#like we knew they were a threat and it was palpable

[yesihaveaobsession]

Crimson Sanctuary

WARNINGS!!!! DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, BLOOD, ABUSE MENTIONED~!!!! (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK)

Alastor x female reader

Summary: After getting in a huge fight with your drunk boyfriend, leaving you bruised and broke from head to toe you go to the one person you felt safe with, Alastor

WARNINGS!!!! DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, BLOOD, ABUSE MENTIONED~!!!! (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK)

A/N- I've been wanting to write something like this for a while now, I love the song "wait in the truck" by HARDY so this kind of inspired this piece, enjoy!

song inspiration kind of:

The cool, dimly lit hallway of the Hazbin Hotel felt like a sanctuary compared to where you'd just been. Your legs shook as you leaned heavily against the wall, each one of your steps sending a wave of pain through your body. Bruises covered your body, aching so much that it reminded you of the fight you’d had with your boyfriend. You couldn’t take it anymore—not after tonight. He had come home from the bar drunk, and the smallest thing had set him off. That was it. You’d had enough, but you didn’t know where else to go.

Your breath came in ragged bursts as you pushed yourself deeper into the hotel, hoping only the person you came to see would notice you. You didn’t even want him to see you like this, but that was the reality now. Desperation drove you forward, pushing you toward the one person you truly trusted—Alastor.

Then, you heard it—his distant humming, that eerie, lilting melody he often whistled when he thought no one was listening. It was a strange comfort. You managed a few more steps before your legs gave out under you, collapsing onto the floor in a heap. Pain flared through your bruised body as you hit the ground, a soft groan escaping your lips. You just laid there, panting and trembling, too weak to get up. You resigned yourself to this moment—there was nothing more you could do.

The door to Alastor’s room creaked open. He was on his way out, probably for one of his usual outings. In that moment, you heard his humming stop. There was a brief pause before he spoke.

“Dear?” His voice was surprisingly soft. You could’ve sworn the radio filter usually gracing his voice had vanished for a moment. That's when his polished pointe shoes came into view and he was kneeling at your side, his gloved claws reaching out to steady you. "Darling," he said in a low, quieter tone, “what has happened?” His clawed hand hesitantly reached out, gently brushing against you to assure you that he meant no harm.

You tried to answer—you wanted to—but your throat was too tight. He studied you closely, his eyes flicking over your injuries. And just like that, he knew.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Alastor's voice was now laced with venom, though his touch remained impossibly gentle. You didn’t have to answer; he’d seen this before, far too many times. He had warned you, but this wasn’t about being right. It was about you, broken and desperate, and with nowhere else to turn.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” he said, his voice still soft as he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. Your eyes, hooded and exhausted, met his. They were heavy with fatigue and pain, filled with the weight of everything you’d been through. His gaze burned with fury, but none of it was directed at you.

“You did the right thing coming here,” he continued. “You are always welcome here, and I assure you, you will not be going back to him.”

The threat behind his words lingered, palpable and real. He would make sure of that. The thought of what Alastor might do to your ex made your stomach churn, but you were too exhausted, too broken to care. Carefully, Alastor helped you to your feet, his hand never leaving your waist as he guided you toward his room.

“Come now, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we? You’ll be safe here.”

He led you into his room, the warmth and the flickering glow of the fireplace instantly wrapping you in a sense of comfort. Without another word, no hum, he guided you toward a large, cushioned armchair in front of the fire. Alastor's touch was gentle but firm as he helped you sit down slowly, his hands lingering for a moment longer to ensure you were steady.

As you sank into the armchair, the soft fabric cradling your aching body, Alastor's tall and long frame knelt before you, his sharp eyes studying your face and your face only. Your exhaustion, your pain, were evident, and you blinked tiredly at him, unable to summon a reply. With a sigh, he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. Then, with a small flick of his wrist, a warm glow began to radiate from his gloved hands. His magic was subtle at first; the energy sent a soothing warmth through your body, and you tensed for a moment. Slowly, you felt the pain and bruises ease. The ache in your muscles dulled as his power worked its way through you, healing the worst of your injuries. You watched in quiet awe as the bruises on your arms and legs faded, the tension in your body releasing as the pain subsided, though you watched with tired, exhausted eyes.

"There," he said. "That should help."

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Alastor smiled—a small, genuine smile. "You're safe now, my dear. And don't you worry about him, I'll handle it."

Alastor didn’t move from his place by your side, his presence a silent reassurance that you weren’t alone anymore.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. Safe with him, in his arms, knowing that no harm would come to you as long as he was near. You knew in that moment your boyfriend was probably going to see the light, but that didn't matter you were just grateful for Alastor's presence.

[audiovisualrecall]

Hm keep having the same...Dream? Nightmare? Anyway maybe I should take it as a warning...

[2kiran]

FRANCIS MOSSES 交易 ── `` DARK CONTENT﹕monsterfucking. top amab reader. doppelgänger francis. handjob. no protection + preparation. overstimulation. ✶ IN WHICH you unknowingly let the wrong francis inside.

the prospect of you being fired—or worse, being put in a cell—was incredibly likely. enthusiasm of the milkman’s arrival being your final entry request for the day lead to your upcoming demise.

it shouldn’t be on you, both the blame and responsibility. the given identity document had indistinguishable information, merely an artist’s mistake as you finally realize that his eyebrows were just a tad thicker. his eyes were a bit too lively for the real francis.

realization dawned on you a second too late as you feel cold, but strangely simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar hands grab you from behind. before you could reach the rotary phone to contact the D.D.D., he grabbed your wrist and spun your chair around to face him.

francis, or so you thought, had a gentle smile plastered on his face but you knew better to tell that his intentions were far from truly kind. “don’t tell me you were actually going to let them kill me,” your jaw tightened, gaze hardening into a glare. he chuckled, hands landing on the armrests, so dangerously close to yours that were balled in fists to prevent yourself from punching his face.

when you didn’t respond, he continued. leaning in as he shook his head with a scoff, “aw, c’mon. . .we both know that you’re too much of a good sweetheart, yeah? please don’t try that again.” his saccharine voice was improbable, a subtle take of a threat behind his tone.

“you’re gullible enough to think i’d do that for you.” the tension between you was palpable, a thin thread that threatened to break at the tip of his finger. his lips pouted, sadness in his untrue eyes. “me? but you’re the one who let me in here,” he laughed, tone rather arrogant, “and i should thank you for that.”

if he were the real francis, you probably would have been making out with him by now. this doppelgänger was awfully confident, you wish you could break him. see tears fall down to his round cheeks, lips trembling as pleas tumbled out of his pretty lips.

these thoughts were idiotic. but fuck, he was near enough to the milkman, the clueless neighbor who could care less about it all. “want me to spare you? or—” you cut him off, lips connecting with his. francis was surprised, but welcomed it nonetheless. his hand came up to your neck, sliding towards your hair. groaning as he gently, almost experimentally, tugged at it. tongue met tongue, a clash of saliva and mess. you bit onto his bottom lip, eliciting a soft moan.

“mmph, and here i thought you hated me.” he grinned, panting, “what gave you that idea?” you place a kiss on his chin, “because you tried to get rid of me, and the fact that. . .i’m not him.” grabbing his hips, he let out a yelp. he scrambled to hold onto your shoulders for dear life, gasping when he felt your teeth graze against his neck. “seems like i’ve struck a nerve, hu—haah, fuck!”

a lewd moan had escaped him, your teeth sinking into his flesh. it was far from gentle, biting him like you wanted to see him bleed. he was simply a doppelgänger that you stupidly let in, after all.

the pink muscle settled in your mouth lapped at the bite, cueing francis to whimper at the sensation. he moved closer on your lap, grinding against your crotch. the action could’ve been mistaken for something relating to a dog; for he seemed like a bitch in heat. quite uncharacteristic for his kind. “you’re pathetic, mosses.”

francis, beyond belief, was affected by the use of the stolen surname more than you anticipated. his hips trembled, “that’s, haah, not my fault. you made me like this. fucking a– ah! doppelgänger, really? they’d surely co– come for you next.” his cock twitched, spilling pre-cum that formed a wet patch on his boxers. you were a lowly human, another one to get rid of, so why does he feel this way?

silence was met with his words. not until you pull down his pants, taking off what was left until his lower half was bare to you. “oh yeah? you’re letting me fuck you,” your fingers wrapped around the base of his dick, giving a single stroke, “you’re not even trying to fight back against me, honey.”

he whined, beginning to selfishly rut into your palm. “what were you going to say?” francis doesn’t respond and you twist your wrist, a cry slipping from him. you asked on a whim, wishing to hear what he planned besides allowing you to carry on with your life. “i-i don’t know!” your thumb presses down on his slit, causing him to wrack his brain to remember. “ah, ah, i meant to ask if you wa- want me to kill you right he— hmmng!” his voice wobbled as if he was fearful, tears in his eyes and he’s suddenly ethereal.

“do you still want to do that? to end my life?”

“no, no, please, i didn’t mean it.”

you tease the vein that ran on his shaft, never failing to witness the face he makes when he’s within the depths of pleasure; of that high he never dared to reach. oh, if only if it was francis mosses. the real one, the one you’re so curious about, the one who your eyes like to linger on a bit too long for comfort. your pace picks up, palm slick with his pre-cum and the room’s sinful with his sobs and arousal.

francis moans under his breath, “i’m cumming-!” he warns a second too late, hips bucking as the familiar fluid splatters across your fingers. the doppelgänger was your very own legendary mona lisa with how his face is painted with all shades of red.

when you swipe your thumb over his tip, he swore he had a glimpse of the deity he didn’t have the conscience to worship.

beliefs were foolish; it was his opinion. with that, he thought you were the one insane. doppelgängers aren’t flawed with such imperfections like humans are. he didn’t need to be prepared for situations similar to this, and you used his inhumanity for your pleasure.

“ughm, agh!” you had wordlessly given your cock a few pumps, no more than that before slipping inside of his tight hole. the tiniest beginning of guilt threatened to engulf you with shame, but why should you allow it? his mere purpose and intention was to murder.

his hole spasmed around you, freely welcoming the intrusion. maybe they were quite useful after all. he whined, his insides tingling with the stretch. the doppelgänger has never felt so full, or genuinely anything, for that matter. “please—fuck, move already, damnit.” he, himself, was breathless.

how could you deny him?

your hands grasped his hips tightly, like you wanted to indent a marking into his flesh. cold emanated from your palms, contrasting to the heat licking at his cheeks. he’s lighter than you’d expect, hole gripping you as if he was a fleshlight. lifting him up, your tip was held onto. heavenly; as the way he wrapped around you was undeniably heavenly.

sensing his apparent impatience, you let him crash down on you. a broken gasp-of-a-moan occupied the air, globs of pre-cum building on his slit. “yeah, fuck me like that,” he breathed, instructions hazily clear to your sex-deprived brain. his ass slapped, slapped, slapped against you. shit, the D.D.D. surely ought to give you a punishment worse than death for this.

he clung onto you, both with his arms and entrance. you don’t think you could really get enough—as vague as this memory could get. your tip brushes against his prostate with each harsh thrust, slick sounds adding onto the cotton pressed into his little head, forming static and nothing else to focus on besides your cock pounding into him. “you’re liking this- ahngm! right? like how good i feel? haa, needed your dick in me s’ bad. . .”

he pushed his hips forward, grinding on your cock as he purposely clenched. “thaaaat’s it, sweetheart. think ‘m gonna keep you.”

yeah, let’s hope your neighbors forgive you for indulging in him.

masterlist﹒divider﹒artist kaworinx

[atinyslittleworld]

15:05

san x f!reader

Summary: At Coachella, San's jealousy erupts seeing Y/N with another guy.

Word Count: 1k

Genre: best friends to lovers, romance

Warnings: jealousy

San had always been a charismatic performer, his presence on stage commanding the attention of everyone in the audience. This year, performing at Coachella, was no different. The crowd roared with excitement as he and his band rocked the stage, the energy palpable. Yet, amid the lights and the cheers, his eyes kept drifting to one spot in the sea of faces: Y/N.

Y/N, his best friend since forever and the girl he’d been quietly pining for, stood near the front. She was the reason he pushed himself so hard, the muse behind his music. But tonight, something was off. As San sang his heart out, he spotted her talking to another guy. And not just talking—laughing, touching his arm, and looking at him with a smile that twisted something deep inside San.

Jealousy, hot and unbidden, coursed through him. It took every ounce of his willpower to stay focused on the performance, but his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Who was this guy? Why was he making Y/N laugh like that? And why did it feel like a knife to his chest every time she touched him?

The set finally ended, the crowd's cheers echoing in his ears as he exited the stage. The rest of the band patted him on the back, congratulating him on a great show, but San’s mind was elsewhere. He barely heard their words as he made his way to the dressing room, his thoughts consumed by the image of Y/N with that guy.

After a quick change, San headed out to see the rest of the show. The music and the crowd buzzed around him, but all he could think about was finding Y/N. He spotted her near one of the stages, the same guy still at her side. His jaw clenched as he approached, every step a battle to keep his emotions in check.

“Y/N,” he called out, trying to keep his tone light despite the storm brewing inside him. She turned, her face lighting up when she saw him, but his eyes flicked to the guy beside her, and his smile tightened.

“San! You were amazing!” Y/N exclaimed, rushing over to hug him. He hugged her back, holding her a bit longer than usual, as if to stake his claim. When they pulled apart, she turned to the guy, still beaming. “This is Alex. He’s an old friend from college.”

San forced a smile, his eyes locked on Alex. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice betraying none of the jealousy he felt. Alex seemed nice enough, but all San could think about was how close he was standing to Y/N.

“Great to meet you too, man. You killed it up there,” Alex replied, offering a handshake. San shook his hand, his grip firm, trying to convey without words that Y/N was off-limits.

They stood there, the three of them, and San’s jealousy simmered just below the surface. Y/N was oblivious to the tension, chatting animatedly about the performance and their plans for the rest of the night. San tried to join in, but his mind kept drifting back to how easily Alex had made Y/N laugh, how he had touched her so casually.

As the night went on, San found it harder and harder to keep his jealousy in check. Every time Alex so much as brushed Y/N’s arm, San’s fists clenched at his sides. He wanted nothing more than to pull her away, to tell Alex to back off, but he knew he had to keep his cool.

Finally, when Y/N went to grab a drink, San seized the moment to speak to Alex alone. “So, you and Y/N seem close,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Alex shrugged, smiling. “Yeah, we go way back. She’s great, isn’t she?”

San’s smile was tight. “Yeah, she is. Just...make sure you don’t cross any lines, okay? She’s important to me.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, sensing the underlying threat in San’s words. “Got it, man. No worries.”

Y/N returned, oblivious to the tension, and the night continued. But San stayed close, making sure Alex knew his place. As the festival wound down and they headed back, Y/N slipped her arm through San’s, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“You okay? You seem tense,” she asked softly.

San forced a smile, looking down at her. “Just...making sure everything’s good.”

She smiled back, squeezing his arm. “With you around, it always is.”

San’s heart swelled at her words, the jealousy fading slightly. Yet, as they moved through the crowd, he couldn't shake the image of Alex touching her. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

“Y/N, can we talk somewhere quiet?” he asked, his voice strained.

She nodded, concern flashing in her eyes. They found a secluded spot away from the noise and people, the soft glow of festival lights casting shadows around them.

San took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly. He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto hers. “Let me kiss you just once, and then we’ll forget it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes widening in surprise. “San…”

“Please,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “Just once.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Y/N’s lips curved into a small smile. “What if I don’t want to forget it?”

San’s heart skipped a beat, hope flaring in his chest. “Then we won’t.”

He closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a kiss that was tender and desperate all at once. It was a kiss that spoke of years of longing and unspoken feelings. Y/N melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. San smiled, his jealousy replaced by a warmth that spread through his entire being.

“Guess we have a lot to talk about,” Y/N said softly, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah,” San agreed, pulling her closer. “But we have all the time in the world.”

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Him and I

Summary - Bound by a passion that thrives on violence and chaos, they eliminate anyone who dares to cross them. Their love becomes both their greatest strength and their most dangerous weapon, a perfect match in their shared madness.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x Arryn reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), violence (mentions)

Word count - 2044

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

He's out his head, I'm out my mind we got that love, the crazy kind.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon declared, his voice laced with smug satisfaction. 

The expression settled on his face as he rested his hands on the hilt of his sword, slick with blood, which seemed to meld with his hand as though it were an extension of his very being, a dark instrument of his will.

The man's life had drained away at his feet, but Daemon seemed untroubled, as if violence was as natural to him as breathing. A crimson pool spread slowly beneath his boots, the thick blood glistening under the flickering torchlight like a river of molten rubies, each drop a silent witness to the carnage.

I flinched, a fleeting reaction to the brutality that had just unfolded before me but then, a slow smile crept across my lips. My gaze found Daemon's, his eyes already locked onto mine. 

There was no need for words between us. We understood each other in ways that transcended language, our bond forged in the crucible of blood and sharpened by the steel we wielded.

I licked my lips, savouring the metallic tang of blood, his blood. The fool had dared to speak ill of me, and now his life was nothing more than a bitter taste on my tongue, a reminder of the sweet vengeance.

I raised my thumb to wipe away a crimson smear, aware that the rest of my face was likely speckled with droplets, but I found I couldn't care less. 

This was the price of our love, a love that thrived in the shadows of violence, a love as dangerous as it was intoxicating.

The King had decreed that anyone who questioned me, the sister of his late wife, regarding the mysterious death of one of Alicent's ladies-in-waiting would lose their tongue. Daemon, ever the enforcer of our twisted justice, decided that wasn't enough. 

He wanted blood, and he had taken it without hesitation.

"Your Grace," Otto Hightower's voice cut through the tension, thick with anger as he turned to face the King. 

The man's indignation was palpable, his eyes flickering between the lifeless body on the floor and the King who had allowed this to happen but even Otto, with all his political manoeuvring and cold calculation, knew better than to challenge Daemon directly. 

Not when the bond between us was so absolute, so terrifyingly complete.

He saw the madness in our eyes, a madness that could not be swayed by reason or threats, and I could sense his hesitation, a fear born not of cowardice, but of knowing he was outmatched by a love that defied logic and thrived on chaos.

Daemon kills for me, I kill for him. We're both out of our minds, lost in a love so consuming it leaves no room for fear, no space for mercy. 

We've got the kind of love people whisper about in dark corners, the kind that burns too brightly, too fiercely, and leaves only ashes in its wake.

"This matter cannot be ignored," Otto declared, his voice edged with disgust as he turned his gaze toward me. His eyes bore into mine, seething with contempt, but I simply bit my lip to keep from laughing. 

He was so predictable in his self-righteous indignation, so easy to provoke.

"What would you have me do?" Viserys snapped, his frustration bleeding through every word. 

The burden of the crown weighed heavily on him, and Otto's relentless prying was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

"It is common knowledge that Prince Daemon's wife was present when the body of Lady Elia was discovered," Otto pressed on, his tone growing more insistent. "Merely a day after the lady had slandered Prince Daemon's name."

