortable poke in his skin. His mind was still back at the campus. He was driving himself crazy trying to figure out how he was going to make this up to you, how he was going to explain his bizarre switch up to you. He hardly ate, which was fine since the others were more than happy to devour the three large pizzas with varying toppings. The others weren’t bothered by his quietness since it was nothing new. Minseok was always more of an observer than a participant. In a time like this, it worked to his advantage.

There was no consulting Minseok when the lunch was through. They all simply piled back into the car and headed out of town towards the woods. Vague mentions of going for a run were tossed around. Minseok didn’t voice any sort of agreement. He wasn’t in the mood. Ha. A wolf not in the mood to run wild among the trees? He really was turned upside down because of you. While the younger ones headed straight for the trees, Minseok headed up the porch and through the front living room until he came to the kitchen. Oh, thank god. There were still beers in the fridge. He grabbed one and immediately opened it, still chugging as he walked over to the breakfast booth. 

“Did you have fun?”

Junmyeon slid into the booth across from him. Minseok put the can down. “Yeah. At first. We had fun with the project. It was when the others showed up that things…  went bad.”

“What do you mean?” Junmyeon asked with a frown. 

“I… panicked. The others invited her to join us and I….” Minseok shrugged. 

“Worried that the others would figure it out?” Junmyeon guessed. The response was a nod. 

“Figure what out?” 

Shit.

Baekhyun stood in the entryway, looking back and forth between the eldest and the alpha. Minseok gulped. He thought that all four of them had gone out on a run and he hadn’t heard anyone else in the house. Stepping further into the kitchen, Baekhyun asked again, “Figure what out?”

Minseok looked to Junmyeon for help. None was to be found. 

“You should probably tell them.”

“I’m not going to tell just Baekhyun so he can go running and tell the others and exaggerate.”

“I can always call a family meeting.”

“I don’t want to make that big of a deal out of it.”

“Too late on that. Besides, that’s the best way to get everyone here. Get it out of the way.”

“Or to get none of them here.”

“I’m still standing here,” Baekhyun scoffed.

Minseok looked at him. “I know.”

Junmyeon sighed. “Baekhyun, will you go get the others? Tell them it's important?”

He nodded. “Sure. Be back in a flash.” He left, already shedding the hoodie over his head. 

Slumping down in the booth, Minseok felt defeated. Junmyeon sensed this immediately. “It really won’t be that bad. And they need to be prepared.”

“Prepared?” 

“Yes. Once a pack member finds the first mate, the others will slowly start to find their own. It won’t be immediate. It could take years, really. But it’s like a domino effect. They should be aware that it's their turn next.”

It made sense. The pack was always connected, both in mind and in instinct. But it had been just them for so long, the idea of bringing in mates to the fold was odd. Minseok wasn’t sure how the others would react. Fists clenched on the table, he leaned his head down. It took almost half an hour before the rest of the pack came back. Yixing had arrived first, coming back from a lab he was making up from earlier in the week. The rest came into the kitchen ten minutes later. They were knocking into each other as they yanked on shirts and pants. 

“Okay, Junmyeon, what’s the emergency?” Jongdae asked, very prepared to be his usual sarcastic, troll self. 

But Junmyeon didn’t reply, letting Minseok take the reins instead. Minseok didn't want to do this. He wanted to run, to keep his secret a little while longer while he figured this whole thing out. But Junmyeon was right. It was time.

“(y/n) - the girl that some of you met today… she’s my mate.”

It was pure silence in the kitchen. It was unnatural in this household. The only time it was ever this quiet was when the house was empty. 

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae said. “You said… mate? Right?” Minseok nodded. He growled.  “Fantastic.”

“You really found your mate, Minseok?” Yixing was more enthusiastic about the news. He looked elated, even. A small smile was creeping up. 

Despite the stunned silence, Minseok found Yixing’s energy infectious. “Yeah. I did.”

“Have you told her yet?” Chanyeol asked. 

“She has a boyfriend,” Jongin reminded him. 

“Oh. Right.”

“I’m working on it,” Minseok said. “I just-” His phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, his eyes widened at the name popping up on the screen. With sixteen eyes on him, he answered, frantic. “Hello?” A gasp on the other end. “Hello? (y/n)?” You didn’t answer. Two seconds ticked by and you ended the call. He stared at his now black screen in shock. Then his brain started again. “I got to go.”