Viserys ran a weary hand over his face, his patience thinning, frayed by the constant tension between loyalty and fear, between the brother he loved and the monster that Daemon had become. 

I clenched my teeth to keep from lashing out. The accusations were nothing new, just more whispers and rumours in a court that thrived on such poison.

"Prince Daemon's wife has a name," I spat, crossing my arms over my chest. 

Otto turned to me, throwing his hands up in exasperation, clearly irked that this was the only part of his condemnation I had chosen to acknowledge.

"There is no proof that my sister-in-law killed Lady Elia. These are merely rumours," Viserys said, his voice calm but resolute as he met my gaze. I offered him a small, knowing smile, and he continued, "She would do no such thing."

"You say this only because she is your late wife's sister," Otto retorted, his voice sharp with accusation.

"Precisely," Viserys replied, his tone softening as he spoke of my sister. "Aemma would never have let it get this far... my Aemma."

Otto turned back to me, his eyes narrowing in disdain, but this time I didn't hold back. I allowed a proud smirk to spread across my face, mouthing a single word "Oops." His jaw clenched in response, but he had nothing left to say.

"Your Grace, I do not wish to continue this conversation," I said, feigning an upset tone as I glanced at Viserys with wide, innocent eyes.

"Of course, my dear," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. His affection for me, the last living reminder of his beloved Aemma, was a powerful shield against Otto's accusations.

"There will be no further discussions regarding Lady Elia's death," Viserys declared, his voice carrying a finality that brooked no argument. His gaze shifted to the lifeless body at Daemon's feet, the head severed cleanly from the shoulders. "Let Lord Tarly be an example."

With those words, the matter was settled. Daemon, with a flicker of something dark and satisfied in his eyes, turned to me. 

Without a word, he took my hand, pulling me from the throne room and through the winding corridors of the Keep. His grip was firm, and possessive, as if he needed to feel my presence.

We moved in silence until we reached our chambers. The door closed with a solid thud, sealing us in our private world, away from the prying eyes and judgmental stares of others. 

The moment the latch clicked, Daemon pulled me to him, our bodies colliding with a desperate intensity. My chest pressed against his, the heat of his skin seeping through his clothes as he held me close.

"The blood of my enemies looks absolutely beautiful on you," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His thumb brushed across my bottom lip, smearing a trace of dried blood. 

The touch was possessive, reverent as if he were admiring a work of art.

"Your enemies?" I asked, tilting my head slightly, a teasing smile playing on my lips.

"Any man who speaks ill of my wife is my enemy," he replied, his tone firm and unwavering. His fingers threaded through my hair, pulling gently as he rested his hand on the nape of my neck, holding me in place.

"That's exactly what I like to hear," I whispered, my fingers slipping beneath his tunic, desperate to feel the heat of his skin.

I began tracing the contours of his muscles with a feather-light touch. Feeling him shudder beneath my fingertips, the tension in his body turning to something darker, more primal.

In truth, those words were my lifeline, the assurance that no matter how deep we descended into darkness, he would always be there with me.

"Lady Elia?" he questioned, his voice a low rumble. There was no fear in his eyes, only a dark curiosity.

I smirked, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. Rising onto my tiptoes, I leaned in close to his ear, my breath hot against his skin. 

"She insinuated that you were aggressive and unpredictable," I whispered, biting gently on his earlobe before pulling back to my given height. "I don't like it when people talk ill of my husband, so I killed her."

The admission hung in the air between us, heavy with the weight of our shared madness. Daemon's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a wicked smile. 

Without another word, he crushed his lips against mine in a kiss that was hungry, fierce, and unyielding. It wasn't a kiss of tenderness but one of raw passion, a fire that consumed us both. 

We stumbled backwards, our bodies entwined as we lost ourselves in the moment, in the shared understanding that we were unstoppable together. 

"Tell me what you want, darling," I murmured against his lips, already knowing the answer but craving the sound of his voice. 

His hands were impatient, already tugging at the fabric between us, desperate to feel skin against skin.

"You," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. His lips moved to my neck, trailing sloppy, heated kisses down my body, each one sending shivers of anticipation through me.

"Then have me," I whispered, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as I surrendered to the inevitable. "Take me."

His hands parted my legs, spreading them wide as he positioned himself. When he began to push inside me, the sudden intrusion made me gasp, my body reacting instinctively. My walls clenched around him, drawing him deeper, as that familiar, aching need built in my core.

He moved with a rhythm that was both demanding and intoxicating, each thrust driving me closer to the edge. I arched against him, meeting his movements with my own, our hips colliding in a primal dance that spoke of love, possession, and the insatiable hunger we had for one another.

"Yes, just like that," I murmured, my voice breathy with pleasure as he adjusted his angle, the tip of his length grazing a spot deep within me that made my entire body shudder.

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense.

"You feel so perfect," he growled, his voice thick with the kind of desire that bordered on obsession. "I could stay buried inside you forever."

It wasn't just lust, it was a desperate need, a hunger that could only be sated by knowing that in this moment, I was his and his alone.

A shiver ran through me at his words, my heart pounding in sync with the fierce rhythm of our bodies. 

"Then don't stop," I breathed, my nails raking across his back, leaving red marks in their wake. "I need you, all of you."

Each movement was precise, as though he were playing me like an instrument, drawing out the sweetest music with every thrust, every deep connection between us.

"You have all of me," he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, of prolonging the pleasure for both of us. "I'm yours, always."

I could feel the climax building, an unstoppable wave that threatened to crash over me, to pull me under and drown me in its depths. My grip on him tightened, nails biting into his flesh as I rode the edge of oblivion, his name spilling from my lips in a fervent chant.

"Let go," he urged, his voice rough, his breath hot against my ear. "Let me feel you come apart for me."

His words were my undoing. With one final, deep thrust, he pushed me over the brink, and I shattered. Pleasure exploded within me, a white-hot blaze that consumed every inch of my being. 

My body convulsed around him, my voice breaking into a cry of ecstasy as the world shattered into a million dazzling pieces. He followed me into that abyss, his own release crashing over him as he buried himself deep inside me, our bodies locked together in the throes of passion.

As the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed, we clung to each other, our breaths mingling, hearts pounding in unison. He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, a contrast to the wild passion that had consumed us just moments before.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice a vow in the quiet aftermath.

"And you're mine," I replied, my voice full of contentment as I nestled closer to him, our bodies still intimately connected.

In that moment, we knew that this was where we belonged—in each other's arms, bound by a love that was as dangerous as it was beautiful.

I am his, and he is mine. In the end, it's him and I.

A/n - Is somebody gonna match my freak (listen to Him and I by Halsey and G-eazy)

[i5uckersblog]

Growing Pains

Summary: On a mission gone wrong, Rogue is transformed into a five-year-old girl. Logan, stepping into an unexpected role, must care for her until a cure can be found, forging a bond that will forever change their relationship.

The mission had been straightforward—or at least it was supposed to be. Infiltrate the lab, shut it down, and get out. But Logan knew better than to trust “straightforward” when it came to their line of work. He and Rogue had been paired up for this one, her powers making her a perfect counterbalance to his ferocity. They worked well together, two forces of nature who understood the danger and the stakes.

But nothing could have prepared Logan for what happened next.

They had been moving through the labyrinthine corridors of the underground lab, the faint hum of machinery all around them. Rogue was beside him, her gloved hands ready to absorb whatever threat came their way. The tension in the air was palpable, every shadow a potential enemy.

Then they found the heart of the lab—a large, sterile room filled with advanced technology that Logan couldn’t even begin to understand. At the center of it all was a scientist, his back turned to them, frantically working at a console.

Logan acted on instinct, charging forward with a growl. But the scientist was ready. He slammed his hand down on a button, and the room was suddenly flooded with an intense, blinding light. Logan’s senses went haywire, his claws still extended as he tried to reach Rogue.

“Rogue!” he shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the light.

Then, just as suddenly, it was over. The light faded, and Logan blinked away the spots in his vision. The lab was silent. Too silent.

He looked around frantically for Rogue, his heart pounding in his chest. Then he saw her—only it wasn’t her. Not exactly.

A little girl, no older than five, sat on the floor where Rogue had been. She had auburn hair that was wild and tangled, and her big, green eyes were filled with tears. Logan’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what had happened.

“Rogue?” he asked, his voice low and rough, hoping against hope that he was wrong.

The little girl looked up at him, sniffling. “L-Logan?” she whimpered, her voice small and scared.

Logan felt like the ground had dropped out from under him. Somehow, that bastard scientist had turned Rogue into a child. He didn’t know how, and right now, he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting her out of here and figuring out how to fix this.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Logan said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “I’m here. I’m gonna get you outta here.”

He scooped her up into his arms, and she immediately clung to him, her small hands gripping his jacket like a lifeline. She was so light, so vulnerable, and it made something deep inside Logan twist painfully. He had always been protective of Rogue, but this was different. This was like someone had taken his fierce, independent teammate and replaced her with something fragile and scared.

He made it out of the lab and back to the Blackbird in record time, his thoughts racing. He radioed ahead to the mansion, his voice urgent as he spoke to Beast.

“Hank, we got a situation. Rogue’s been hit by some kind of device—turned her into a kid. I’m bringing her back. Get the medbay ready.”

“Understood, Logan. We’ll be ready when you arrive,” Beast’s voice crackled through the communicator, calm and professional, but Logan could hear the concern beneath the surface.

The flight back to the mansion was silent, Rogue curled up against Logan’s chest. She had stopped crying, but her small body trembled with fear. Logan didn’t say anything, just held her close, his mind churning with thoughts he couldn’t begin to untangle.

When they finally landed, the team was waiting for them, anxiety etched into every face. Beast rushed forward, his blue-furred face serious as he reached out to take Rogue.

“We need to run some tests, Logan. This might be reversible, but we need to understand what we’re dealing with,” Beast said gently, trying to take Rogue from Logan’s arms.

But the moment Beast touched her, Rogue panicked. She let out a frightened cry and buried her face in Logan’s chest, clutching him even tighter. “No! Don’t leave me, Daddy!”

The words stopped everyone in their tracks. Logan felt his heart skip a beat, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. Daddy. The word echoed in his mind, a strange mix of emotions flooding through him. He wasn’t her father, and she knew that. But right now, she wasn’t thinking straight. She was scared and confused, and he was the only thing that felt safe to her.

“It’s okay, kid,” Logan said softly, rubbing her back with one large, calloused hand. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Beast hesitated, then nodded, stepping back. “We’ll give you some time to get her settled, Logan. When she’s ready, we’ll start the tests.”

Logan nodded in return, grateful for Beast’s understanding. He carried Rogue inside, the rest of the team watching with a mix of sympathy and concern. He didn’t stop until he reached his own room, pushing the door open with his shoulder and stepping inside.

“Let’s get you settled, okay?” Logan murmured as he gently set her down on the bed. But as soon as he tried to pull away, Rogue grabbed his hand, her eyes wide with fear.

“Please don’t leave me, Daddy,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Logan swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. He wasn’t cut out for this—caring for a kid, especially not one who had been a grown woman just hours ago. But he couldn’t deny the look in her eyes, the way she seemed so small and helpless.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, sitting down beside her on the bed. He pulled off his boots and jacket, then lay down next to her, keeping a safe distance but close enough that she could still hold onto him.

Rogue immediately curled up against his side, her small body fitting perfectly into the curve of his arm. Logan hesitated, then wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. She let out a small sigh and closed her eyes, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

Logan lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. This was temporary. It had to be. But until they found a way to fix this, he was all she had. And right now, she needed him.

The days turned into weeks, and Logan quickly fell into a routine he never thought he’d experience. Taking care of Rogue—no, taking care of a five-year-old Rogue—was a challenge like no other. She was still Rogue, still had that spark in her eyes and that stubborn streak a mile wide, but she was also a scared little girl who clung to him like a lifeline.

She called him “Daddy” every day now, and every time she did, Logan felt a strange mix of warmth and confusion. It was weird, but he couldn’t bring himself to correct her. If it helped her feel safe, he could deal with it.

Mornings started with breakfast, where Logan quickly learned that Rogue had a sweet tooth. Pancakes became a regular staple, and he found himself learning how to make them from scratch just to see her smile. Then came the playtime, where she’d drag him into games of hide and seek or ask him to read her stories. Logan had never read so many children’s books in his life, but the way her eyes lit up made it worth it.

Nights were the hardest. Rogue had nightmares almost every night, waking up in a cold sweat and crying for him. Logan would hold her close, whispering that she was safe, that he was there, until she calmed down and fell back asleep. He didn’t sleep much himself, always on edge, always worrying about her.

The X-Men did what they could to help, but it was clear that Rogue only wanted Logan. Even Jean and Ororo, who had always been close to her, couldn’t get through the wall of fear and confusion that kept her glued to Logan’s side.

Weeks turned into months, and still, there was no sign of a cure. Beast worked tirelessly, but the process was slow, and each day felt like a year. Logan found himself growing more attached to the little girl Rogue had become, even as he longed for the day she’d be back to her old self.

One night, after another nightmare, Rogue clung to Logan, her small hands gripping his shirt as she buried her face in his chest. “Daddy, will I ever be big again?” she asked, her voice muffled against him.

Logan felt his heart clench. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to promise her something he wasn’t sure of. But he couldn’t let her down. Not now.

“Yeah, kid. We’ll figure it out. I promise,” he said softly, stroking her hair.

She sniffled, looking up at him with those big green eyes. “But…you’ll still be my daddy, right? Even when I’m big again?”

Logan hesitated, the weight of her words pressing down on him. She was scared of losing this connection, scared of losing him. And he realized, with a pang of surprise, that he didn’t want to lose it either.

[todorokis-girl]

I Never Knew You Were Alive - Soulmate AU (IV) NSFW

Chapter IV: What are we doing?

No actual dabi in this one

Chapter I: So it starts Chapter II: A late arrival Chapter III: belive of be doomed Chapter IV: What are we doing? Chapter V: Last minute encounter Chapter VI: Deciding to fall in love with you

masterlist

Next Chapter

This one is smut...there's really nothing else to say.... There's a lot of self indulgence here. I am so sorry.

The following months were fraught with tension, especially whenever her missions hinted at any involvement with the League of Villains. The delicate and precarious relationship with Touya weighed heavily on her mind, and she was acutely aware of the potential danger it posed not just to herself but to civilians and fellow heroes. Despite her best efforts to avoid him, it was impossible to escape his shadow entirely.

Surprisingly, they bumped into each other a few times after their initial encounter. These meetings were fleeting, marked by brief, silent exchanges of glances rather than words or violence. The first time she saw him again was during one of her nightly walks. The city was shrouded in darkness, and the air was crisp and cold. She was passing through a dimly lit alley when she felt his presence and spotted him from the corner of her eye. Her heart raced as their eyes met. He stood at the far end of the alley; his silhouette framed by the faint glow of a distant streetlamp.

The second encounter was during a mission. She was part of a covert operation to gather intelligence on a rumored League hideout. The abandoned warehouse was eerily quiet, the air thick with anticipation. As she moved through the shadows, she sensed him before she saw him. He was watching her from a distance, his intense gaze burning into her. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. But just like the previous encounter, he made no move to harm her. He simply watched, his eyes filled with a mixture of intensity and something she couldn't quite decipher.

With each silent encounter, the tension between them grew, a palpable force that was impossible to ignore. The air seemed to crackle with electricity whenever he was near, and she found herself both drawn to and terrified of him. The sexual tension was undeniable, a magnetic pull that she didn't know how to handle. She was even more confused, as along with this sensation, the threat he had made to her loomed over her every thought. 

Touya’s physical presence was overwhelming. His tall, lean frame exuded a raw, almost dangerous charisma. His pale skin contrasted starkly with his dark, tousled hair, which framed his angular face. His eyes, a vivid shade of turquoise, were piercing and intense, holding a depth of emotion that belied his villainous persona. The scars that marred his skin only added to his allure, a testament to the pain and suffering he had endured. There was a rugged handsomeness to him, a dark allure that was impossible to resist. His voice, low and husky, sent shivers down her spine whenever she heard it. She had no idea if to attribute these thoughts to the fact that they were fated for each other, or simple raw attraction. 

The way he moved was almost predatory, graceful and confident, like a panther stalking its prey. She couldn't help but be captivated by him, despite the danger he represented. Every glance, every fleeting moment they shared was charged with an intensity that left her breathless. The memory of his touch lingered on her skin, a reminder of the night he had threatened her.

This was definitely not something she could talk to Keigo about. It felt shameful to admit her attraction to a villain, but it was also understandable. Touya was her soulmate, her one true match. He was supposed to be the one person who could satisfy her and make her feel something real. The bond between soulmates was supposed to be unbreakable, a connection that transcended all else. But the reality of their situation was far more complicated.

She often found herself lost in thought, replaying their encounters in her mind. The memory of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the way his presence made her heart race – it was all-consuming. She was caught in a web of conflicting emotions, torn between her duty as a hero and her undeniable attraction to him.

Late at night, she would lie awake, her mind racing with thoughts of him. She could still feel the heat of his hand around her neck, the way his breath had brushed against her skin. It was intoxicating, and she hated herself for wanting more. The thought of him consumed her, filling her dreams and waking moments alike. She yearned for him, despite knowing how dangerous that desire was.

He wasn’t just her soulmate, he was the enemy, the one threatening her students. What would Keigo think? Aizawa? Hell… what would hero society think if they found out? 

Yet, she couldn't deny the truth. Touya was her soulmate, and no matter how twisted their relationship, that bond remained. She could feel it in her very soul, a connection that refused to be severed. It was both a blessing and a curse, a source of both strength and torment. She was trapped in a dance with darkness, unable to escape the pull of the man who was supposed to be her other half.

As she navigated her missions and daily life, the tension never fully dissipated. It lingered, a constant reminder of the battle raging within her. She was determined to find a way to reach him, to make him see the truth of their bond. But each encounter left her more confused, more conflicted, and more desperate for answers. The path ahead was uncertain, and the stakes were higher than ever. But she couldn't give up. Not on him, and not on herself.

The last time before the cataclysmic event, she hadn’t gone out looking for him, but they found each other. She was returning from one of her rare midnight patrols, enjoying a can of iced coffee. The city was quiet at this hour, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by an eerie stillness. The streetlights cast long, dim shadows on the empty sidewalks, and the occasional car passed by, its headlights slicing through the darkness.

Tomorrow was Saturday, and she didn’t have to work, but she had a weekly meeting with her best friend and needed to grade some assignments. She sighed, knowing she needed a lot more than a can of iced coffee to keep her going. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the looming presence that had been tracking her.

She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to look at the alleyway, carefully adjusting her vision to peer into the dark. The alley was narrow, lined with overflowing dumpsters and scattered debris, the smell of mold lingering in the air. After a couple of seconds, she could start making out his shape. His silhouette was unmistakable, even in the dim light. Then she saw his eyes, two burning points of blue in the darkness. They held each other's gaze, and she felt a lump form in her throat, a mix of fear and pent-up desire.

When she was about to step away, he finally approached her, stopping at the very edge of the alley, right at the line where he would be stepping out into the light. The faint glow from the streetlamp illuminated his features partially, highlighting the intensity in his eyes and the harsh lines of his face. His presence was imposing, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body even from a distance.

She took a sharp breath and braced herself, hoping today wouldn’t be the day she fought him, not in her current state. Her heart pounded in her chest, a rapid drumbeat of anxiety and anticipation.

“I’m not ready to talk, I don’t want to fight, I don’t trust you; I’m tired of the tension,” he said, his voice low and intense. His gaze held her captive, his eyes burning with unresolved emotions. Confused, she scrunched her eyebrows, wondering what she was meant to do. Her heart raced in her chest, the confusion still present.

“Let’s get rid of it,” he added, his words a dark, compelling command. Setting backwars into the alley, almost pulling her to follow him. 

And with that, she was convinced. She couldn’t deny the magnetic pull between them, the way his presence stirred something deep within her.

The narrow alleyway provided a cloak of secrecy, shielding them from prying eyes and the hustle of the city beyond. The faint glow of distant streetlights cast eerie shadows against the worn brick walls, adding to the clandestine atmosphere of their rendezvous. The air hung heavy with anticipation, thick with the scent of urban decay and the heady aroma of their shared desire.

The world around them disappeared as their bodies collided with a desperate need that had been building for months, probably years. The alley was a confined space, filled with the mingled scents of the city and their shared passion. The rough texture of the brick wall pressed against her back contrasted sharply with the heat of his body. His touch was both rough and tender, a confusing mix that left her craving more.

He roughtly pulled her sweater to rest above her breast and desperately pulled her bra downward to expose her breast, the sounds she made echoed in the confined space. At that moment, she couldn’t think even if she wanted to. Her mind was a haze of sensation and emotion, a whirlwind of heat and urgency. She could feel every scar, every line of his muscular form, and it drove her wild with a longing she couldn’t control.

Witth heavy breast and a hint of desperating, he lowered his pants to his waist and after urging her to be quick, grabbed her ass, and lifted her up to rest against the wall, held up by his arms; her legs around me. Her shorts and underware carefully dangling from her ankle. 

There was something taboo in this clandestine encounter, knowing they were not supposed to be together. She was his enemy; she was his soulmate.

His hand cupped her breast, his fingers tweaking her nipple. A gasp escaped her lips, a shiver running down her spine. It was as if electricity crackled in the air, the atmosphere crackling with tension and anticipation. Sweat dripped down their bodies, mingling between them, a testament to their overwhelming connection.

Heat pulsed through her veins, fueling the ravenous beast within. He whispered obscenities in her ear, probing her with his tongue, and she shivered at the filthy words.

"Fuck me, dammit," she cried out, her hips grinding against him. "Take me."

He echoed the sentiment, his voice raw and primal as he grabbed her and smashed her against the cold, unforgiving wall. The impact sent a jolt of pleasure through her limbs, echoing the primal core of their need.

His length throbbed between them, and with a violent thrust, he entered her. Their bodies moved in a syncopated rhythm, both in harmony and discord, a clash of need and fury.

"God, Touya," she moaned, her voice bouncing off the cold walls of the alley. Her head rolled backwards, hitting the surface with a dull thud. His name on her lips was a mix of love, fear, and lust, an intoxication that tasted sweeter than any drug could.

The pain of his grip on her hip, the primal frenzy of his thrusts as he invaded her: all of it fed that insatiable hunger within her. Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist as she took him deeper, each thrust forcing her closer to the edge.

"You like that?" Touya asked, his voice a low growl, savage and raw. The question sent a chill down her spine, and she couldn't help but nod eagerly. She wanted to give herself to him completely; she was beyond the point of shame or fear.

Her heart raced as he took her, his movements becoming stronger, urgent and intensifying with each passing moment. Her body shuddered around him, her walls clenching around his length as she met his rhythm.

Touya pulled on her hair, forcing her to arch her back, giving him better access to her heaving chest. He bent down to take a hard nipple into his mouth, sucking on it with a greed that made her cry out in pure bliss.

His other hand moved between their bodies, his thumb finding her swollen nub. Pressure and friction, a divine combination she couldn't resist. She bucked her hips, pressing herself harder against him, urging him on as her pleasure mounted.

"Don't stop," she panted. The sound of their bodies moving together reverberated through the alley, mingling with the distant sounds of the city.

Touya continued his sensual assault, driving her to the brink of madness. The tension built inside her, her core ached with anticipation. His moans on her ear were becoming maddening, aiding in the sensitivity and pleasure. 

Her body, wet and warm, clung to him. He groaned his satisfaction, his length fully sheathed inside her as he established a hard, insistent rhythm. She could hardly breathe, her ability to form words vanished as her senses heightened to a fever pitch.

The slap of their bodies echoed in the narrow confines of the alley, a reminder of their forbidden union. Her back remained glued to the icy bricks, while his hands roamed her body mercilessly. The mix of hot and cold on her skin sending her farther down her path. She was used to conflicting temperatures on her skin, but this time it made every inch of her body more aware. 

He cupped her breasts in his calloused palms, pinching her sensitive nipples with a cruel force that made her gasp. He growled, letting go of one nipple only to grip the other more fiercely. Her breathes quickened, each one panting out in rhythm with her growing need, she could feel herself getting closer, a white hot sensation running though up her spine skin. 

"God, Touya, I'm so fucking close," she cried, her voice hoarse. Her body trembled as her lips parted wider, gasping for air, her eyelids fluttering as the orgasm approached. Every thrust making her moans louder.

“Careful, someone might hear the little hero” He grinned, his lips curling up into a wicked smile, hearing her pleas drove him wild. Gripping her hips tight, he buried his thrusts deep inside her, relishing the sensation as his length pounded against her sensitive spot. Pleasure consumed her body as her walls closed around him, wet and greedy, demanding every inch he could give her. He felt her cum on his cock, and he saw her. Her eyes rolled back with one last moan, no, scream; twitching and she desperately looked for something to grab onto. 

He had no intentoon oh helping her lower her moans, it wasn’t exactly his problem whow saw. With a mischeavious lick of his lips he grabbed her hips again, knowing she hadn’t finished her orgasm and continued to thrust into her. 

He was close to his own orgasm, and he was gonna use her to finish even if she couldn’t take it anymore. He made sure to watch her, sounds wilder and louder as he speed up closing on his own high. 

With one deep groan, he attached his teeth to her shoulder, near the baase of her neck, bitting as hard as he could, finishing himself off deep inside her. 

"This. Is. Fucking. Insane," she managed to pant as she carefully attempted to catch her breath, she looked into his eyes studying him carefulluy "What are we even doing?" She didn’t understand what she was doing, and to be quite frank, she was yet to figure out how she felt about it… emotionally. 

"Savoring. Each. Other." He ground out in response, between his own harsh breaths. His tongue traced the shell of her ear before he nipped at her earlobe. She gasped, her body responding to his touch like he was a drug she couldn't get enough of.

"You liked that, didn't you?" he whispered, his voice thick with desire. She moaned, her legs involuntarily shuttering around him. He pressed himself against her, his hardness throbbing against her core, a reminder of the intimacy they shared and the larger connection that lay between them.

He took in the bite he had left on her, red and angry, and licked it. It was gonna leave a mar, and it was going to bruise; and he wasn’t going to let her forget any of this. 

She gruided her hands under his shirt. Her hands trailed between his toned abs and up to his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles underneath ripple. She took the moment, and the opportunity to study his scars, and soutures and how the alternating textures felt on her skin, allowig herself the oportunity to familiarize herself with the warmth of his body, almost memorizing his temperature; who knew when she’d have the oportunity to do this again (more like who knew, if she would allow herself to do this again). It was a moment of intimacy unlike any other, a fleeting connection between two souls bound by fate, one that she increasingly though would never stick. 

But even as she reveled in the sensation, permitting herself the moment of intimacy, a part of her couldn't shake the nagging doubt that lingered at the back of her mind. She knew what this was, and the moment he decided he got his fill, she had to run. 

She didn’t look up at him, but he studied her carefully, he was just as confused as she was. He had never felt the desire for anyone that he had felt for her, and he needed to know why. Now that he knew, it terrefied him, this wasn’t about love or even wanting to have anything with his soulmate; he just couldn’t stand the tension any longer.

As she leaned back against the brick wall, using it for support, Touya couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt wash over him. He had allowed himself to be drawn into this moment of vulnerability, to let down his guard and succumb to the allure of her touch. And now, as they stood there in the darkness, he couldn't help but wonder what it all meant.

She swallowed, her breath finally staying, as she quickly pulled on her clothes back on properly. She was moving quicker than she though she could and felt her eyes begging to water, finally, after a moment of calm the current reality swallowing her whole. 

“Thank you; for…” She used her hands to sort of half haeartedly signal to the encouter; and he looked at her uninterested. 

“Leave” he finalized adjusting his own clothes and began to walk away, she didn’t know how to feel or why; and as much as she expected and knew this would be the reaction, it still hurt her.

He himself was confused, but he knew, even if he wanted to belive her, even if he trusted her, even if he begged for it; they could never really be together. He didn’t know if she understood their circumstances, but one day it’s click. He was sure of it. 

tags: @staygoldsquatchling02

[itsgreti]

BENEATH THE MASK

pairing. simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

summary. (Y/N), Task Force 141's medic, saw Ghost's face for the first time while patching up his injuries.

warning. descriptions of gunfire, explosions, scenes depicting injuries, medical treatments, and blood (typical cod theme)

word count. 2.3k

a/n: english is my second language, so if you find any mistakes, don't hesitate and text me!

The desert wind howled across the rocky terrain as the Task Force 141 team moved swiftly through the night. (Y/N), their medic, felt the weight of her gear as she kept pace with Captain Price, Soap, Gaz, and the mysterious Ghost. She had been with the elite unit for a few months, but Ghost remained an enigma to her, a silent, masked figure whose presence was always felt but never fully seen.

Their mission that night was simple in concept: infiltrate a heavily guarded compound and extract crucial intel regarding a new shipment of chemical weapons. But as they approached the compound under darkness, their plan quickly unravelled. A patrol they hadn't anticipated stumbled upon them, leading to a chaotic firefight.

Bullets whizzed through the air, accompanied by the sharp cracks of rifles and the distant thunder of explosions. (Y/N) took cover behind a crumbling wall, her mind racing as she assessed the wounded. Soap and Gaz held their ground nearby, providing cover fire as Captain Price barked orders over the radio.

Suddenly, Ghost appeared beside her, his presence as silent as ever. He motioned towards Soap, whose shoulder was grazed by a bullet. Without a word, (Y/N) nodded and hurried to assist.

The firefight continued for what felt like an eternity, but the team managed to eliminate the immediate threat. With the area momentarily secure, they regrouped in a small, dimly lit room within the compound. Captain Price leaned over the map spread out on a makeshift table, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"We need that intel," Price said grimly, his voice low yet commanding. "Ghost, find it. (Y/N), patch up whoever needs it and be ready to move out."

(Y/N) nodded, her focus shifting to Soap and Gaz as she pulled out her medical kit. Soap winced as she began to clean and dress his wound, but Gaz remained alert, scanning their surroundings.

As (Y/N) worked, she stole glances at Ghost, who was hunched over a computer terminal in the corner of the room. His movements were precise and deliberate, his gloved hands flying over the keys as he accessed the encrypted files.

The tension in the room was palpable, broken only by the occasional click of Ghost's keystrokes and the muted sounds of the ongoing battle outside. (Y/N) couldn't help but wonder about the man behind the mask—his past, his motivations. But such thoughts had to wait. Right now, their survival depended on securing the intel and getting out safely.

Just as Ghost seemed to make progress, an explosion rocked the building, sending debris flying and knocking everyone off balance. (Y/N) stumbled, but Ghost was quick to steady her, his gloved hand gripping her arm firmly. For a brief moment, she felt the weight of his presence, his strength beneath the mask.

"Ghost!" Captain Price called out, his voice urgent. "We're running out of time. Can you get that intel or not?"

Ghost nodded, his masked face unreadable. With renewed determination, he returned to the terminal, his fingers moving faster now.

Outside, the gunfire intensified, drawing nearer by the second. Soap and Gaz exchanged worried glances, their weapons at the ready. They knew they couldn't hold out much longer.

"Almost there," Ghost muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Suddenly, the screen flickered and then displayed a map with a blinking marker. Ghost's gloved hand hovered over the keyboard as he extracted the data onto a portable drive.

"We've got it," Ghost announced, his voice calm yet triumphant.

Captain Price wasted no time. "Good. (Y/N), pack up. We're moving out–"

Before Price could finish his sentence, a barrage of gunfire erupted from outside the room. Bullets tore through the walls, sending chunks of debris flying. (Y/N) ducked instinctively, shielding her head with her arms.

In the chaos, Ghost acted decisively. He grabbed (Y/N)'s arm and pulled her towards him, shielding her with his own body as they sought cover behind a thick concrete pillar. His masked face was just inches from hers, his eyes intense behind the tinted lenses.

"Stay down," Ghost ordered, his voice low yet urgent.

(Y/N) nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, his presence a comforting shield amidst the chaos. For the first time, she found herself grateful for his silent strength.

Captain Price and the others returned fire, their shots echoing through the room. The enemy was relentless, their numbers seemingly endless. But Task Force 141 was relentless too, fighting tooth and nail to hold their ground.

As the firefight raged on, (Y/N) couldn't help but steal glances at Ghost. His mask remained firmly in place, betraying nothing of the man beneath. But now, with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she found herself drawn to him in a way she hadn't before.

"We need to move," Captain Price shouted over the din of gunfire. "Ghost, (Y/N), cover us. Soap, Gaz, with me!"

Without hesitation, Ghost and (Y/N) provided covering fire as Price and the others dashed towards the exit. Bullets whizzed past them, impacting the walls with deadly precision.

"Go!" Ghost called out, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle.

(Y/N) nodded and followed Ghost as they made their way towards the exit, their backs pressed against the cold stone walls. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder, their lungs burning with each breath.

Just as they reached the exit, a stray grenade sailed through the air and landed at their feet. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in horror as she realized they were trapped. Without thinking, Ghost pushed her behind him and shielded her with his body once more.

The grenade exploded with a deafening roar, sending shrapnel flying in all directions. (Y/N) felt the force of the blast against her back, but Ghost absorbed the brunt of it, his body tensing with the impact. She could hear him grunt in pain, but he didn't falter.

"Ghost!" (Y/N) screamed.

"(Y/N)..." Ghost's voice was strained. He was conscious but clearly in pain.

"Ghost is down!" she shouted into her comms, her voice filled with urgency.

There was a brief crackle of static before Price's voice came through, sharp and focused. "Gaz, Soap, fall back to Ghost's position! (Y/N), get to him now!"

As the smoke cleared, (Y/N) peered around Ghost to assess the damage. His mask was scorched and cracked, revealing a glimpse of his face beneath. Blood trickled down his neck from a gash caused by a piece of shrapnel.

"We need to get him out!" she called out, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

A few moments later the team managed to get to the position of (Y/N) and Ghost. Soap and Gaz provided cover as Price helped lift Ghost. They moved quickly, bullets whizzing past them, the sounds of battle all around. Outside, the night air was cool against (Y/N)'s skin as they regrouped with the extraction team and jumped into the helicopter that was waiting for them. As everyone was situated, (Y/N) immediately went to work, her focus solely on saving Ghost.

Captain Price and the others scanned the area around the helicopter, holding off the enemy as they flew off. (Y/N) didn't hesitate, knelt beside him. Ignoring his initial resistance, she gently pushed aside his damaged skull mask, and her hands went to his fabric mask that was under the other one.

"I need to see the wound," she said, her voice steady despite the panic rising within her.

Ghost caught her wrist instinctively, his gaze locking with hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"It's alright, I need to patch you up," (Y/N) said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

Ghost hesitated, his grip on her wrist loosening ever so slightly. He gave a barely noticeable nod, allowing her to proceed. (Y/N) peeled back the mask, revealing his face for the first time. His face was a canvas of battle-hardened features, each scar telling a story of survival and sacrifice. A deep, fresh gash ran from his cheek down to his neck, the wound raw and bleeding, but the older scars drew her gaze – the jagged line across his left eyebrow, the faded burn mark along his jawline, and the small, puckered scar near his temple. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, contrasting sharply with the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw. But it was his eyes that caught her attention – dark brown, filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability.

Carefully, (Y/N) cleaned the wound on his neck and applied pressure to staunch the bleeding. Ghost felt a strange mix of emotions. He was not used to being exposed, his face a closely guarded secret. The sensation of her hands, gentle yet firm, was foreign but strangely comforting. Despite the pain, there was a sense of relief, a small crack in the armour he had built around himself.

Even though the severity of the situation, she remained calm, her training guiding her every move. Ghost winced, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he watched her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"There," (Y/N) said gently, securing a bandage around his neck. "That should hold for now."

Ghost's eyes met hers, a mixture of pain and gratitude in their depths. "Thanks," he muttered, his voice strained.

"I've got you," she replied firmly. "Just hang on."

As (Y/N) finished, Captain Price stepped over the duo, his expression a mix of concern and relief. "How is he?" he asked, his eyes on Ghost.

(Y/N) looked up, exhaustion evident in her features. "He'll be okay. The wound was serious, but he's stable now."

Price nodded, his respect for (Y/N) clear in his eyes. "Good work. You saved his life."

(Y/N) offered a tired smile. "Just fulfilling my duty."

Price clapped a hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. The helicopter blades whipped through the night, and (Y/N) stayed beside Ghost, her hands steady as she pressed the bandage on his wound. The field dressings had been held, but the ride was rough, so she kept a close watch to ensure he stayed stable. Despite the dire situation, Ghost’s eyes remained sharp, and focused, a silent testament to his resilience. (Y/N) looked at the others and Ghost knew that she wanted to check on them. He nodded and without another word, he moved (Y/N)’s hand from his gash and pushed her to go to the other injured comrades.

Once she agreed, (Y/N) turned her attention to Soap. She barely took care of his shoulder which took a hit during the firefight, and although he didn’t say anything, she knew he must be in pain.

“Soap,” she called, her voice cutting through the hum of the helicopter. “Let me see your shoulder.”

Soap glanced at her, his usual bravado dimmed by exhaustion. “It’s just a scratch, doc,” he muttered, but he didn’t resist as she moved closer.

(Y/N) carefully peeled back the torn fabric of his sleeve, revealing the graze. The bullet had grazed his shoulder, leaving a raw, bloody scar. She winced at the sight but quickly set to work, cleaning the wound with practised efficiency.

“You need to take it easy,” she said, her tone firm but gentle. “This might not be serious now, but it could get worse if you don’t let it heal.”

Soap grinned, a flicker of his usual humour returning. “Don’t worry about me, lass. I’m tougher than I look.”

(Y/N) smiled back, shaking her head. “Maybe, but even tough guys need to let their medics take care of them.”

As she bandaged his shoulder, Soap’s grin softened into something sincere. “Thanks, doc. We’re lucky to have you.”