“Was it her?” Junmyeon asked. 

“Wait, I have more questions!” Baekhyun whined. Minseok was out of the kitchen in a heartbeat, jumping into his car and flying down the road. He didn’t know if you were hurt or in trouble. Why had you called him? Why didn’t you say anything? He was determined to find out. There was only one problem. 

He didn’t know your dorm number. 

You’d briefly mentioned the shared campus housing with your best friend, but that was all the information he had. Looks like he would have to find it the old fashion way. 

Asking. 

As soon as he parked, he headed towards the dorms, thankful at least that the two large housing buildings were close in proximity. He headed for the smaller cafeteria located in the lobby of the first building. The kitchen was closed but there were still students taking advantage of the open seating. Okay. Here it goes. 

The first few groups that Minseok asked had never heard of you. He was starting to berate himself on what a stupid idea this was. He should have called you back and asked you to call him when you were ready because it most certainly would have gone to voicemail. But his luck soon turned around. He approached a group of three girls sitting in a corner. One of them had a camera. 

“Excuse me?” They looked up. Minseok cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to find (y/n) (l/n)’s room. Do you happen to know her?”

One girl narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

Minseok swallowed. “I… I have her notebook. She’d left it behind earlier at study group. She really needs it for class on Monday but I can’t get a hold of her.” Please believe his stupid lie. 

The girl who’d spoken made eye contact with her two friends. “She’s in room twenty-three-nineteen. If she doesn’t answer, just slide the notebook under the door.”

He could almost jump from elated joy. “Thank you!” 

Taking off, he headed for the stairs. Your dorm room was only on the second floor so it didn’t take long to follow the signs until he was right outside your door. Only now did the possibility that your roommate would be the one to answer cross his mind. What lie would he have to come up with then? He had to take the chance. 

After knocking, he waited, shifting from foot to foot in an attempt to release the nervous energy surging through his body. The door swung open. 

It was you. Thank goodness. 

You were not the same level of relieved. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Crap. He probably should have thought of that. “You called me.”

You looked back over your shoulder before stepping out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind you. “So? That doesn’t mean you can just show up here!”

“I need to talk to you.” 

You licked your lips. No, please don’t do that. It’s too tempting already to grab your face and kiss you against the door. Without speaking, you went back into your room. Well, that was a bust. But before he could walk away with slumped shoulders, you came back, this time with shoes on and your bag. “Let’s go.”

He gave no protest as you led him out of the dorm and into the dark. He had no idea where the two of you were headed, but he planned on embracing whatever came his way. The two of you were going to talk. His heart was thumping hard against his sternum. He was getting more alone time with you. Who knew what would end up flying out of his mouth in these next few hours. Would this be the night of truths and revelations?

[walpurga-nacht-academy]

Djinn’s Bride! ~A Celebration of Love~

Part 8

[Walpurga Nacht Academy]

[Djinn’s Lamp]

Rosa/Marcia: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

Djinn: Hey, hey, don’t be so dramatic! You’re totally spoiling the mood! We gotta offer the people a good show after all!

Rosa/Marcia: HAAAAAAAAA? THIS SORT OF NONSENSE IS STARTING TO GET ON OUR NERVES!

Diana: Enough.

Rosa/Marcia: E-Eh! Di-Diana…

Diana: We’re wasting time here. Let us end it.

Vita: Indeed~ ‘Tis little jest has come to its conclusion.

Blanche: … That might be so, but-

Marcia: We’re trapped in this lamp until this guy lets us get out!! Have you forgotten about that already?! Huh?! Don’t just assume we can walk out of here freely!!

Rosa: Yeah!! We’d definitely have done that a long time ago if we could!! … right?

Vita: Fufufu~

Rosa: Hey… This might just be my impression… but…

Marcia: You’re laughing like you know something, aren’t you?

Vita: Hm~

Marcia: But there’s no way you knew how we could get out of this situation from the start, right? That’s just impossible, right? You wouldn’t make us go through all this, just so you could amuse yourself, right? Right?!

Vita: Mm~

Agatha: Ehehehehehehhehe…

Marcia: I’VE HAD IT WITH YOUUUUUUUUUUUU!! WHAT KIND OF MONSTER CAN ACTUALLY DO ALL OF THIIIIIIIIIIS?!