She finished securing the bandage and patted his good shoulder. “Just doing my job, Soap. Now sit tight, we’ll be back at base soon.”

She glanced around the helicopter, checking on the rest of the team. Gaz was alert, his eyes scanning the horizon, and Captain Price was deep in thought, already planning their next move. Despite the weariness and the injuries, there was a deep sense of unity among them. They had faced the fire together and come out stronger on the other side.

As the helicopter touched down at the base, the team began to disembark, their movements slow and weary. (Y/N) remained beside Ghost, her presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos. His mask was back in place, hiding his features once more. But now, she knew the man behind the mask – a warrior with a haunted past, driven by a sense of duty and honour. She held his hand gently, ensuring he felt her support. Even through the pain and exhaustion, Ghost’s eyes flickered with a rare vulnerability, acknowledging her silent strength.

As the other medics arrived and began to transfer him onto a stretcher, Ghost’s grip on her hand tightened slightly. “You don’t have to stay,” he muttered, his voice strained but sincere.

(Y/N) smiled softly, squeezing his hand in return. “I want to. You’re my patient and my friend. I’m not leaving you now.”

Ghost’s eyes softened, a flicker of gratitude passing over his features. “Not used to... this kind of care.”

She chuckled lightly, adjusting the blanket around him. “Well, get used to it. You’re stuck with me.”

There was a brief silence as the medics prepared to move him, the sounds of the bustling base fading into the background. Ghost looked at her, his expression serious. “Thanks, (Y/N). For everything.”

(Y/N) leaned closer, her voice gentle but firm. “Just focus on getting better, Ghost. We need you.”

He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth behind the fabric mask. “I’ll do my best.”

“You better do,” she said, walking alongside the stretcher as they moved him towards the infirmary.

[moonselune]

Congrats to you!🎉 Very well done.👏

If you are still taking requests, would you mind writing about all bg3 ladies reacting to their pregnant partner being threatened or kidnapped?

Thank you so much !! It's is actually mad to think it's all over now lmao. I really enjoyed writing this and tried not to make it too angsty

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow over the fields as you and Karlach walked hand in hand, your other hand resting gently on your growing belly. The peaceful moment, however, was abruptly shattered when a group of bandits emerged from the shadows, their eyes filled with malice as they pointed their weapons at you.

"Hand over your valuables," one of them sneered, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made Karlach's blood boil.

Karlach immediately stepped in front of you, her posture protective and her fiery gaze locked onto the bandit leader. "You picked the wrong couple to mess with fucker," she growled, her voice low and dangerous.

The bandit leader laughed, clearly underestimating the fierce tiefling. "I said hand over your valuables, foulblood, or dear expectant over there might not be expecting anymore."

The leader gestured for Karlach to look behind her and as she did she saw that two other bandits had snuck up behind you, one dagger pointing at your throat, the other at your bump.

A deadly silence fell over the scene as Karlach processed the threat. You looked at her calmly, you knew you could easily manoeuvre yourself out of the situation, despite being pregnant, but you had no control over what Karlach was about to unleash. Her eyes darkened, flames flickering on her skin, rising higher and higher as her barbaric infernal rage began to boil over. "You just made the worst mistake of your fucking life,"

Without another word, Karlach launched herself at the bandits with a ferocity that took them by surprise. She moved like a force of nature, her fists blazing with infernal fire as she dispatched them one by one. In the chaos you manages to disarm the bandits and hold them at dagger point, though that didn't save them from your beloved's wrath. Her anger was palpable, every strike a testament to her love and protective instincts for you and the unborn child.

As the last bandit fell, Karlach turned back to you, her expression softening as she saw you were safe. She rushed over, pulling you into a tight embrace, her hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline.

"Are you okay, my loves?" she asked, her voice filled with concern as her eyes darted between you and the bump

You nodded, laughing slightly. "We're fine, thanks to you,"

Karlach held you close, her hands gently caressing your belly. "I won't let anyone hurt you or our baby, ever" she vowed, her voice fierce but tender. "You're my world."

You smiled up at her, feeling the love radiating from her, you rested your head on her chest and looked up at her "I know, Karlach. And I love you for it,"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara

The underground passages of the Underdark were treacherous, but you felt safe with Minthara by your side. Her sharp eyes and keen instincts kept you protected as you navigated the dark corridors. An arm looped with hers as your other hand rested on your bump.

As you turned a corner, a group of hostile drow emerged, their weapons drawn and their eyes glinting with malice. The leader of the group, a tall and menacing figure, stepped forward, her gaze fixed on you.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" She sneered, his eyes flicking to your belly. "A pregnant surface dwelling scum. How interesting."

Minthara immediately positioned herself between you and the drow, her expression icy and her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "If you value your lives, you will leave us be," she said coldly, her voice like steel.

The drow leader laughed, clearly unafraid. "And why should we listen to you, Baenre? You've gone soft, protecting this weakling."

A dangerous glint appeared in Minthara's eyes, and you could feel the tension radiating from her. "I am anything but soft," she replied, her voice low and deadly. "And this 'weakling' is my partner and the mother of my child. You will not touch them."

The drow leader smirked, raising her weapon as if to strike. In an instant, Minthara moved with lethal precision, her sword flashing through the air. She dispatched the leader with a swift, calculated strike, their head rolling to the floor as their body collapsed.

The rest of the gang looked at their fallen leader and Minthara and decided to make a run for it, but Minthara was not so merciful, not when it came in regards to you and the baby.

She hunted them down with lethal and brutal grace, she paved your path with their corpses. As the last of the hostile drow fell, Minthara sheathed her sword and turned to you, her expression softening as she saw you were unharmed. She approached you quickly, her hands gentle as they cupped your face. "Are you hurt? How is the baby?"

You shook your head, a small smile on your face as you wiped a blood splatter from her cheek "No, I'm fine, baby is fine, in fact they were kicking at your violence, taking after you already I fear,"

Minthara let out a breathless laugh and pulled you into a protective embrace, her body tense with lingering anger and fear. "I will never let anyone harm you or our child," she vowed, her voice fierce but filled with love. "You both are mine, and I will protect you with my life."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The camp was a mess of panic and fury the moment Lae'zel discovered you were missing. The fact that you were pregnant only heightened her urgency. She remembered reading somewhere that extreme distress could cause early labor, and the thought of you in such danger while carrying her child filled her with a mix of terror and determination.

Lae'zel's search was relentless. She interrogated every lead, fought off numerous enemies, and never stopped for rest. Her fierce nature was amplified by her protective instincts, driving her to push through any obstacle to reach you. When she finally found you, tied up in a dark, dank cave surrounded by hostile enemies, she didn’t hesitate. She charged in with a war cry, her blade flashing with lethal precision.

Within moments, she had dispatched your captors, her chest heaving with exertion and relief as she cut through your bonds. You fell into her arms, your own tears of relief mingling with her own.

“Are you alright?” Lae'zel demanded, her eyes scanning you for any signs of distress or injury. “Is the baby…?”

“I’m fine,” you assured her, even as she continued to hover over you, her hands shaking slightly as she checked you over. “The baby is fine. It’s just… thank you.”

Lae'zel didn’t seem convinced. She kept glancing at your stomach, clearly still worried. “Extreme distress can cause early labor,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “We need to make sure you’re not—“

“Lae'zel,” you interrupted gently but firmly, placing a hand on her arm. “I promise, I’m fine. The baby’s fine. We just need to get out of here.”

But Lae'zel wasn’t easily swayed. As you made your way back to the safety of your camp, she kept casting anxious glances at you, and more than once, she tried to subtly check if you were showing any signs of early labor. It was both endearing and exasperating.

When you finally reached the camp, Lae'zel insisted you lie down and rest. She hovered around you, attempting to discreetly see if you were dilated, until you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Lae'zel, please,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not in labor. I just need to rest.”

She frowned, clearly torn between her fierce protectiveness and the logical part of her that knew you were probably right. “I will not leave your side,” she declared, sitting down beside you.

“You’re sweet,” you replied, giving her a tired but affectionate smile. “But I need you to relax. We’re both safe now, thanks to you.”

Lae'zel grumbled but eventually settled down, though she kept a close watch over you, ready to spring into action at the slightest sign of distress. Despite her worries, the two of you finally managed to find some peace, her presence a comforting reassurance that you and your baby were indeed safe.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

"Shadowheart, can you come here, my love?" Your voice pierced through the calm ambiance of the campsite, pulling Shadowheart's attention away from her task of gathering herbs for your tea.

"Lover, I can't find the mint right now. Just give me a moment," Shadowheart responded, her tone slightly distracted as she continued her search for the elusive herb.

"Forget the mint, my love, come here!" Your urgency was unmistakable this time, tinged with a note of concern that made Shadowheart pause and straighten up.

"Just a second-"

"Shadowheart!"

Shadowheart sighed softly, realizing the seriousness in your voice. She abandoned her search for the mint and turned swiftly back towards the campsite. As she approached, a sense of foreboding gripped her when she saw the group of Sharran followers surrounding you, their weapons drawn and aimed at your pregnant form seated by the fire.

Without hesitation, Shadowheart's fingers flew to her lips and she blew a sharp whistle. In response, owlbear charged forth from where it had been roaming, roaring ferociously as it barreled towards the Sharrans with surprising speed.

Chaos erupted as owlbear tore through the Sharran followers, clawing and biting with unrestrained fury. Meanwhile, Shadowheart wasted no time in unleashing her divine power. With a swift incantation, she called upon her spirit guardians, ethereal forms shimmering around her in a protective aura of radiant energy.

As the Sharrans attempted to regroup and retaliate against the sudden onslaught, they found themselves thwarted at every turn. Any who dared to approach you were met with searing bursts of radiant damage from Shadowheart's guardians, forcing them to retreat or face obliteration.

Shadowheart enveloped you in her arms, shielding you from harm as the battle raged around you. Her eyes blazed with determination, her focus unwavering on ensuring your safety above all else.

Owlbear, now a blur of fur and claws, dispatched the last of the Sharrans with a final swipe, its victory growls echoing triumphantly through the campsite. The enemies defeated, silence settled over the clearing once more, broken only by the crackling of the dying fire and the happy chirps of owlbear.

Shadowheart held you close, her heart pounding with adrenaline and relief. She pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, her touch tender and reassuring.

"Are you alright?" she murmured, her voice filled with concern as she checked over you, ensuring no harm had come to you or the child you carried.

"Thanks to you," you replied softly, your voice laced with gratitude and admiration for the fierce devotion she showed.

Shadowheart's lips curved into a small smile, her gaze softening as she looked into your eyes. "I won't ever let anything happen to you,"

You leaned into her warmth, grateful, though something else was on your mind.

"Can I still have my tea?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so so so so so so so much fun to write, I love the pregnant reader requests, hope you all enjoy it! - Seluney xox

[beegomess]

ILOVE YOU MATHEO FANFICS!!! And your Theo ones omg they're so cute and make me smile every time I see them!! Could you do something like this? If you want to of course!

It's like in Brookline nine nine where Jake and Amy have that bet where whoever gets the most arrests by the end of the year get to make the other do whatever they want.

• what if Matty boy or Theo (ether is good Matty would be my pick tho! Or if you like the prompt you could do one for each <3 ) and the reader had a bet about who could get the best marks on a test or something like that.

• And he wins and they make you go on "the worst date ever"

• like Jake made Amy in BNN. But like Jake that's when he realize his feelings for the reader.

Supper fluffy and cute!! Rivals/friends to lovers !

Love ya!!

M.R. || Real love baby

Summary: When a boy pulls a girl's hair, it usually means something more than he actually admits. Warnings: none. A/N: This came out faster than usual because I simply LOVE Jake and Amy. I really hope it met your expectations, I'm delighted with how I was able to construct this text.🫶🏼

Open orders!

The friendship between you and Mattheo has always been a roller coaster of jokes, provocations and, occasionally, a latent feeling of competitiveness. His blood boiled when he mocked every time a teacher caught his attention, and you reciprocated in the same coin, turning each slip of his into a reason for laughter. These exchanges never went unnoticed, and the common room often echoed with the barbs exchanged between the two of you.

What began as childish games, however, now seemed to gain a different meaning. In the sixth year, the provocations were no longer seen as mere mischief. Their friends, who used to watch from afar, began to observe them with insightful eyes, full of insinuations, as if they saw something you had not yet realized. What was once just an exchange of innocent barbs, now seemed to have a background of palpable tension, almost as if there was something else behind the debauched smiles and defiant looks.

You had grown up. And, over time, new interests have emerged. However, the fun of seeing the other angry for any insignificant reason still aroused an almost childish satisfaction in both. The adrenaline of a small triumph, no matter how small it was, was addictive. And, to your surprise, that night in the communal room would seal a new phase of this dynamic between you.

I was sitting with Theodore, discussing his grades from the previous year. Both were always the best in the class, and there was no more fun in competing with each other. Someone who really challenged his abilities was missing, someone from another house, maybe. But before they could continue the conversation, a familiar voice interrupted their thoughts.

- What are you talking about? - Mattheo appeared, sitting on the sofa in front, his curious expression, almost as if he was sniffing the opportunity to get into the conversation.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. I knew he wouldn't miss the chance to participate.

- We were regretting the lack of a competitor to match - said Theodore, with a convinced air that only served to fuel Mattheo's interest.

- Competitor? - Mattheo frowned, looking genuinely confused, before opening a malicious smile. - Oh, this nonsense of those who get the best grades, isn't it? Well, your problems are over, because the opponent you're looking for is right here.

His laugh was automatic and loud. Mattheo's idea as an academic threat seemed, to say the least, absurd. Theodore also let out a discreet laugh, and Mattheo looked at them with a mixture of challenge and frustration.

- Oh, please, Matty, don't make me laugh. - you said between laughs, barely able to catch your breath.

- I'm serious - he replied, his voice getting softer as his eyes met yours. - Come on, are you so afraid of losing to me?

You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep your composure. The game was getting interesting.

- Afraid of you? - you replied, raising your chin with confidence. - You won't even come close to reaching me, Riddle.

A glow of determination appeared in his eyes, and you knew that from that moment on he was committed. But before he could answer, Pansy, who was watching from afar with a mischievous smile, intruded.

- Bet on a date at the end of classes - she suggested, her voice full of malice. - Whoever loses will have to do what the other wants for one night.

You blinked, surprised by the audacity of the suggestion, but before you could protest, Theodore was already agreeing, a sideways smile on his face.

- Great idea - he murmured, clearly having fun with the situation.

Mattheo didn't waste time. He stretched out his hand with a provocative smile.

- Closed. Get ready for the worst date of your life.

Without hesitation, you shook his hand, sealing the agreement. He knew he was getting into a potentially embarrassing situation, but he also trusted that, as much as Mattheo could be merciless in his provocations, he would never do anything to really hurt or humiliate her. It was a bet, yes, but one that came with a layer of mutual trust.

From that day on, your destiny was sealed. The "meeting" was already a reality, all that remained was to define who would dictate the rules. A part of you longed for the challenge, while another, more cautious, began to wonder if you hadn't underestimated Mattheo.

[...]

The weeks that followed showed that you had, in fact, underestimated Mattheo.

In the first days after the bet, you treated the challenge carefree, almost mocking the idea that he could do well. Mattheo was always the type of student who killed classes, glued to the exams and, in the end, counted on the good will of the teachers to pass the year. However, something has changed.

In recent months, teachers' conversations about Mattheo have started to surprise you. They no longer talked about their lack of discipline, but about their potential. They said he was finally showing how smart he was - something that, in fact, you already knew, but that he never made a point of demonstrating.

Mattheo, who used to seem uninterested, now really studied. Their furtive glances and provocations during classes seemed to hide a new, almost disturbing determination. Every time he raised his hand to answer a question or hit a complicated question, you felt the pressure increase. He was, against all expectations, taking it seriously.

And, little by little, you realized that maybe you were facing an opponent much more prepared than you imagined.

The months passed like a gale, each day bringing with it new provocations and challenges. The agreement, which initially seemed like an innocent joke, had turned into a real war of nerves. Both maintained a serious posture in class, but behind this facade, the tension was visible with each exchange of glances. No opportunity was wasted for a sharp comment, and the friends around had already gotten used to the constant clash between you.

The whole year was a fierce dispute, with comparative grades right after each class, always followed by sarcastic laughter and subtle provocations. In the first weeks, you laughed at Mattheo's attempt to keep up, making a point of spreading rumors among the girls who met him in the library. With a mischievous smile on your lips, you whispered:

- They say that Mattheo Riddle is looking for a girlfriend. He's been spending more time in the library than anywhere else, he must be trying to impress someone.

The giggles echoed through the common room, and in a short time, the rumor ran loose through the corridors of Hogwarts. The result? The library, which used to be a place of concentration and silence, became a battlefield. Girls appeared unexpectedly around Mattheo, curious to know if there was any truth in the rumors. He, visibly irritated, cast looks of disapproval in his direction, knowing very well where that chaos had come from.

On the other hand, he didn't leave it cheap. Knowing that his weak point was concentration, Mattheo took revenge in a calculated way. Whenever you isolated yourself in a corner of the library to study in peace, he appeared, casually, and started a loud conversation, talking about the most random and uninteresting subjects, but enough to divert your attention. Not satisfied, he began to launch provocative comments whenever he passed by you, as if he were talking to himself:

- Oh, how I love to see the despair of those who are afraid of losing a bet.

Or even:

- I heard that some people can't study under pressure... what a shame.

Not to mention the colleagues who suddenly came to ask silly questions or break their silence, clearly instigated by Mattheo. You knew he was behind each of these little sabotages. The environment that was once his refuge for study had become unbearable. Wherever you went, it seemed that Mattheo was always there, ready to disrupt his plans.

In the weeks of tests, the tension intensified. The psychological war continued, and now, everyone used their tricks with precision. The librarian had already lost patience with both of you, and more than once you were reprimanded for "disturbing the study environment". But nothing seemed to be able to interrupt the dispute. You were tied, each test being decided by tenths, sometimes with him in front, sometimes with you.

And then, the last test of the year arrived. It was from Feitiços, one of the most challenging subjects and also the one that both knew could seal the fate of the bet. The room was tense that morning, with the students silent, nervous, frantically reviewing their notes. Mattheo sat in the row in front of his, and before the teacher entered, he turned around, throwing a malicious smile in his direction.

- Ready to lose? Should I reserve the night for your punishment? - he whispered, his tone soft, but loaded with provocation.

You raised an eyebrow, returning the smile with a sparkle in your eyes.

- I hope you've already chosen your worst outfit, Riddle. I don't want it to seem like a complete disaster on our "date".

He laughed softly, shaking his head before turning around. The game was about to end, and they both knew it. Every word exchanged, every defiant look, everything had led to that moment.

When the teacher finally came in and distributed the scrolls, the silence in the room became absolute. The sound of feathers sliding on the paper was the only thing that was heard. Each second seemed to last an eternity while you wrote your answers with determination, maximum concentration. There was no room for mistakes.