Blanche: Marcia. That’s enough. Yelling at Dies-senpai right now won’t accomplish anything, so let’s think of a way of escaping this place before it’s too late. And for that…

Diana: We’ll have to rely on Vita.

Vita: Indeed~

Marcia: … Might as well call it in. 

Vita: How cruel~ Though I have been amused by this little escapade, I am afraid the novelty has worn off. 

Marcia: … Haaa, you say that but I feel like you’re still playing a trick on us, you know? I’ve had my rope pulled at enough for today, so my heart can’t handle it anymore…

Blanche: That’s why I’m saying we need to stop fighting among ourselves and work together to resolve this situation.

Marcia: Mmmmm… but working together with Dies-senpai is…

Blanche: It’s… not an ideal situation, but we have no choice. Remember that even the Eight Witches would put their differences aside to come together upon the Bald Mountain. We must strive to follow in their footsteps. 

Diana: Mm.

Vita: How very eloquently decreed, my dear hare~ Unity is such a wonderful concept after all~ Fufu~

Marcia: She’s lying.

Rosa: She’s definitely lying.

Agatha: Big… Sis… is… very… funny…

Rosa/Marcia: I knew it!!

Blanche: In… In any case… about our predicament… Dies-senpai…

Vita: Ah, that. Very well. I shall indulge you this once~ Say, little hare, what ‘tis that you know about the nature of our mysterious assailant?

Blanche: The characteristics of a djinn? That is rather difficult to tell. They are quite rare even in the Land of Hot Sands and the last sighting of one was during the age of the Sorcerer of the Desert. Though even that is considered a mere legend now…

Vita: One must not debase themselves so low as to forget that the consciousness of people is but a fragmentary existence. If you continue to reflect upon every whisper that comes your way, then you may as well become a worthless mollusk incapable of thought.

Blanche: … I see.

Vita: The world is a vast endeavour, my dear. And knowledge lies in every corner. One must simply seek to uncover it. The matter of the djinn at hand, for example. ‘Tis an interesting rumor I had once heard of a young man who found a young djinn lady astride his horse one night, riding the creature to exhaustion. To take revenge upon the spirit he inserted an iron needle into her sash which terrified her so greatly she was forced to listen to his commands. ‘Tis not a most fascinating story~?

Blanche: … Indeed. Your knowledge of such obscure matters is rather impressive, Dies-senpai. 

Vita: I seek to humble after all~

Marcia: So… what you’re saying…

Vita: If we are to subjugate the creature by force, we shall be able to command it to release us~

Rosa: Su-Subjugate… That really sounds like Dies-senpai… 

Marcia: WHAT A NICE PLAN! LET’S DO IT!

Rosa: EEEEEEEH?

Vita: I was certain you would appreciate the finer details, my dear~

Marcia: Hehehe… bring it under our command… Mm! I like the sound of that! Then we’d be able to escape without anybody having to marry… and even after… hehehehe

Rosa: Geh! You have an evil glint in your eye right now! You’re planning something, aren’t you?! After all that happened today!!

Marcia: Haaaa? What’s wrong with looking at the positive side, huh?! If I don’t dream big my heart will stop beating!

Rosa: What a lie!! I don’t believe a single word you say!! You opportunist!

Marcia: HUH?! WELL, YOU’RE-

Cass: U-U-U-Um!

Blanche: Cassandra? Is something wrong?

Cass: N-No! I-I-I-I mean, um… On the matter of su-su-subjugation, um…

Blanche: Ah, it’s unfortunate, but it seems we have no other choice. I know it might be bothersome to you, so we won’t force you into it. 

Vita: What a wonderful sentiment~ 

Agatha: My… heart… is… bursting… with… compassion… ehehehheheheheheh

Blanche: …

Vita: Indeed~ Yet, are you overlooking a simple matter, my dear?

Blanche: Overlooking… what do you- Ah.

Rosa: Hm? What? What’s going on? What’s this about overlooking? Hey, don’t leave me in the dark!! Hey!! Hey!!

Diana: We are lacking our claws.

Rosa: … Eh?

Vita: Though one is eager to brandish a weapon, they must make certain to possess it first~

Rosa: … Ha?

Cass: U-U-Um, it’s the ne-needle, Miss Mo-Morgainne…

Rosa: Hm? What about it? Won’t it work after all?!