From time to time, you noticed Mattheo moving in front of you, but refused to look away for more than a second. I knew that any distraction now could be expensive. When the test finally came to an end, you let out a sigh of relief. But the tension was still in the air. All that was left was to wait for the result.

In the weeks that followed, the provocations did not stop. Mattheo was confident, always making insinuating comments about what he would do if he won the bet. On the other hand, you kept your posture firm, not showing a shred of nervousness.

- Don't worry, Mattheo. I'm sure you'll love to fulfill your part of the agreement. - you said, without ever letting out the anxiety that grew as the day of the delivery of the notes approached.

When the notes were posted on the board, Mattheo's heart accelerated, but he kept his expression confident. You approached soon after, and when you saw the minimal difference between the notes, your heart sank. Mattheo had won. He had taken the best grade, but by such a small margin that it even seemed like a whim of fate. You, who until then had maintained a calm posture, could not avoid an expression of disbelief.

Next to him, Mattheo let out a loud, triumphant laugh. He looked up, as if he had won a great battle.

- I said! - he exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone around. - I said I was going to win!

He was not satisfied with the silent victory. No, Mattheo wanted everyone to know that he had won the bet. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to compose yourself while he turned on his heels, laughing as if he had just won Hogwarts' most desired trophy.

- Oh, I can't wait to see this! - Mattheo provoked, approaching you with a mischievous smile. - I hope you enjoyed losing, because now the night is all mine.

You just rolled your eyes, knowing that he wouldn't miss the chance to make the bet worth every penny. Mattheo wasn't content to just win; he needed to make it a show.

[...]

In the afternoon after Mattheo's victory, he and Theodore walked through the busy streets of the Diagonal Street, in search of the perfect piece for the "date" that Mattheo had planned. The sun was high, and the sound of the conversations of the wizards around filled the air. Mattheo, with a malicious smile on his face, was eager to turn the bet into an embarrassing and memorable situation for you. Theodore, next to him, watched him in silence, waiting for the right moment to pull the conversation that was clearly stuck in Mattheo's mind.

- I think this store will do. - said Mattheo, pointing to a window that displayed a collection of exaggeratedly colorful and extravagant clothes. It was the kind of store that didn't care about following trends, but about being the center of attention. Exactly what he was looking for.

When they entered, the environment was even more absurd than the showcase suggested. There were dresses with giant ruffles, shiny capes and hats that almost touched the ceiling. Mattheo took a quick turn, his eyes dancing between the most ridiculous pieces.

- She'll hate it. - he said, holding a pink dress with golden details and voluminous ruffles. - Perfect!

Theodore, with his arms crossed and an ironic smile, watched as Mattheo looked for more options. He knew his friend was having fun with that, but there was something else. There was always something more when it came to Mattheo and you.

- You know, you're trying too hard for this, don't you think? - Theodore commented, casually, while leaning against the store counter.

Mattheo let out a chuckle, without taking his eyes off his clothes.

- I'm trying hard to make sure she's embarrassed. That was the bet. She knew what she was getting into.

Theodore arched an eyebrow, still watching him carefully. He let Mattheo continue for a few more minutes, before deciding it was time to deepen the conversation.

- Right, right... - Theo said, in a carefree tone. - But... why are you so looking forward to it? I mean, it's just a bet. It seems that you are spending more time and money than you should.

Mattheo stopped for a moment, holding a ridiculous piece of clothing in his hands, but didn't answer immediately. His expression, for a brief moment, showed doubt. He looked at Theo, a little annoyed.

- I just want to make sure she learns not to underestimate a Riddle - he finally replied with a forced smile.

Theodore didn't buy the excuse. He took a few steps, approaching Mattheo, and lowered his voice, in a more serious tone.

- Or you really like her... - Theo shot, bluntly, while watching his friend's reaction.

Mattheo frowned immediately, dropping the dress in a macaw next to him.

- You're delirious, Nott. That has nothing to do with liking her. It's just... fun. A bet, remember?

But Theodore, undisturbed, just shrugged.

- Of course, of course. It's just a bet - he said, with sarcasm in his voice. - But let's think a little... You spent the whole year teasing her, Mattheo. Calling her attention in every possible way. He told girls to talk to her just to annoy her, he did everything to disrupt her studies, and now... he's personally choosing the most ridiculous outfit he can get for this date.

Mattheo turned around, crossing his arms and staring at Theo with a closed expression.

- And what's wrong with that? - he countered, defensively.

Theo took a few more steps, now closer to Mattheo.

- What's up with that? - he repeated, shaking his head with a smile. - You spent hours thinking about it, Mattheo. Hours. For someone who says it's just a bet, you're spending a lot of time on it. That's not just fun, Mattheo. Admitting that won't kill you.

Mattheo clenched his fists for a moment, clearly frustrated with the direction of the conversation. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to laugh at Theodore's face and say that it was absurd. But the words got stuck in the throat.

Theo, realizing his friend's discomfort, gave another accurate blow.

- How much time have you spent thinking about how to provoke her this year? And how many times have you done this because, deep down, you didn't want her to move away? - Theo let out a low laugh and shook his head. - All this, Mattheo, all these provocations... were just an excuse. An excuse to stay close to her, to ensure that she kept noticing you.

Mattheo snorted, trying to ignore the truth in Theodore's words. He took another piece of clothing, trying to divert the focus from the conversation.

- You don't know what you're talking about, Nott - he said, harshly, but his voice didn't have the same firmness as before.

Theo approached again, now with a softer smile.

- I know exactly what I'm talking about. And, deep down, you also know. - He took one last look at the ridiculous dress that Mattheo was holding and sighed, as if he was accepting something inevitable. - But it's okay. Keep pretending it's just a bet. I just hope you realize what's really going on before it's too late.

With that, Theodore walked away, leaving Mattheo alone with his thoughts and the clothes he had chosen. The silence that followed in the store seemed to weigh more than before. Mattheo stood there for a few seconds, staring at the dress in his hands, but his mind was elsewhere. Theo's words reverberated in his head, and for the first time, he wondered if the bet wasn't just an excuse to hide what he felt all the time.

[...]

The next morning, Mattheo seemed to have completely buried Theodore's words. His provocation was the same as always, but maybe with an extra touch of sarcasm. The most ridiculous costume he could find was carefully left at his door, wrapped in an almost solemn way. The box, with a dark green bow, seemed to mock you. Despite knowing exactly what was inside, you spent the day ignoring it, leaving the package untouched next to the door while trying to keep your head busy with anything other than the "date" that would happen later.

The provocations between you continued throughout the day, as if everything was normal. Mattheo seemed to have fun every time their eyes met, and you just rolled your eyes, determined to pretend that nothing would happen. But as the day progressed, reality began to weigh on you. There was no way to avoid it anymore.

When the sun finally set, you knew it was time to face the challenge. With a heavy sigh, he took the wrapping from the door, already feeling the weight of the humiliation that was to come. The contents of the box did not disappoint. The pink dress was a freak, with a huge golden bow that adorned her back, so exaggerated that it looked more like a gift wrapping than a piece of clothing. The voluminous skirt gave the impression that you were ready for an 80s debutante ball, and the boots... Oh, the boots were a monstrosity. Black and worn, with a low and clumsy heel that did not match at all with the rest of the set.

Resigned, you dressed up the best you could. Your hair, at least, was beautiful, and you decided that, if you were going to be ashamed, the least you could do was keep your dignity intact. She went downstairs to the communal room, where some of her friends were already waiting for her, evidently curious to see the disaster that Mattheo had planned.

- This is a nightmare - you grumbled, as you approached, without trying to disguise your frustration. - After that, I can forget about getting any boyfriend.

Pansy laughed softly, covering her mouth with her hand, while Blaise and Theo exchanged complicit glances. Mattheo, who was standing next to the fireplace, couldn't contain a laugh.

- Oh, go, don't be dramatic. - Mattheo said, with a glint of amusement in his eyes. - I guarantee that, after today, you will be the most talked about person in Hogwarts.

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain dignity, although you knew you were already lost.

- Spoken for the wrong reasons, maybe - you replied, your voice loaded with sarcasm.

Mattheo just laughed more, taking a step forward.

- Come on, come down soon. We don't have all night. - He made a theatrical gesture with his hand, indicating that you should come closer.

When you finally came up completely, the muffled laughter began. His friends, no matter how loyal they were, couldn't help it. Pansy and Daphne covered their mouths to try to hide how much fun they were having, while Theo and Blaise watched with the looks of those who knew that it was an unmissable show. But the most surprising was Mattheo's reaction. He stopped for a moment, his lips curving in a smile, but his eyes... Well, his eyes seemed surprised.

Even with all that ridiculous outfit, you could still look beautiful, which clearly disarmed you for a brief second. The dress, as absurd as it was, highlighted the curve of her waist and the delicate features of her face. And, for a thousandth of a second, Mattheo forgot the real goal of the bet.

But he soon recovered, shaking his head and returning to the carefree and provocative attitude.

- Well, well... - he said, crossing his arms and tilting his head to observe you better. - I think a detail is missing.

Before you could ask what he meant, Mattheo took something from behind him and extended it towards him. A track, similar to those of Miss Universe, but with an inscription that made her stomach turn: "Mattheo Riddle is amazing".

You looked at him, incredulous.

- You can only be joking - you murmured, but Mattheo kept smiling, swinging the banner in the air as if it were a prize.

- Come on, you can't miss it. This is part of the agreement. - He insisted, his eyes shining with malice.

- That wasn't in the agreement - you replied, with narrow eyes, but you knew it would be useless to argue.

Mattheo just laughed and extended the band.

- Oh, but it was you who said I could choose whatever I wanted. And now I want everyone to know how amazing I am. - He winked, clearly having fun at the expense of his indignation.

With a sigh, you took the band and reluctantly put it on the dress. It was the height of ridicule, but when he looked at Mattheo, he realized that, as much as he was having fun, there was something more in his eyes. Something beyond provocation.

- Now, make a turn for everyone to see - he ordered, with a mischievous smile.

You rolled your eyes, but turned on your heels, feeling the huge bow hit your back, while the muffled laughter around echoed through the room. Mattheo applauded in an exaggerated way, as if you were at a fashion show.

- Perfect! - he said, laughing, and approached, putting an arm around his shoulders. - And now, let's enjoy this unforgettable night.

And so, you left for Três Vassouras, where Mattheo had scheduled everything. The songs, the dances, even the places where they would sit. His friends, of course, went together, ready to watch every second of this show, but, as much as Mattheo's plan was going to embarrass you, the truth was that while you walked next to him, something seemed different. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the fact that, as ridiculous as the situation was, you were about to have more fun than you ever imagined.

When you arrived at Três Vassouras, the environment was full of life, with laughter and conversations filling the air. But as soon as they passed through the door, the bar seemed to stop for a moment. All eyes turned to you, as if you had just witnessed a scene worthy of a comedy play. Your exaggerated pink dress, with your voluminous skirt and the golden bow on the back, made you look like a clumsy doll. And next to it, Mattheo, dressed in a gigantic tuxedo, with his sleeves and pants folded up in an almost comical way, didn't help improve the situation.

The laughter echoed around, and you felt your face burn with shame. People whispered, pointed and laughed shamelessly. You tried to hide the discomfort, but you felt everyone's gaze as if you were on a stage, exposed in a way you never imagined. Mattheo, on the other hand, seemed impassive, with a malicious smile on his lips as he walked next to him to the table at the back of the bar, completely ignoring the reactions around him.

You cast an angry look at his disproportionate tuxedo, muttering something low.

- That was... a creative choice, at least - you commented, still trying to adapt to the situation.

He shrugged, fixing the exaggerated collar.

- It's all part of the show, princess.

As much as you were angry, you ended up laughing at the situation, especially when the buttery beers arrived. The sweet and creamy drink, as always, brought a little warmth and relief to the discomfort, and before you knew it, your friends were already around, laughing and pulling you to dance.

At first, he hesitated. She was too ridiculous to move, but the lightness of the jokes and the excitement of the night began to weigh more than the embarrassment. Soon, you were in the middle of the track, spinning and laughing with Pansy, Draco and the others. Each sip of buttery beer made the dress look less absurd, and the music helped to forget the looks around. Suddenly, it didn't matter anymore that I was dressed like a party cake. Only the fun and the shared laughter mattered.

While you danced, forgotten about the initial shame, Mattheo, from afar, watched with a different expression. He was leaning against the counter, a beer in his hand, but he barely touched it. Instead, his eyes were fixed on you, the way he moved carefree, laughing and spinning to the sound of the music. He didn't realize the exact moment when he stopped thinking all that was a joke.

Theodore's words, said the day before, echoed in his mind. At that moment, inside the store, he had vehemently denied any feeling. But now, seeing you so at ease, with a genuine smile on your face, the provocations and games seemed distant. All he could do was watch you, as if it was the first time he really noticed how much you enchanted him.

The time they spent provoking each other, the jokes, the competitions... all this was dissolving in Mattheo's mind as he looked at you that night. Theodore was right, he noticed. Maybe all that would have been an excuse, a way to disguise what he had been feeling all the time.

And now, with you dancing and laughing so freely, he couldn't pretend anymore. The smile he showed to others was always a mask, but at that moment, looking at you, he felt something real. A slight tightness in his chest that he couldn't ignore.

Without realizing it, Mattheo let out a deep sigh. It was no longer a matter of provoking or winning bets. There was something else there, something he hadn't been able to admit even to himself.

And, for the first time, he stopped fighting against that.

Damn, he really fell in love with you.

____________________________

masterlist xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

[artyandink]

amoralism | thirteen

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Dean’s the mole, the Sucide Squad formation and it being a train wreck, a bit of family problems, angst, smut

STW: unprotected sex (do not do this at any circumstances), oral (f. receiving), betrayal!era Dean sex so it’s kinda like if Demon!Dean would do it which we all love, kind of angsty sex, rough sex, rather emotional

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: Tears of Gold - Faouzia

catastrophism

You and Sam were hunched over a pile of papers and computer screens in his dimly lit living room. The room, usually a sanctuary, felt heavy with the weight of your mission. The hum of the computer and the rustling of papers were the only sounds breaking the silence as you scoured for any sign of Dean.

“We’ve got to find him before he goes underground completely,” Sam said, his voice strained but determined. His eyes darted across the screen, following the trail of data that might lead you to Dean. The pressure was mounting; it was evident in the lines etched deep into his face.

You nodded absentmindedly, your eyes glazed over as you flipped through a file with disjointed leads. The stress was palpable, and though you were trying to keep your focus, your thoughts kept wandering back to Dean—the betrayal, the manipulation, the overwhelming realization of it all. It was hard to shake the image of him as the mole, a shadow over every decision and interaction.

Sam glanced over at you, noting the weariness in your eyes and the tight grip you had on the edge of the table. “Hey,” he said gently, “are you okay? You seem...off.”

You blinked, snapping back to reality. “I’m fine,” you replied, though your voice was brittle and unconvincing. “We just need to keep going. We can’t stop now.”

Sam didn’t buy it. He knew you too well. “You’ve been pushing yourself really hard. Maybe we should take a break. It’s been nonstop since—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply, perhaps a little too sharply. “We don’t have time for breaks. Dean’s out there, and he’s a threat. We have to find him before he disappears.”

Sam’s expression hardened slightly, his protective instincts kicking in. “I understand that. But if you’re not in a good place, it’s going to make things harder. We need you at your best.”

You felt a surge of frustration, but underneath it, a deep current of fear and sadness. “I’m fine,” you insisted again, but this time your voice trembled.

Sam’s face softened, seeing through the façade you were desperately trying to maintain. “Look, if you’re struggling, it’s okay. We’re in this together. But you need to let yourself take a breath.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the pressure of it all was too much. You tried to hold back the tears, but they began to spill over uncontrollably. The stress, the worry, the betrayal—everything was crashing down on you, and you felt utterly defeated.

Sam stood up from his chair, his demeanor shifting to one of concern and empathy. “Hey,” he said gently, approaching you. “It’s okay to let it out. We’re going to get through this.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer. You slumped forward, your shoulders shaking with sobs as the tears flowed freely. It was as if all the stress and pain you’d been trying to contain had finally broken free. The sound of your crying filled the room, raw and unabashed.

Sam moved quickly to your side, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. The warmth of his hug was a balm to your frayed nerves. “It’s alright,” he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring. “We’re going to figure this out. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

You clung to him, taking solace in the simple act of being held. His presence was grounding, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in your mind. The tears kept coming, each one a release of pent-up emotion and stress. Sam held you firmly, his hand gently rubbing your back in a soothing rhythm.

As you began to regain some composure, you heard a gentle knock on the door. It creaked open, revealing Jess, rubbing her baby bump. She stepped in, concern etched on her face. “Sam? I heard... Are you guys okay? Do you need anything?”

Sam glanced up, his eyes apologetic. “Hey, Jess. We’re... we’re fine. Just had a bit of a moment.”

Jess looked between you and Sam, understanding dawning on her face. “Do you need something to eat or drink? Maybe just some time to relax?”

You pulled away slightly from Sam’s embrace, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Jess shook her head, her expression gentle. “Don’t apologize. Everyone needs a break sometimes. Here, let me get you something. It’s the least I can do.”

She left the room, her presence a calming one. You and Sam were left alone again, but the tension in the room had lessened. Sam’s gaze was soft, and he gave you a reassuring nod. “It’s okay to take a step back. We’ll get through this together.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Thanks, Sam. I just...I didn’t realize how overwhelmed I was.”

“It’s understandable,” Sam said. “This whole situation is tough on everyone. But remember, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

You nodded, grateful for his support. Jess returned shortly with a tray of snacks and drinks, setting them down on the table. “Here you go,” she said with a warm smile. “Just some comfort food. It might not solve everything, but it can help.”

You managed a small, grateful smile as you took a sip of the tea Jess had brought. The simple act of kindness felt like a balm to your frayed nerves. Jess’s presence, combined with Sam’s unwavering support, helped you find a moment of calm amid the storm.

As you ate and drank, the conversation shifted to lighter topics, the atmosphere easing as you all shared a brief respite from the intensity of the situation. Sam and Jess talked about their plans for the weekend, and you listened, allowing yourself to be momentarily distracted from the pressing worries.

You and Sam made your way through the narrow, dimly lit corridors of the FBI headquarters, the weight of the last few weeks pressing down on you like a vice. The air was thick with the tension that had been building ever since Dean's betrayal came to light, and it was all you could do to keep moving forward. Sam walked beside you, his long strides purposeful, but there was a heaviness to his movements that you recognized all too well. He’d been carrying the burden of Dean’s actions just as much as you had, maybe even more.

As you approached the office of Director Bobby Singer, your stomach twisted in knots. Bobby wasn’t just your superior; he was practically family. He’d known Sam and Dean since they were kids, and he’d watched them grow into the men they were today. The thought of facing him, of telling him that you still had no solid leads on Dean’s whereabouts, made your chest tighten with guilt.

Sam paused in front of the heavy oak door, his hand hovering over the handle. He glanced at you, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of determination and dread. “You ready for this?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You swallowed hard, nodding despite the uncertainty gnawing at your insides. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

With a deep breath, Sam pushed open the door, and you both stepped into the office. The room was dimly lit, the warm glow of a desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls lined with bookshelves crammed full of case files, old and new. The scent of leather and paper filled the air, a comforting reminder of the countless hours spent in this room, poring over case details with Bobby.

Behind the large, cluttered desk sat Director Bobby Singer. He was a grizzled man in his late fifties, his once-dark hair now streaked with gray, his blue eyes sharp and calculating. He looked up from the file he was reading, his gaze settling on the two of you with a mixture of weariness and concern. The lines on his face seemed deeper than you remembered, as if the weight of the world had finally begun to take its toll on him.

“Shut the door behind you,” Bobby said, his voice gravelly but not unkind. You did as he asked, the soft click of the door closing behind you punctuating the heavy silence that had settled over the room.

Bobby motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Sit,” he said simply, and you and Sam both sank into the worn leather chairs, the familiar creak of the old furniture grounding you in the moment.

For a long moment, Bobby just stared at the two of you, his eyes flicking back and forth as if searching for something. You could tell he was trying to gauge the situation, to read between the lines of what you weren’t saying. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’m guessing you’re here to give me an update on Dean,” he said, his tone neutral but the underlying concern evident.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “We’ve been working every lead we’ve got, Bobby, but…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening with frustration.

Bobby’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “But you haven’t found him.”

It wasn’t a question, and the truth of it hung in the air like a lead weight.

You glanced at Sam, seeing the same frustration mirrored in his face. “We’ve been following every lead, Bobby,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s like he’s just… disappeared.”

Bobby’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the flicker of pain in his eyes, a pain that came from knowing just how far Dean had fallen. He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion that clung to him.

“Dammit,” Bobby muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. He was silent for a moment, his mind clearly working through the implications of what you’d said. Finally, he looked back up at the two of you, his gaze sharp and focused.

“Tell me everything,” he said, his voice firm. “Every lead you’ve followed, every dead end. I need to know where we stand.”

You and Sam exchanged a quick glance before Sam nodded, leaning forward slightly as he began to recount the details of the investigation. “We started with his last known location,” Sam began, his voice steady despite the tension in his body. “After he escaped custody, we traced him to a safe house in Montana. But by the time we got there, he was already gone.”

Bobby nodded, listening intently, his eyes never leaving Sam’s face. “Any sign of where he went after that?”

Sam shook his head, his frustration evident. “Nothing concrete. We found some evidence that he’d been in contact with a few known associates—people we’ve had on our radar for a while. But none of them were willing to talk. It’s like they’re more afraid of Dean than they are of us.”

Bobby frowned, his fingers tapping absently on the edge of his desk. “That’s not surprising. Dean’s always been good at getting people to do what he wants. But this… This is different. He’s not just working with them, he’s controlling them.”

You nodded, the weight of Bobby’s words settling heavily in your chest. “We think he’s been planning this for a long time,” you said quietly. “He’s always been one step ahead of us, like he knew what we were going to do before we did it.”

Bobby’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he processed what you were saying. “And you think he’s working alone?”

The question hung in the air, and you could see the doubt in Sam’s eyes as he considered how to respond. “We’re not sure,” Sam admitted finally. “We know he’s been in contact with some high-level operatives, but we haven’t been able to confirm if he’s officially aligned with any groups. It’s possible he’s acting independently.”

Bobby’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening. “If Dean’s gone rogue, that makes him even more dangerous. He knows our methods, our protocols. He can predict our every move.”

The room fell silent as the reality of the situation settled over you all. Dean wasn’t just another fugitive; he was one of your own, someone who knew the inner workings of the FBI better than anyone. And that made him a threat like no other.

Bobby leaned forward, his gaze piercing as he looked at you and Sam. “So what’s your plan? How do you intend to bring him in?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words. The truth was, you didn’t have a concrete plan. Every lead you’d followed had ended in a dead end, every attempt to track him down had been thwarted. And now, sitting here in Bobby’s office, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of hopelessness creeping in.

But before you could voice those doubts, Sam spoke up, his voice firm and resolute. “We’re going to keep looking,” he said, his jaw set in determination. “We’re not giving up, Bobby. We’ll find him. We have to.”

Bobby studied Sam for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded, a reluctant sigh escaping him. “I know you will, Sam. But you need to be careful. Dean’s not the same person you grew up with. He’s changed. And I don’t just mean because of what he’s done. He’s… different.”

The words sent a chill down your spine, and you couldn’t help but wonder just how much Dean had changed. How much of the man you’d known and loved was still in there, and how much had been lost to whatever darkness had taken hold of him.

“We’ll be careful,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “But we need to bring him in, Bobby. Before he does something we can’t undo.”

Bobby’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of the familiar warmth returning to his eyes. “I know you will,” he said, his voice gentle. “Just… don’t let this consume you. Either of you. Dean’s made his choices, and now you have to make yours.”

The words hung heavy in the air, a reminder that this wasn’t just about finding Dean; it was about protecting yourselves, about not losing sight of who you were in the process. And that was something you both needed to remember, no matter how difficult it might be.

The room fell silent again, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on you. You could feel Sam’s tension beside you, his fists clenched in his lap as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. You wanted to reach out to him, to offer some kind of comfort, but you weren’t sure what to say. How could you comfort him when you felt just as lost as he did?

Bobby seemed to sense the tension between you, and he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his graying hair. “Look, I know this is hard. It’s hard for all of us. But we’ll get through it. We always do.”

You nodded, grateful for the reassurance, even if you weren’t entirely sure you believed it. “Thank you, Bobby,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bobby waved off your thanks, his expression softening as he looked at you and Sam. “You’re family,” he said simply. “We take care of our own.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and you felt a lump forming in your throat. You wanted to believe that everything would be okay, that you’d find Dean and make things right. But as you left Bobby’s office, the reality of the situation settled over you once more.

Dean was out there, a threat to everyone you cared about, and you had no idea where to start looking next. All you could do was keep searching, keep fighting, and hope that somehow, you’d find a way to bring him back before it was too late.

The night had settled into an eerie silence, the kind that left you hyper-aware of every creak and groan of your house. Your bedroom was dimly lit by the soft glow of the lamp on your bedside table, casting long shadows across the walls. You’d been sitting on the edge of your bed for what felt like hours, your mind spinning, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. The revelation that Dean was the mole had shattered something inside you, leaving you feeling lost and hollow. You’d tried to focus on finding him, on stopping him, but every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was his face—the smirk that used to make your heart race, now twisted into something dangerous, something you didn’t recognize.

You knew you should be doing something—anything—but instead, you sat there, paralyzed by the weight of it all. Your hands trembled slightly as you ran them through your hair, the stress of the past few days catching up with you. How had it come to this? Dean, of all people, betraying you, betraying Sam, betraying everything you thought he stood for. You wanted to hate him, but the truth was, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Despite everything, you missed him. You missed the way he used to look at you, the way he could make you feel safe and alive all at once. But now, all of that felt like a distant memory, tainted by the knowledge of what he’d done.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the door creak open. It wasn’t until you felt a presence in the room—familiar, yet unsettling—that you realized you weren’t alone. Your heart leapt into your throat, and you whipped around, eyes widening in disbelief as you saw him standing there, just inside the doorway.

“Dean…” The word came out as a whisper, a mix of shock and something else you couldn’t quite place.

He looked different. The Dean you knew was always intense, but this—this was something else. His green eyes were hard, almost cold, and there was a darkness in them that made your blood run cold. He was dressed in his usual jeans and leather jacket, but there was an edge to him now, a dangerous confidence that had always been there, but was now fully unleashed.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stand up from the bed, though your legs felt like they might give out at any moment. “What are you doing here?” you demanded, your voice stronger than you felt. “How did you even get in?”

Dean just stared at you for a long moment, his gaze piercing, before he finally spoke. “You left the window unlocked.” His voice was low, rough, the sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. There was something different in his tone—an almost predatory calm that both terrified and thrilled you.

You took a step back, instinctively putting some distance between you. “You need to leave, Dean. Right now. You—” The words caught in your throat. “You shouldn’t be here.”

A slow, humorless smile spread across his face as he took a step forward, closing the gap you’d tried to create. “I shouldn’t be here?” he echoed, his voice dripping with irony. “I think you know that’s not gonna happen, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The term of endearment used to make you feel warm, cared for. Now, it felt like a weapon, a reminder of what he used to be and what he’d become. You shook your head, trying to clear the fog in your mind. “Dean, please… We can talk about this, but not here. Not like this.”

His smile faltered slightly, a flash of something—anger? hurt?—flickering across his face before it was gone, replaced by that cold, hard mask. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said flatly. “You and Sam think you can just hunt me down, lock me up? You really think I’d let that happen?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the stark reality of what he was saying, what he was willing to do, finally sinking in. “I don’t want to lock you up,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I just want to understand why, Dean. Why are you doing this? Why did you betray us?”

For a moment, just a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of the old Dean, the man you loved, behind those cold eyes. But it was gone almost as soon as it appeared, replaced by something darker, more resolute.

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” you shot back, your desperation starting to bleed through. “I deserve to know, Dean. After everything we’ve been through, I deserve to know why.”

He stared at you, his jaw clenched, and for a moment you thought he might actually tell you, that he might break down the wall he’d built around himself. But then his expression hardened, and he took another step toward you, close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Enough with the questions,” he growled, his voice a rough whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re not here to understand. You’re here because you can’t stay away.”

The accusation stung because deep down, you knew there was some truth to it. Despite everything, despite knowing what he’d done, you couldn’t stop wanting him. It was like a sickness, an addiction you couldn’t shake.

“No,” you whispered, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “I’m here because I wanted to make you see reason. To remind you of who you are.”

Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a grip that was firm but not painful. It was enough to make your heart race, enough to make you acutely aware of how close he was, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to.

“Who I am?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. “I know exactly who I am. And I think you do too.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “You can try to resist all you want, but we both know how this ends.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to push him away, but your body betrayed you. The feel of his breath against your skin, the heat of his body so close to yours, it was all too much. Despite everything, despite knowing that you should hate him, you couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him.

“Dean, please…” The words came out as a whisper, but you weren’t even sure what you were asking for. For him to stop? For him to keep going? You didn’t know anymore. All you knew was that you were lost, caught between wanting him and knowing you shouldn’t.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. His other hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a gesture that was surprisingly tender, considering the darkness in his eyes. The touch made you shiver, your resolve crumbling even further.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of the man you used to know. “Why are you doing this?” you asked again, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Why, Dean?”

For a moment, just a moment, you thought you saw something break in his expression, something that looked like guilt or regret. But then it was gone, replaced by that same cold, steely resolve.

“Because this is who I am now,” he said, his voice rough, almost resigned. “And you’re either with me or against me.”

The words hit you like a blow, the finality of them making your heart ache. You wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to come back to you, but you knew it was useless. This was who he was now, and nothing you said would change that.

But even as you thought that, even as you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into him, from letting him pull you closer until your bodies were pressed together. The feel of him against you, the heat and strength of him, it was intoxicating, and you hated yourself for wanting it, for needing it.

“Dean…” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He didn’t say anything, just tightened his grip on you, his hand sliding from your face down to your neck, his fingers curling around the back of your head as he tilted your face up to his. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you, and despite everything, you wanted him to. You wanted to lose yourself in him, to forget everything for just a little while.

But instead, he just stared down at you, his gaze intense, almost searching. “Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Tell me to walk away, and I will.”

The words hung in the air between you, a lifeline you weren’t sure you were strong enough to take. You knew you should tell him to stop, that you should tell him to leave and never come back. But you couldn’t. The truth was, you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want him to leave. Despite everything, despite knowing that you should hate him, you still wanted him.

You didn’t say anything, and after a moment, Dean’s expression hardened. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, almost to himself.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle or tender like the kisses you used to share. This was different. This was rough, demanding, almost desperate. It was like he was trying to claim you, to remind you who was in control. And maybe that was what you needed—maybe that was why you didn’t push him away.

You kissed him back, your hands fisting in his jacket as you pulled him closer, giving in to the need that had been gnawing at you since the moment he walked into the room. It was wrong, you knew that, but in that moment, you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way he made you feel, the way he could make you forget everything else.

Dean’s hands moved to your waist, his grip firm as he pushed you back toward the bed. You went willingly, your heart pounding in your chest as the back of your legs hit the mattress. He broke the kiss just long enough to push you down onto the bed, following you down, his body pressing you into the mattress as he claimed your lips again.

It was all happening so fast, and yet it felt like time had slowed down, every touch, every kiss searing itself into your memory. You knew this was a mistake, that you should stop him, but you couldn’t. You were too far gone, too lost in the feel of him, the taste of him. You’d been craving this, needing it, and now that it was happening, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it.

Dean’s hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, sliding under your shirt to touch your bare skin. You gasped at the feel of his rough hands against your skin, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. It was like you were on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

“Dean…” His name slipped from your lips, a plea, a confession. You didn’t even know what you were asking for anymore. All you knew was that you needed him, that you couldn’t let him go.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arched into him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you tried to pull him closer, needing more, needing all of him. It was like a fever, a need so intense it consumed you, and you couldn’t think of anything else but him.

Dean’s hand slid up your thigh, pushing your shirt higher as he went. You gasped, your head falling back against the pillows as his lips found a sensitive spot on your neck, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. It was too much, and yet not enough. You needed more, and he knew it. He could sense it in the way you moved beneath him, in the way you clung to him.

“Is this what you want?” Dean’s voice was rough, almost mocking as he pulled back just enough to look down at you. His eyes were dark, filled with a dangerous intensity that both thrilled and terrified you.

You met his gaze, your breath coming in short gasps. You should say no. You should tell him to stop. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you found yourself nodding, your body betraying you once again.

A slow, almost triumphant smile spread across his face, and he leaned down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. His hand slid higher, pushing your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought. His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of heat as he kissed his way down your chest, your stomach.

You were trembling now, your body alight with need and anticipation. Every touch, every kiss was like a brand, searing itself into your skin, your soul. You were losing yourself in him, in the feel of him, and you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to find your way back.

Dean’s hands were rough, his touch possessive as he moved over you, his lips finding every sensitive spot, his hands leaving marks that would bruise by morning. You gasped, moaned, begged for more, even as your mind screamed at you to stop, to remember who he was, what he’d done.

But it was too late. You were too far gone, too lost in the haze of desire and need. This was Dean, and despite everything, despite the betrayal, despite the lies, you couldn’t stop wanting him. You couldn’t stop loving him.

And so you gave in, letting him take you, letting him claim you, even though you knew it was wrong, even though you knew it would destroy you.

His lips latched onto your clit, sucking harshly as he threw your legs over his shoulders, taking it between his teeth for a moment before tracing his name with his tongue. Dean’s fingers came in to break you further, delving into your soaked pussy as he lapped up everything you had to offer until his lips and chin were glistening, but didn’t stop even then.

You didn’t know how long it lasted—minutes, hours, it all blurred together in a haze of heat and need. All you knew was that when it was over, when the storm had passed, you were left trembling, broken, your heart shattered into a million pieces as you came hard and fast, not given time to think or speak.

Dean was still there, his weight heavy on top of you, his breath ragged against your neck when he quickly pounced back up, whipping off his jeans and boxers, his leather jacket and shirt and entering you with one quick snap of his hips. You could feel his heart beating against your chest, strong and steady, a reminder that this wasn’t a dream anymore, that this was real.

You didn’t want it to be real. He’d leave again.

But he removed that thought from your head, pinning your hands above your head, thrusting so hard you’d probably feel it for a week. “So good, baby girl.” Dean growled against your neck, chuckling. “So desperate for me to fuck you raw. I’ll explain everything, I promise.” You couldn’t think, speak, not when he was stripping you of everything in that moment.

Breaking you down and building you back up again as something broken - like him - until he came and you did too a few sloppy thrusts later, Dean’s hard, unrecognisable body collapsing on top of yours like it used to,

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the silence in the room deafening. You didn’t know what to say, what to do. All you could do was lie there, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Finally, Dean pulled away, rolling off you and onto his back. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look at you. He just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his expression unreadable.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart aching at the sight of him. He looked so different now, so distant. The man you loved was still there, somewhere beneath the surface, but he was buried deep, hidden behind layers of anger and pain.

“Dean…” You didn’t know what you were going to say, didn’t know if there was anything left to say. But before you could finish, he cut you off.

“Don’t.” His voice was rough, cold, and it made you flinch. “Just… don’t.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, the finality of them making your chest tighten. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to be saved.

And that hurt more than anything.

The following morning, you arrived at the FBI headquarters with an uneasy sense of anticipation. The memory of Dean's sudden reappearance in your life, his rough demeanor, and the fraught, emotional aftermath of that encounter left you feeling on edge. Your nerves were still raw, and the uncertainty of the situation made every step feel heavy, every sound magnified.

You and Sam headed straight to Bobby Singer’s office, where you knew you would receive an update on the ongoing investigation. The sense of urgency was palpable, and Sam’s expression was set in determined lines as he opened the door to Bobby’s office.

Bobby was already there, sitting behind his desk with a stack of files neatly arranged before him. His face was etched with concern, and the usual warmth of his expression was tempered by the seriousness of the situation. As you and Sam entered, Bobby glanced up, his gaze sweeping over you with a hint of the resolve he always carried.

“Morning,” Bobby said, his voice carrying the weariness of long hours spent working on a high-stakes case. “I’ve called a meeting. We’re going to need to think outside the box on this one.”

You exchanged a quick look with Sam, both of you wondering what Bobby had in mind. The weight of Dean’s betrayal had pushed you to the edge, and it seemed like the solution would involve something unconventional.

Bobby stood up, his demeanor taking on a more theatrical edge. “We’ve got a team coming together, one that’s going to work outside of the usual Bureau protocols. You’ll see what I mean.”

With a wave of his hand, Bobby began the introductions. It felt like the opening scene of a high-stakes action movie, each name and face meant to signal something important. You stood there, watching and waiting, as Bobby began.

“First up,” Bobby said, his voice taking on a dramatic tone, “we’ve got someone who’s not just a tech genius but also a force to be reckoned with. She’s the one who can hack through the toughest security systems and has a knack for getting things done. Ladies and gentlemen, Charlie Bradbury.”

The door to Bobby’s office opened with a flourish, and in walked Charlie Bradbury. She was a petite woman with an energetic presence, her short red hair styled into a messy bob that seemed to fit her vibrant personality. Her attire was a bit unconventional for an FBI meeting—a graphic tee layered under a plaid shirt, and jeans with sneakers. She gave a quick wave and a bright smile, her enthusiasm evident as she took her place in the room.

“Next,” Bobby continued, “we have Garth Fitzgerald IV. He’s got the smarts, the charm, and a level of resourcefulness that’s hard to match. Garth, why don’t you come on in?”

The door opened again, and Garth Fitzgerald IV strolled in. Garth had an easygoing manner about him, his long brown hair pulled into a casual ponytail. He wore a casual blazer over a graphic tee, and his demeanor was relaxed, almost too relaxed for the gravity of the situation. His bright blue eyes twinkled with a mix of intelligence and mischief, making it clear he was someone who could be counted on in a pinch.