Agatha: How… nice… it… must… be… to… lack… any… brains… hehehehehe

Rosa: GRRRRRRRRR!!! AAAAH, THIS IS REALLY GETTING ON MY-

Marcia: If it’s the needle then it’s no problem!

Cass: E-Eh?! Re-Re-Really?!

Marcia: Yup, yup~ After all, Blanche always carries some with he- MHHGJHGJHJKH!!

Rosa: A-AMAZING! I’ve never seen Blanche move so fast in my entire life!!

Diana: Rabbits are good runners. 

Rosa: Th-That’s true…

Marcia: MKHHJKJMHHJH- GAH! WHAT’S THE DEAL, BLANCHE, HUH?! JUST WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO MAKE A GOOD POINT TOO!

Agatha: Those… are… rare… hehehehehehehe…

Blanche: … You should think before you talk about other people, Marcia. 

Marcia: HAAAAAAA? SO YOU’RE OK WITH STAYING HERE FOREVER JUST CAUSE YOU’RE EMBARRASSED BY SUCH A LITTLE THING?! GRRRR! NOW YOU’RE SERIOUSLY MAKING ME MAD!

Blanche: He-Hey!! Wait!! Get your hands out of there!! Marcia-

Marcia: A-HA!

Blanche: !!!

Cass: U-U-U-U-Um… is that…

Diana: A needle.

Marcia: Hehe, you’ve got a nice eye there, Diana! That’s right! It’s a needle! Made out of pure iron too, I bet! 

Agatha: To… think… the… hopping... chowder… had… it… all… along… hehehehehe…

Rosa: Yeah!! What’s the deal with that, Blanche?! Why didn’t you want Marcia to tell us about this?! Or rather why didn’t you come forward with it from the start?! Huh?!

Blanche:... Personal matters aren’t to be put on show like this.

Rosa: Eh?! Personal matters?! Eh?! I don’t get it!! I don’t get it at all!! It’s a needle, isn’t it?! It’s just a needle, so why-

Marcia: Haaaa, it’s always like this.

Rosa: Huh? What are you talking about?

Marcia: Even when you helped me fix that tear in my sweater back then, you still acted like it was some super confidential secret. It freaked me out, you know? Can’t you just be a little bit more honest? It’s not like this sort of thing matters. Being able to sew isn’t such a big deal…

Rosa: HA?! THAT WAS THE SECRET?! WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT?!

Marcia: I know, I know~ It frustrates me too.

Blanche: … Maybe so. But I do have a question. Marcia.

Marcia: Hm?

Blanche: How did you know I would have a needle in my pouch?

Marcia: Hm? That’s where you keep your sewing kit, right? Where else would it be since… urk…

Rosa: Hey… How did you know she has a sewing kit in her pouch?

Marcia: Hu-Huh?! That? Uh, o-obviously I saw her pull it out when she used it to fix my sweater! Ye-Yeah!

Blanche: I did not bring out my sewing kit back then, however. For you to see it… The only explanation is…

Rosa: …

Cass: U-Um…

Diana: …

Agatha: Hehehehe…

Vita: My, my~

Marcia: Wh-What’s with those looks you’re giving me?! I didn’t do anything bad! I swear! You gotta trust me!! Hey!! You guys!!

Rosa: Aah, Marcia’s being scummy again…

Marcia: HEY!

Blanche: Going through another girl’s pouch is a regulation offence. You know this, don’t you?

Marcia: I’m telling you that I didn’t do anything wrong!! Aaaah!! You’re being super annoying right now!! I was just looking for a band aid, that’s all!! Got it?! Just a band aid!!

Blanche: … Is that so?

Marcia: It is!! Grrr!! I was coming from practice to our tutoring session, when I saw I hurt my knee!! You were out to get something from the cafeteria and since I knew you’re the responsible kind, I figured out you’d have some band aids in your pouch!! And by the time you came back, I was so hungry I forgot to mention it!! That’s it!! That’s the whole thing!!

Blanche: I… I see.

Rosa: … Hm.

Marcia: What?!

Rosa: I was wondering how an idiot like you was able to pass classes with such high grades, and even make it to Prefect. Now it makes sense. It was all thanks to Blanche’s hard work, wasn’t it?

Marcia: … Having a moron like you say that to me really annoys me, Rosalia.

Rosa: MO-MORON?!

Marcia: I don’t get why you’re so high and mighty when your grades are just as low as mine. It’s kinda laughable. Aren’t you ashamed of your own lack of performance?