“Now for someone with a bit more of a no-nonsense attitude,” Bobby said. “John Winchester, a Navy SEAL and Bureau veteran. He’s seen it all and survived it all. Let’s see him now.”

John Winchester entered the room with a solid, no-nonsense presence. He was tall and muscular, his uniform impeccably pressed, his hair cut short and neatly styled. His eyes were sharp and alert, constantly scanning the room with a practiced gaze. His stance was rigid, and there was an intensity about him that spoke of years spent in high-stress situations. Despite the seriousness, there was a quiet respect in his posture, indicating that he was here to get results.

“Dad.” Sam said almost breathlessly, getting a curt nod from John.

“Son.” He replied quietly.

“Coming up next,” Bobby said, with a hint of pride, “Agent Jack Kline. Young, but don’t let that fool you. He’s driven, sharp, and has a personal stake in this mission.”

The door swung open to reveal Jack Kline. Jack was in his mid-twenties, his youthful face marked by a determination that belied his age. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, his dark hair slicked back with a bit too much gel. There was an earnestness about him, a fire in his eyes that suggested he was ready to prove himself. He gave a quick nod as he took his place, his posture straight and attentive.

“Rufus Turner is up next,” Bobby said, his voice carrying a note of familiarity. “He’s a personal friend of mine, a man who’s been around the block and knows his way through the worst of situations.”

Rufus Turner ambled in with a relaxed air. He was an older man with a grizzled beard and a weathered face that told tales of a long life lived on the edge. His attire was practical and comfortable—a flannel shirt over a t-shirt and worn jeans. Despite his casual look, there was an air of quiet competence about him. He moved with the ease of someone who knew exactly how to handle himself in any situation.

“And finally,” Bobby said, with a hint of ceremony, “we have MI6 agent Mick Davies. Don’t let his British charm fool you. He’s a seasoned operative with a knack for strategy and an uncanny ability to get results.”

Mick Davies walked in with a smooth confidence. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his British accent evident as he gave a polite nod to everyone in the room. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his demeanor was polished and controlled, suggesting a refined sense of discipline and professionalism. He glanced around the room with a keen eye, taking in the group with an air of detached interest.

“Why did that feel too much like a movie?” Sam pointed out, extremely confused.

“Get with the times, idjit.” Bobby replied with a grimace.

You, Sam, and Bobby walked down the corridor toward the large conference room where the newly assembled team, unofficially dubbed the “suicide squad” by Bobby, was set to have its first meeting. The mood was a mix of trepidation and reluctant optimism. Each step you took echoed with the weight of the task ahead. You glanced at Sam, who looked as tense as you felt. He caught your eye and offered a small, reassuring smile.

“Ready for this?” Sam asked, his voice carrying a note of humor despite the underlying seriousness.

You shrugged, trying to mask your nervousness with a grin. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Bobby led the way, his demeanor a blend of determined authority and barely concealed exasperation. “Let’s just hope this motley crew can get their act together. We need results, and we need them fast.”

As you entered the conference room, the scene that greeted you was anything but what you had expected. The room, designed for high-stakes meetings and serious discussions, was currently a battleground of personalities. Papers were scattered across the large table, coffee cups and half-eaten snacks littered the surface, and a low murmur of voices competed with the sound of shuffling papers and the occasional burst of laughter.

Charlie was already there, surrounded by a mountain of tech gadgets and open laptops. She was energetically typing away on her keyboard, her eyes darting from one screen to another with frenetic energy. “Just give me a sec, I’m almost through with this encryption!” she called out without looking up.

Garth was sprawled comfortably in one of the chairs, his feet propped up on the table. He was engrossed in a large comic book, occasionally glancing up with a mischievous grin. “Hey, what’s up? Got any cool new cases for us?” he asked cheerfully, waving his comic book around.

John, standing at the window, was peering out with a focused intensity. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his posture rigid. He barely acknowledged the newcomers, his attention fixed on something only he seemed to see. His frown deepened as he muttered, “We better make sure our perimeter is secure. Can’t be too careful.”

Agent Kline, with his loosely tailored suit and too-gelled hair, was seated at the far end of the table, his gaze darting nervously between his notes and the door. He looked as if he was bracing himself for an incoming storm. “Is this where the briefing starts?” he asked, his accent tinged with a hint of nervous politeness.

Rufus Turner, the weathered veteran, was sitting back in his chair with a cup of coffee in hand. He was wearing a bemused expression as he watched the chaos unfold. “Well, ain’t this a sight,” he said, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee. “Looks like we got ourselves a real circus here.”

Mick was the last to arrive, his sharp suit and neatly combed hair making him stand out even more in the already chaotic room. He entered with a smooth, confident stride, giving everyone a polite nod before taking a seat. “Morning, everyone. I trust we’re all ready to tackle the matter at hand?” he said, his British accent crisp and precise.

Bobby took a deep breath, his face a mask of restrained frustration. “Alright, everyone, let’s get this show on the road. We have a lot to cover, and we need to get organized.”

Charlie, still engrossed in her work, muttered, “Just a minute, Bobby. I’m almost through with decrypting this file. We’re going to need it.”

Garth looked up from his comic book with a raised eyebrow. “Decrypting? Sounds like a real party. How about we get some snacks and make this meeting more fun?”

John, still fixated on the window, grunted in agreement. “We don’t have time for snacks. We need to focus.”

Jack shifted in his seat, trying to catch Bobby’s attention. “Director Singer, if we could have a clear agenda, it might help streamline things.”

Rufus snorted into his coffee. “Streamline things? We haven’t even started, and it’s already a mess.”

Mick, attempting to bring some semblance of order, cleared his throat. “Perhaps a more structured approach would be beneficial. Let’s lay out our objectives clearly.”

Bobby’s patience was visibly wearing thin. He tapped the table with his knuckles, trying to regain control of the meeting. “Alright, everyone, listen up. We’ve got a lot of talent in this room, but we need to focus. The situation is critical, and we can’t afford any more delays. We need to find Dean and resolve this crisis.”

Charlie finally looked up from her screens, her face alight with excitement. “Got it! I’ve got some preliminary data here. We can start by narrowing down his recent contacts.”

Garth folded his comic book with a flourish and sat up straight. “Alright, let’s get to it then. I’m ready for action.”

John let out a huff and moved away from the window. “Fine, but we better not waste time. We need to be meticulous.”

Jack adjusted his suit and glanced at his notes. “I’ll handle the documentation and ensure everything is properly logged. Efficiency is key.”

Rufus shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism. “Well, this oughta be interesting.”

Mick straightened in his chair, his demeanor all business. “Let’s proceed with a detailed strategy. We need to ensure that all angles are covered.”

As the team began to settle into their roles, the chaos seemed to simmer down a bit, replaced by a more focused, if still somewhat disorganized, energy. You and Sam exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the irony of the situation. The team was indeed a collection of diverse and conflicting personalities, but maybe, just maybe, that was what would make them effective.

Sam leaned closer and whispered, “Do you think this is going to work?”

You shrugged, a wry smile playing on your lips. “They said so much nonsense in five minutes that I’m not quite sure.”

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[angelidiariess]

TO BE SEEN, TO BE HEARD, TO BE LOVED ⤹ gojou satoru

fic warnings. eating disorder, depression, mentions of suicide, profanity, illnesses, complicated relationships, mentions of emotional child abuse, + more to be updated

summary. with an arranged marriage in place, two estranged kindred spirits with opposite goals meet, one eager to put the pieces together and the other clinging to the thin thread of life. when their paths are pulled together, can they see through the schemes they create and remain unreachable or will they be in too deep?

tags/warnings𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 f!reader x gojou satoru, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pinning, rivals, eventual romance, self help book disguised as a love story, complicated/toxic relationships, family issues, borderline codependency but we dont talk about it, growing up together sorta until she gets scooped away, angst with a happy ending, reader is a sorcerer, she's bat shit crazy, but we love her anyway, heavy mentions of mental illnesses (depression), requited unrequited love, gojo satoru is whipped yall, suicide attempt, + more to be updated

series masterlist ⟶ i. heart to heart?

PROLOGUE: THE BEGINNING

In the scorching summer of 2006, the world crackled with an electrifying sense of anticipation and adventure. It was a time of exhilarating escapades and spontaneous thrills as people reveled in the boundless freedom of the season. 

She remembers being a kid, unburdened of duties, happy to know freedom for the first time, saying  ‘We’ll be together forever’ as if it was something nice, something to be excited about, and not a weight sitting heavily on their chests. She pretends Suguru and Gojo are by her side, saying their name ever so softly, telling Gojo to wake up before they are late to class.  She remembers those moments all too well. Then, tragedy struck one person, marking a deep turning point in her life. In an instant, her loved ones were taken from her, propelling her into a stark new reality that she had to face on her own.

'RUN’ was the word that was cried out on that day. Perhaps they were spoken by her sister or the head maiden who was frantically pacing back and forth between the two rooms, trying desperately to find anything that could save their lives.

They knew that escaping was not a choice, not an option for mere defenseless women. They dared not dream of training or honing the innate powers inherited from their lineage, one of the three greatest families in Jujutsu society, the Zenin Clan. They could only stay where they were, unable to fight the special curse and threat, because they were never trained to control their curse power, unlike the men in the family. They were only taught to be obedient and docile, like stereotypical 'good' housewives meant for marriage and bearing children.

They could only wait as the footsteps grew closer, the voices of each agonizing screech nearby became louder, and her bracelet only grew tighter in her hands as if it was constraining her, taunting her for her weakness and the predicament that beheld them.

She remembered the words that were uttered years ago, "You must never remove that bracelet, for it may cause havoc upon those you love." That crusty old man merely went on and on about how they could not remove the bracelet, no matter how much they wanted to. But right now, her doom was inevitable. The metallic stench of blood only became stronger and stronger as every second seemed to pass by. So, who was she to be blamed for snipping the shackles from her arms? To finally stand up for once in her life and not let mere fate and the words of others determine her actions. Her defiance was palpable, a force to be reckoned with. Yet fate somehow held other plans for her.

The reader did not know that these shackles held down her power, kept it dormant. 

As soon as she ripped the shackles off her hands and stood up to protect one of the few people she had in her wretched world, a lightning-like sparkling curse power surged through her body. The surroundings began to glow from the power overtaking her. She looked at her sister one last time, fear glinting in her eyes, before the immense pressure of power blurred her vision. She had no idea it would be the last time she would see her beloved sister again. Her power became too much to control, overwhelming the floor beneath her. The pressure was so great that it created a circle of destruction.

Her sister, worried, rushed to her side, but before she could touch her, the pressure of her power became too much. An explosion erupted in the room, with her at the center of the chaos. Shielded by a force from her own power, she remained unscathed, but her sister whispered something to her—words she could not make out—before she collapsed from the intense pressure, her ears ringing and the room left in ruins.

・・・・・・ʕ ˵ ̿–ᴥ ̿– ˵ ʔ

Hushed whispers of pointed words from the distance awoken her from her unconsciousness. She could only make out slurs of hesitation from an older man, who she could not see due to the blindfold that disrupted her sense of sight. "The verdict must be disclosed once the perpetrator is conscious and ready for questioning," a man with a deep, authoritative voice explained. A crowd of protesters erupted in displeasure at the choice, loud enough to sting her ears to consciousness. "She must be held to a degree regardless of her prowess!" Another man said. "Do not fail to uphold her according to the law and disregard the crimes she had committed. Although she is a Zenin, she cannot simply do as she wants regardless of reason!"

At the mention of her clan, she perked up ever so slightly, making the crowd suddenly go quiet. In a split second, footsteps only came close to her in her rear sight, the harsh light illuminating a hand reaching forward to grab the blindfold from her face. The scene she saw when her eyes wandered was a surprise. What she expected to see was the head of her clan, Naobito Zenin, and the bastard of a father to be facing her, sitting leisurely at the seat center of the Zenin residence headquarters, yet what she saw instead was an old unfamiliar man furrowing their eyebrows at her as if she had murdered his cat. When she let her eyes wander around the room, it became more clear that she was certainly not at her own residence, but actually in the Jujutsu Kaisen headquarters restrained with shackles, treated as some sort of vicious criminal in question. 

 ‘No wonder I could not move,’ she thinks, cursing to herself.

As she searched the room, her eyes followed a familiar ocean-eyed man that she could recognize by touch alone, by smell; she would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. She would know him in death at the end of the world. 

Those ocean-blue eyes that once held so much loving and caring adoration now are ice cold, full of hatred, and hurt. She couldn't think of another time he’d looked like this, not since they’d first met. She swallows the next words that were uttered sending shivers to her spine.

“24 deaths,” the man continued with a nonchalant voice as if they did not just address a massacre. “7 casualties. Is that right, Zenin?”

She had wanted to scream in denial, to plead that it was all a misunderstanding. That there was a special grade curse had infiltrated their residence, forcing her to choose between the people she loved and the greater good. She wanted to so desperately tell them that she had no choice but to protect the people she loved, even though her attempt was futile as her fate, as they ended up as collateral damage in the end and left her all behind to deal with the mess that she made. But deep down, she knew that no amount of justification could wash away the blood on her hands.

Well as the saying, goes, you reap what you sow. In the end, she could not utter those words she longed to say for she knew better. She knew better than to label the whole situation as an accident for she had only herself to blame.

As they deliberated her fate, she contemplated confessing the truth, laying bare the guilt that weighed heavy on her soul. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to speak the damning words that would seal her doom. In the end, her silence spoke volumes, and the shadow of a death sentence loomed over her. Just as it seemed her fate was sealed, a powerful voice cut through the tension. 

Gojo Satoru stepped forward, his intense gaze fixed on her as he interceded on her behalf. “Her immense powers could be vital in safeguarding the world from catastrophic threats,” he argued, “and banishing her would be a shortsighted decision.” Acknowledging that she had misused her abilities for personal gain, the council reached a compromise. They decided to exile her to a remote location, her powers concealed by a powerful sorcery item that would strip her of her ability to wield sorcery. It was a harsh punishment, but one that offered a flicker of redemption and a chance to make amends for the lives she had taken.

She had wanted to be the best, to prove her father wrong, that she was someone worthy, someone who was more than a woman, more than what they saw her as: a weak, feeble marionette. She wanted someone to understand her, for a certain boy to kiss her, to save her little sister from the godforsaken place they called home, to be free. Free from the hallucinations when she was five, free from the pressure when she was twelve, free from the duties that were forced upon her like a noose since she was young and free from the lies she told herself now that she is sixteen. She had finally taken off the shackles and acted upon her life, but everybody was left behind. She had wondered then and there, ‘What was it all for?’

authors note: thank you for reading so far! if you have any suggestions or questions regarding the fanfic please let me know and i'll try my best to answer. hope you guys noticed the song of achilles reference in the chapter hehe. until then, see you next time^^

taglist: @eolivy, @kalopsia-flaneur

all rights reserved to @angel1blogg. please do not copy, repost, translate or modify my works in any platform. permission from the owner is needed for any alterations in any work

[hbowarbabes]

Living to See Another Day

John “Bucky” Egan x Reader

Summary: As the 100th bomb group get ready to fly their next mission, Bucky is uncertain of his fate or his relationship.

This is based off the scenes in episode 5 of MOTA

Warnings: angst, crying, heartbreak

Words: 2k

Next

• • •

Thorpe Abbotts Airbase,

Norfolk, England

October 10, 1943

The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the air force base as Bucky stood on the tarmac, his heart heavy with worry. The supposed "disappearance" of his friend Buck and his crew on the mission to Bremen had shaken him to the core.

The unease in the air was palpable, a sense of foreboding hanging over the base like a dark cloud.

In front of him, Y/n’s crew were making their way to the jeep which would take them to one of the replacement aircrafts. That didn’t soothe Bucky’s nerves one bit.

There weren’t enough aircrafts to make the mission over the English Channel. And once they’d reached enemy territory, the rest would be left undetermined.

Bucky watched the squadrons getting in vehicles that would take them to their planes and possibly their last destination. His mind kept drifting to Y/n, the pilot who stole his heart all because of her sheer determination to prove that she could fly a mission even as others looked down on her. And that she did.

But no matter how talented one was, there was no guarantee of survival. You had to expect the worst.

The thought of something happening to Y/n or himself filled him with a deep sense of dread. He couldn't shake the feeling that he or anyone else could be next. No one knew.

As Y/n walked past him, her face a portrait of determination, Bucky felt a sudden surge of panic. He knew he had to do something, anything, to protect her from whatever invisible threat loomed on the horizon that could harm the future of their relationship.

Without thinking, he reached out and pulled Y/n aside, away from the prying eyes of their fellow pilots. Of course, they all noticed and whispered amongst themselves. Y/n, embarrassed and a bit confused, followed Bucky as he kept a soft grip on her arm.

Hiding behind a building, Bucky scanned the area for any wandering eyes, making sure no one else was listening.

Y/n stood there dumbfounded. This behavior was very unusual. She knew something was wrong just by the look of desperation in his face.

“Y/n, we need to talk,” Bucky said, his voice low and urgent. Confusion flickered in Y/n's eyes, her brows furrowing in concern.

“What's wrong? Why are you acting so strange?”

Bucky hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He knew what he had to do, even if it tore his heart to pieces. “Y/n, we can't do this anymore. We need to end things between us.”

The girl's eyes widened in shock.

“What? What’s going on? Why are you leaving me all of a sudden?” Y/n struggled to keep her voice at a low whisper, but she didn’t pay any mind to the men staring at her.

Bucky's heart ached at the hurt in her voice, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her the real reason behind his sudden decision. She would see him as a coward if he even bothered to bring up his motive for wanting to leave her. Instead, he shook his head, his jaw clenched in frustration. “I can't explain it, Y/n. But please, just understand that it's for the best.”

Y/n stared at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she scoffed, looking around in disbelief.

The man who she’d always trusted had dropped this news on her right before their biggest mission. Could the timing have been any worse?

“Fine. Then consider all of this,” Y/n circled her index finger, motioning towards Bucky as she got in his face, unable to hide her tears any longer. “over.” She turned on her foot, not wanting to hear another word out of Bucky’s mouth. He just stood there in silence, watching as he had let go of the one person in his life who he had loved so dearly.

As Y/n walked away, she quickly wiped away her tears, trying to act as if she hadn’t had the most unexpected news dropped on her.

Bucky felt a pang of guilt stab at his heart. He wished he never met Y/n like this. In a time of war.

If he could have it another way, he would’ve, but with all the men disappearing and planes going down more frequently, what was there for him? Because if anything, he wouldn’t be seeing home anytime soon.

And Y/n?

If he had to witness her go down, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

“Fuck.” Bucky muttered, mentally kicking himself for picking a time like this to end things with Y/n. The damage was done now.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

• • •

The fleet of 17 aircrafts soared through the sky, cutting through the clouds like silver arrows as they headed for Münster. The tension in the cockpit was palpable, the pilot's grip on the controls white-knuckled as they braced themselves for whatever lay ahead.