Rosa: Th-That… Uh!

Marcia: At least I’m doing what I can to keep them high. So having somebody diss me like this, puts me in a bad mood. You know, I think I actually had it. 

Rosa: Hu-Huh? Had it… Marcia, what…

Marcia: You can be as snide as you want, but I’ll show you that I’m not just a leech. I have my pride too. There have been many times when I had to go against my instincts, but the goal I want to reach can’t be touched by those without a steely resolve. But I doubt somebody with an easy life like you could understand…

Rosa: Ma-Marcia…

Marcia: So watch closely, ok? I’ll show you how Marcia Pyroeis won’t sully her name by tucking her tail in and running away. I’ll confront the Djinn and get us all out! I swear this!

Rosa: MARCIAAAAAAA! I’M SORRY! TO THINK THAT YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN THIS COOL! I MISJUDGED YOU! I TOTALLY MISJUDGED YOU!

Marcia: Heh. That’s alright. I’m not the kind of person to hold a grudge. Now, stand back. It might get dangerous.

Rosa: MARCIAAAAAAAAA!!!

Cass: Mi-Miss Pyroeis!

Blanche: … Marcia.

Marcia: Hm. What is it, Blanche? You can’t change my mind, so don’t even try it. I’ve already chosen my path and nothing-

Blanche: You know that if you subjugate the Djinn you can only ask for one favour, right? So your plans of getting rich quick…

Marcia: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! ISN’T THAT MESSED UP? THEN WHY AM I PUTTING UP THIS SHOW FOR, HUH?!

Cass: … Um…

Marcia: Haaaa, and here I thought that if I went first, I’d get to bag two birds really easy. Crap. Gotta rethink my plan.

Rosa: … To think that I ever looked up to you. I was a moron. A real idiot.

Cass: Mi-Mi-Miss Morgainne! Ple-Please have a tissue to dry yo-your tears!

Marcia: Geh. If there’s no money to be made out of this, then I’m out. Blanche, you can have a go with the ne-

Diana: Marcia. Behind you.

Marcia: Huh? Behin-

Djinn: Hm? So it’s you first, girlie?

Marcia: ARGH! DON’T SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THIS!

Djinn: I was sure you wouldn’t be interested after all the fuss you made earlier, but…

Marcia: E-Eh? No, no, no, no, no,! You’re mistaken, I’m just-

Djinn: Who am I to deny you a chance for redemption? LET THE ROUND STAAAAAAAART!

Marcia: HEEEEEEY!! WAAAAAAAIT!

back | next

[mattzerella-sticks]

🌊What the Water Gave Him 🌊

Destiel-centric finale spec based on a post I made earlier, found here

Can be read on ao3 here

It was over. Chuck lost, Sam and Dean can live their lives how they want them. But their victory wasn't without losses. The biggest upset nearly taking Dean out of the game, happening so close to the final battle. Now he's on the other side, alive against all odds, but Sam knows he isn't happy. Not truly happy since the Empty stole his best friend.

But there's a chance they can save him. A slim chance. A risk that Dean's willing to take despite every logical nerve in Sam's body screaming at him to look for better options. That threading a needle this small is too dangerous. That they don't have to take on another big bad, not anymore. That they don't have to risk their lives anymore. Dean is far past the point of listening. Dead set on this mission, Sam can only watch.

And pray his brother proves him wrong.

           He stands along the water’s edge, gentle waves lapping the rocky shore. Barely licking at his boots while he gazes upon the beautiful, blue stretch of lake. Sun hanging low on the horizon, sky a far deeper color of orange than earlier.

           They’ve been at this for over an hour.

           Sam glances behind him, skin crawling as he sees nothing changed since last he looked. Jack stationed on one edge of the circle, Michael at the other. Dean between them, his eyes closed. Lying deathly still over the sigils scratched into the earth. His skin pale, and both hands tightly clasped around tan fabric folded over Dean’s lap.

           He hates this. What Dean’s doing. That Sam cannot help. And how it’s their only option.

           Jack saw this once before. A variation of it, actually. “When I killed Nick,” he said, handing out copies of photographs he printed out amongst their little group. “I found him in the middle of resurrecting Lucifer –“

           “If he just had a little more patience,” Dean sneered. “Chuck could’ve saved him a whole lot of effort, though I’d doubt it’d end any differently.” Adam nodded at Dean’s side, studying his copy with interest like Sam did. Trying to identify the scene Jack captured. Dean continued, not even addressing the image. “Do you think this can work?”

           “Given who we’re doing this for, no,” he admitted, “the spell Nick found would only open a portal to the Empty, wake Lucifer up. It would then be up to him to cross over, and with his amount of power that wouldn’t be difficult.” Jack then opened the book he brought, pushing it into the middle of the table. Pointing at an illustration. “But I think I can modify it. Although…”

           Sam set the photo down, facing Jack. “What is it Jack?”

           “I… well, it’d be very complicated,” he started, not meeting Sam’s gaze. “For it to work, me and Michael would need to use all of our power.”

           “To wake Cas? Jack, you did it before –“

           “When the Empty was asleep,” Jack said, “when they weren’t expecting it. When Cas hadn’t already ticked them off… they’ve already lost him once.”

           “And they won’t be keen on losing Cas again,” Dean added. A storm darkening his hooded stare. Sam watched him sink into his seat, memories from that awful night weighing on Dean. It haunted him, too. Finding Dean curled around himself the next morning, unresponsive, incoherently mumbling about their friend. Shoulder stained with dried blood. In time, he recovered as he always did. Sometimes though Sam feared he’d turn and there Dean would be. Shattered completely with no chance of putting those pieces together. Stuck in that helpless ball, trembling. Forever praying. That’s not the case now. No sign of careful fragility anymore, the storm passing. Back ramrod straight Dean carelessly flicked the photo away. “What else you need?”

           “Ingredients that we have here at the Bunker, I’m sure,” Jack continued, “a nice open space where we can perform the ritual. Something that belonged to Cas, that will resonate with his unique wavelength. And finally…” he trailed off near the end, faltering.

           “Jack,” Sam said, “What else?”

           “One of us would have to go in,” he told them, “but… there’s a chance they might not come back.” For the first second, there’s silence. The next –

           “Jack, there has to be –“

           “I’ll do it.”

           He whipped his head towards him, scowling at the grim determination of Dean’s face. Lips thinned in a small line. Brows bent aggressively. An expression that appeared whenever Dean grabbed onto the most idiotic, suicidal thought he had and stubbornly refused to surrender. He’d refuse any option other than what he decided. Arguing with him when he’s like that was impossible.

           Sam tried regardless.

           “There has to be another way,” Sam whispered, both men waiting as Jack and Michael recreated Nick’s sigil-work in the dirt. Leaning against Baby’s frame, drinking in silence. “Billie always threatened she’d throw us in there one day, why don’t we ask her –“

           “She’d never agree to it, Sammy. Too messy.” Dean wouldn’t look at Sam. Not since he exploded on Dean back at the Bunker. Called him selfish, that the last thing Cas wants is Dean endangering himself. His tantrum earned Sam a swift right hook he still has the bruise from, cheek mottled blue and green. Dean’s knuckles newly scabbed. “Billie plays by the universe’s rules… and we make our own.”

           “Yes, finally. Rules we fought so hard to make, I…” Sam sighed, “we were finished, Dean. No more big risks. We won. Facing the Empty… there’s no do-over button if you get stuck there.”

           “I’m okay with that.”

           “And yet you’re still doing this?”

           “It’s like I told you Sam,” he said, finally deigning Sam with a frigid glance. Steely resolve sharpening it, cutting through him. “Have been telling you. You don’t have a clue what’s really going on. If you knew… you’d see there’s no risk at all.”

           Sam’s temper flares now, pain edging his vision. “Then let me in, Dean. Tell me. Why are you so afraid of –“

           “I’m not afraid –“

           “You clearly are,” he hissed, “otherwise you wouldn’t be throwing yourself into another near-death experience instead of having a simple conversation with me.” Sam reels his anger back, softening. Pleading. “I want Cas here as much as you do, Dean. But there has to be another way.”

           Dean drained his bottle and then threw it. Far enough so when it exploded the glass wouldn’t touch them. “If it were Eileen stuck in there,” he said, “you’d know there wasn’t.”

           He paused. “Eileen? What’s that have to –“

           Jack called, saying they were ready. Dean stalked off towards them. Sam left behind in his confusion. “Do you have the anchor?”

           “Right here.” He showed Jack the trench coat, grip on it gentle like if he squeezed any tighter Dean might rip it. “Where do you want me?”

           Sam remembered Dean rambled on about its sturdiness. Boasting how he gassed the store clerk with half-truths to not draw suspicion when asking after ‘protective outerwear’. Buying it because he noticed a tear along the seam of Cas’s armpit. “I thought he’d stitch it up,” Dean laughed, whipping his purchase like a cape. Playing with it. Sam chuckled at his brother’s antics. “But he just shrugged and carried on like it was nothing. I asked him why he left it and he tells me that it’d be a waste of his grace.”

           “Then why didn’t you mend it for him?”

           “…What?”

           “Come on, Dean,” Sam said, “you’re a master with the needle. And I’m not talking about sewing gashes… do you recall the Luke Skywalker costume you made me from those stolen motel bed sheets?”

           Dean blushed, “I was just a kid then, Sammy…”

           “Still the best costume, better than any of those store-bought ones at school.”

           “Well… maybe I didn’t want to fix it,” he said, “that’s why. I mean… sure I could’ve. But then he’d rip it again and… it’s not like he can’t have another jacket! Cas needs a little more variety.”

           Sam snorted. “Yeah, because a slightly lighter brown is really crazy for him. What’s he even gonna do with it?”

           “Wear it?” Dean said, “Or… put it away, keep it here. Dude’s been living with us this long and how much stuff does he own? It might not be a huge change but it’s… it’s a start, Sam.”

           Dean was right in buying it. Ransacking Cas’s room, there wasn’t anything they could use for the spell save for the single, untouched trench coat hanging in his closet. As Sam leaves that memory, he realized too late the others began without him. Jack and Michael knelt like statues. His brother had left for the Empty.

           And he’s still there.

           Helpless while Dean pokes the bear in his cave. Sitting on the sidelines as he faces down an extraordinary being with limitless powers, like beating Chuck wasn’t pure luck. Like any of their efforts left a scratch on him. It was a group effort, what little remained of their family pitching in. Sending Chuck onto his next project. But this… it was just Dean. He was alone. And worse… Sam thinks his brother wanted it that way.

           If it were Eileen stuck in there, you’d know it wasn’t.

           When he wasn’t worrying about Dean, Sam mulled over his parting message. Trying to fit together the pieces Dean gave. He suspects it’s a simple picture. A niggling sense at the base of his skull tells Sam that the answer is clear. It always was. Except he looked past it, over and over, again and again. Never seeing the truth of it. Of Dean and Cas. Without either of them here, where he can observe them one more time – careful, in a way Sam hasn’t before – Sam doubts he will uncover much of anything.

           At least it distracts him from Dean. Until it doesn’t.

           Dean gasps, lurching forward. Coughing, spitting up bile and gagging on air. Michael collapses, exhausted. Jack almost follows but overcomes his dizziness. Sam, the only unaffected one, dashes towards. Rubs Dean’s back while he works through his nausea. How Dean lets him either shows he’s too woozy to know it’s him, or the earlier animosity was forgotten. As Dean claws at his shirt, gasping, repeating his name, Sam guesses the latter. “Yes, Dean?” he says, “What is it?”

           “Cas,” he says, voice hoarse and raw, “Where… where is he?”

           There weren’t any portals. Nor did a star shoot downwards from the sky. Their friend had not even blinked into existence with a smile and a familiar rumble.  “Cas,” Sam sighs, “Cas. Dean, I don’t think –“

           “Cas.”

           He scrambles to his feet, knocking Sam onto the ground. Dean runs across the shore and, when he reaches the lake, wades in. Fully dressed, madly waving the trench coat. Sam yells, but Dean ignores him. Hellbent on drowning himself.

           Except Sam misses it, again.

           Someone meets Dean halfway. Breaking through the lake’s surface, swimming to where the water rests above their waists. Drags his brother into a hug, spinning him. With raven hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes crinkled with joy and life and love. “Cas,” Sam says, “it’s… it worked?”

           “Of course it worked,” Jack says, “This is Dean and Cas.”

           Maybe Sam understands because of the off-hand way Jack spoke about the two men. Or, more likely, it’s when Cas – wrapped in the trench coat Dean bought him – sweeps Dean into his arms and kisses him. Dean melts under his touch, responding with an excitement that had been absent when Chuck left them alone for real. It doesn’t matter how. He finally gets it.

           Dean and Cas… they get their happy ending.