Only flying 2 aircrafts behind Bucky’s, Y/n still felt as if she wanted to rip the Major’s head off. She kept her calm composure even through the many questions and assumptions she had heard upon getting in the aircraft. The crew could see her tear-stained face and they had already guessed that there had been a dispute between her and the major.

Y/n didn’t explain the whole ordeal, but instead sold them a lie that the Major had only warned her of her flying abilities.

Part of the crew bought it, but the rest knew better. Y/n was just covering Bucky’s ass so no one would find out the two were dating. It would do more damage to her career than anything else.

“Don’t try to get us killed, sweetheart!” A crew member yelled with humor, all aware of Y/n’s lack of patience at the moment. She was much too focused on keeping watch for enemy aircraft.

She had been lucky enough to survive the missions she'd been on. They all came with their complications, but in the end had resulted in her and her squadron getting to live a little longer.

But today's mission felt different. There wasn't a feeling of security, and it all had to do with the shortage of inventory of aircrafts. they could easily be taken out. They were sitting ducks.

And then it happened.

German aircrafts descended upon them like a swarm of angry bees, outnumbering them with ruthless precision.

Chaos erupted in the sky as the metallic glint of gunfire filled the air, the deafening roar of explosions drowning out all other sounds. There was no escape.

In one direction, German planes would be firing at you, and in another, one of the fleet's aircraft would be seen going down on fire or blowing up before it even hit the ground.

Even with her many attempts to keep the plane in the air, Y/n's aircraft was hit, a burst of flames erupting from its engines as it spiraled out of control.

“Our engines been hit!”

Y/n’s voice echoed through the radio of the remaining aircraft’s. This is exactly what Bucky had been worried about. His heart clenched in terror as he watched her plane slowing falling out of the sky and closer to the earth below, a trail of smoke marking its descent.

In a state of panic, Y/n hit the bailout bail, urging everyone to get out while she tried to keep the plane up a little longer.

“Y/n, we’ve gotta get out!” Her co-pilot shouted as the remaining crew members jumped out into the sky.

Pushing herself out of her seat, Y/n rushed out of the cockpit right behind her co-pilot. The plane was descending quicker as each second went by.

Once her co-pilot got out, she jumped into the open skies, the bullets continuing to cut to through the air like flies.

Looking down at the land underneath her feet, the world seemed so large. She had never seen it this close before.

Y/n opened her parachute, the thick fabric billowing out behind her like a white flag of surrender.

What waited for her after had worried her more than anything.

Bucky held his breath for what felt like an eternity. He had no way of knowing if Y/n had gotten out of the plane.

On their aircraft, Bucky and his crew faced their own battle for survival, the enemy bullets raining down on their engines, not giving them much time to think of a backup plan.

With a high-pitched whine, their aircraft shuddered and lurched. It was then that Bucky urged the pilot to hit the bailout bell, giving the rest of the crew enough time to get out.

Once they were out, the pilot, along with Bucky would be the last to leave. Unable to decide who should jump out first, Bucky eventually jumped out into the open skies.

As he plummeted towards the earth, the wind whipping past his ears, Bucky braced himself for the impact, his mind a whirlwind of chaos. Was Y/n alive? Did she land?

Miraculously, he landed safely in a rural area of Westphalia, the soft earth cushioning his fall. As he picked himself up, he quickly gathered up his parachute, rolling it up so no one could see it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure in the distance, a familiar silhouette standing amidst the rolling fields.

Heart pounding in his chest, Bucky stumbled towards the figure, his legs shaky with exhaustion. And there, under the vast expanse of the open sky, he saw Y/n, her parachute deflated at her feet, her eyes wide with shock.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the world around them silent, the only sounds of the rustle of the wind through the trees.

And then, with a rush of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, Bucky rushed over to Y/n and pulled her into his arms, holding her close as if afraid she might disappear.

"Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

She buried her face in his chest, clinging to him as tears streamed down her face. "I thought I lost you,” he whispered, his voice filled with relief.

Bucky held her tightly, feeling the weight of his words from earlier. "Y/n, I'm sorry." he said, his voice filled with distress.

“I didn’t mean a word that I said,” Bucky whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “I was a fool to let you go like that.”

Y/n gazed up at him with a small, sad smile played on her lips. “Bucky, you’re an idiot. Do you know that?”

“I know- and I’m so sor-”

Y/n brought her finger to Bucky’s lips as soon as she heard the sound of voices. He quickly closed his mouth, and moved up next to Y/n. Both of them dropped to the ground, peeking through the tall pile of hay, only to see people occupying the farm nearby.

They listened closely to the words being spoken by the occupants, only to realize none of them were in english. They were in German.

“Oh, shit.” Bucky muttered in a low voice, receiving an annoyed glance from Y/n.

“We need to get out of here before they find us,” Y/n continued to keep a close eye on the man walking around the farm. If they stayed there for too long, there would be a higher likelihood of them getting caught.

“Maybe we can escape through those trees. It’ll give us some cover so no one can see us.” Y/n motioned her head in the direction of the dense forest in front of them.

“No. It's too dangerous. Someone might’ve found out that our plane crashed in this area. They'll be looking for us. We have to lay low for a little.” Bucky shook his head in refusal as he knew this territory was unfamiliar to them and too risky to wander around.

Never in a million years would he have imagined that he and Y/n would go down together. Their lives were still in danger regardless of each others’ company, but at least they wouldn’t be going through it alone for the time being.

The specter of the missing crew still loomed in the shadows, and they both silently prayed that their crew made it out alive.

Now all Bucky and Y/n had to worry about was getting out of Germany. Alive.

[jackles010378]

An Unthinkable Choice....

(Dean Winchester X you)

(Mentions of death and funeral)

Dean can't decide between saving you or Sammy, so you make the decision for him.....

When Dean found himself in the impossible situation of having to choose between saving you or his beloved brother Sammy, the weight of the decision was palpable. The bond between brothers ran deep, and Dean couldn't imagine a world without either of you.

As the anguished expression crossed Dean's face, you could see the hesitation in his eyes. The inner turmoil tore at his heart, tearing apart the very fabric of his being. Every instinct told him that he had to save both of you, but reality had dealt a cruel hand, demanding that he make an unthinkable choice.

It was at that moment that you stepped forward, your resolve shining through the fear in your eyes. You knew what had to be done. Without a moment's hesitation, you sacrificed yourself, throwing your body in the path of the impending danger. Dean's cries of protest were drowned out by the roar of the oncoming threat. Time seemed to stand still as your selfless act unfolded.

In that split second, everything changed. The world seemed to dim as your life force faded away, leaving Dean devastated and desperate to reach your side. He cradled your motionless body, his trembling hands brushing strands of hair from your face. Tears streamed down his face as he whispered words of regret mixed with love and gratitude. Sammy ran over to be by your side, trying to console his brother. He knew how much Dean loved you.

"You silly, brave idiot," Dean whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "Why did you have to do that? We could have found another way. I can't lose you... not like this." Dean picked you up, carrying you out to the impala. Laying you gently on the back seat. No words were spoken as he and Sammy drove back to the bunker, both of them looking back at your lifeless body every now and then.

When they got back to the bunker Sammy went to help Dean get you out of the car "don't touch her" he snapped at his brother. He didn't mean to shout at Sam, he knew he must of felt somewhat guilty about you dying. But Dean didn't blame him. As Sam made his way down the bunker steps, Dean followed behind with you in his arms. He laid you on the bed you had shared together. Brushing the hair out of your face, he placed your hands over your heart. He didn't want to believe you had gone, but he knew. Deep down inside he knew. He didn't want to leave you on your own, so he lay by your side. Sam knocked on the door to tell him he had phoned Jody and Bobby and that they were on their way. Dean didn't budge, he just lay there staring at you.

As your funeral was prepared, hunters from all corners of the country gathered to pay their respects. The air was heavy with grief and admiration for your sacrifice. Dean couldn't bring himself to speak, his pain silenced by the weight of his loss. But his presence spoke volumes, his steadfast devotion evident to all.

The hunters knew that this was not an ordinary funeral. It would be a ceremony befitting of a true hero. Dean worked tirelessly, constructing a pyre from seasoned timber. He wouldn't let anyone help, he wanted it to be perfect, it was for you after all. His love.

At the appointed time, Dean stepped forward to light the pyre, his hands trembling with a mixture of sorrow, love, and gratitude. The flames leapt to life, consuming the wood and transforming it into a blaze that reached for the heavens. As the fire crackled and roared, a bittersweet peace settled over the gathering.

The hunters didn't mourn your loss in silence. Instead, they shared stories of your bravery, your wit, and your unwavering dedication to the fight against evil. They spoke of your laughter, the sound of which could bring hope even in the darkest of times. And as the tales unfolded, the weight of grief and loss was lifted, replaced by a celebration of your extraordinary life.

Dean, though still broken, found solace in this bittersweet ceremony. He knew that your sacrifice would never be forgotten, that your memory would live on in the hearts of those whose lives you had touched. And as he looked to the sky, he whispered a promise to you, his voice carried by the wind.

"I won't let your sacrifice be in vain," Dean vowed, his eyes shining with determination. "I'll keep fighting. I'll keep Sammy safe. And I'll make sure that your spirit lives on."

In the end, it was not just a hunter's funeral but a testament to the power of sacrifice, love, and the unbreakable bond that held you all together. As the flames continued to burn, lighting up the night with their fiery glow, Dean stood strong, ready to face the challenges that lay ahead. Your sacrifice had given him the strength to carry on, to fight for a world where love conquered darkness and heroes were never forgotten.

TAGLIST: @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @nescavaneck @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Violence, Blood.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Shanks grips the railing of the Red Force, his knuckles white. The wind whips through his hair, but the usual thrill of sailing is absent. His crew moves with a sense of urgency, each member aware of the stakes. They’ve lost sight of the marine ship, and every second you and Yumi are in Collins' hands feels like an eternity.

Benn approaches, his face set in a grim line. "We've got word from the villagers. They say the ship headed southeast, towards Blackthorn Island."

Shanks narrows his eyes at the horizon. "Then we head southeast." His voice is cold, clipped. There’s no room for error. Not now.

Benn nods, understanding the gravity of Shanks' mood. He barks orders to the crew, and they scramble to adjust the sails and course. The ship tilts as it veers in the new direction, cutting through the waves with purpose.

Every muscle in Shanks' body is tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap. He can’t shake the image of your face from his mind—the way your eyes sparkled with defiance and determination. You had your arguments, your tensions about your future, now you were gone and heading toward the hands of the one man Shanks swore to protect you from.

Damn you, Collins.

He slams his fist against the wooden railing, feeling a mix of anger and helplessness wash over him. The commodore had always been a shadow lurking since he had thrown you over his shoulder and sailed off with you, but now he was a tangible threat. Shanks could handle threats to himself; he’d faced countless dangers in his life as a pirate. But this was different. This is personal.

"Captain," Yasopp calls out from above in the crow’s nest. "Still no sight of them."

Shanks grits his teeth. "Keep looking."

His mind races with possibilities—none of them good. Collins knew about you and him now; there’s no telling what kind of revenge he might seek. Shanks' heart aches at the thought of you in pain or scared because he couldn’t protect you. At least Collins wanted, needed, you alive and well.

"We'll find her," Benn says quietly beside him, sensing his turmoil.

"We have to," Shanks replies, his voice barely more than a growl. "I won't let that bastard lay another finger on her."

The sea stretches out before them, vast and unforgiving. But Shanks is undeterred. He would scour every inch of it if that’s what it took to bring you back safely. He had a promise to keep.

Shanks' jaw tightens as he paces the deck, each step a battle to keep his anger in check. The crew works with an intensity that matches his mood, their loyalty and concern for their captain palpable in every movement. He pauses by the helm, his eyes scanning the horizon, willing the marine ship to appear.

"Captain," Yasopp calls down again, his voice carrying a note of urgency. "There's several ships on the horizon, bearing southeast."

Shanks’ heart leaps into his throat. "Full speed ahead," he orders, his voice firm and resolute.

The Red Force surges forward, the sails straining against the wind. Shanks grips the railing again, his eyes never leaving the distant speck that could be your salvation. His thoughts churn like the ocean beneath him. He remembers your laughter from that night in the tavern, your stubborn determination during your arguments. The explosive sex afterwards that left you both craving each others touches, kisses. Each memory fuels his resolve.

Pain radiates through your abdomen, a relentless cramping that leaves you gasping for breath. You curl on the thin mattress, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Each movement sends fresh waves of discomfort coursing through you, accompanied by the disconcerting sensation of fluid and blood seeping from between your legs.

Yumi had departed from your side, fearful of causing you further pain in her desire for comfort. You've tried to coax her back into your arms, but the bludgeoning pain that comes and goes cripples you. You hear a door creak open, and instinctively, you tense up, expecting more harsh treatment. But instead, a soft voice cuts through the haze of pain.

"Lady Bonn, we're here to help you."

You turn your head slightly to see two female marines approaching. Their expressions are gentle, their steps cautious. One of them kneels beside you, her eyes filled with concern.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she says softly.

The other marine moves to gather supplies—a basin of warm water, clean cloths, and fresh clothes. They work in unison, their movements practiced and efficient but not rushed. You sense no malice in them, only a desire to help.

As they begin to bathe you, their touch is careful and respectful. The warm water soothes some of the discomfort, washing away the grime and blood. You wince as they clean around the tender areas, but they are quick to murmur apologies and reassurance.

"It's going to be alright," one whispers, her voice soothing your frayed nerves.

In the corner of the room, Yumi watches with wide eyes, her small hands clutched together in worry.

"Is she going to be okay?" Yumi’s voice wavers with fear. "

One of the marines glances over her shoulder at Yumi and offers a comforting smile. "She’ll be alright. We’re taking good care of her."

You want to reassure Yumi yourself, but the pain makes it hard to form words. Instead, you manage a weak smile in her direction. The effort exhausts you, but it's worth it when you see some of the tension leave Yumi’s face.

The female marines finish bathing you and help you into a dress much like ones your mother used to dress you in. Expensive. Over the top at times. Out of place. But it's clean and dry—such a stark contrast to everything else you've endured lately that you don't bother to resist.

One marine gently brushes out your hair while the other fusses with the strings of your corset. You could feel their disapproval of the dress of choice but no doubt they were not the ones to have chosen such a garment. Their kindness is almost overwhelming after so much fear and pain. You close your eyes briefly, grateful for this small mercy in the midst of chaos.

Yumi inches closer once they're done, her little hand reaching for yours. You squeeze it lightly, drawing strength from her presence even as fatigue pulls at your consciousness.

"I suppose I should expect a visit from the Commodore?" You broach, your throat scratchy.

The marine with the brush pauses, her eyes meeting yours. "Yes," she says quietly, her voice laced with regret. "His ship is joining ours shortly."

A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of facing Commodore Collins again. The memory of his cold, calculating eyes makes your stomach churn, but you push it aside. You have to stay strong for Yumi, for yourself. You are not the girl that had fled Bonn Manor, but a woman stronger than she thinks.

The female marines bring in trays laden with simple but nourishing food—slices of bread, cheese, and bowls of steaming broth. The aroma fills the small room, and despite the discomfort from your dress and the cramps still gnawing at your insides, you can’t help but appreciate the gesture. Not all marine’s are bad.

They set the trays on a small table near the bed. One of them gently helps you to your feet and guides you to the table. Each step sends a fresh jolt of pain through your abdomen, but you grit your teeth and endure it. Yumi follows closely behind, her eyes darting nervously between you and the food.

“Sit,” one marine says softly, pulling out a chair for you. You lower yourself onto it, trying to ignore how the corset digs into your ribs. The other marine places a small bowl of broth in front of you, but even the sight of it makes your stomach churn with nausea.

You glance at Yumi, who stands hesitantly by the table. “Eat, Yumi,” you urge her gently, managing a weak smile despite your discomfort. “You need your strength.”

Yumi’s eyes flicker with uncertainty before she climbs onto the chair opposite you. She takes a tentative sip of her broth, then another. You watch her eat with a sense of relief mingled with guilt—relief that she’s eating and guilt that you can’t bring yourself to do the same.

The cramps worsen, each wave of pain making it harder to focus on anything else. You rest a hand on your abdomen, trying to soothe the ache even though you know it’s futile. The other hand grips the edge of the table for support as nausea rolls through you in waves.

One of the marines notices your struggle and steps closer. “Do you need anything?” she asks quietly.

You shake your head slightly. “Just...watch over Yumi,” you murmur, closing your eyes briefly against another surge of pain. "Especially when I cannot."

The marine nods.

You sit on the edge of the bed, holding a worn storybook one of the female Marine's was kind enough to lend. The words swim in front of your eyes as you read aloud, each syllable a distraction from the pain clawing at your insides. Yumi’s small frame is pressed against your side, her wide eyes fixed on the pages.

“…and the brave knight saved the kingdom from the fearsome dragon,” you read, your voice steady despite the turmoil within you. Yumi’s hand tightens around yours, drawing comfort from your presence.

The door to the small room almost bangs open, and your heart skips a beat. Commodore Collins strides in, his presence sucking the air from the space. He’s still as imposing as ever, his uniform pristine, his eyes cold and calculating. You instinctively pull Yumi closer to you.

“Leave us,” he orders, his voice a chilling command.

The female marines exchange hesitant glances but comply, ushering Yumi towards the door. She clings to you, her small hands trembling.

“It’s okay, Yumi,” you whisper, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’ll be fine.”

Yumi’s eyes fill with tears, but she allows herself to be led out of the room. The door closes behind her with a finality that sends a shiver down your spine. You’re alone with him now.

Collins’ gaze sweeps over you, taking in every detail—the disheveled hair, the ill-fitting dress, the pain etched on your face. A cruel smile tugs at his lips as he steps closer.

“Linaria,” he says softly, almost mockingly. “My betrothed. You look a mess dear.”

You stiffen at his words, every muscle in your body tensing. “I am not yours,” you manage to say through gritted teeth.

He chuckles, a low, menacing sound that makes your skin crawl. “Oh, but you are,” he says, leaning down so his face is inches from yours. “You see, I have a contract. And you have obligations.”

You meet Collins’ gaze, refusing to show the fear gnawing at your insides.

"No," you say in a soft tone. He leans back slightly, his eyes cold and calculating as they sweep over you.

“Running away from your responsibilities, Linaria? How very noble of you,” he sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And to think, all this time you’ve been hiding with that filthy pirate scum.”

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms. The urge to lash out is almost overwhelming, but you force yourself to stay calm. “You aren't even a quarter of the man Shanks is,” you retort, your voice steady despite the tremor in your heart.

Collins’ eyes darken, his cruel smile widening. “Is that so?” he says, his voice dangerously low. “You’ve become quite the defiant little thing, haven’t you?”

You lift your chin, defiance sparking in your eyes. “I’d rather be with a pirate than with a monster like you,” you spit out, your words laced with venom.

His expression shifts, the smile disappearing. He steps closer, his presence looming over you. “Watch your tongue,” he snarls, his voice icy. “Or do I need to remind you of your place?”

You don’t back down, meeting his gaze head-on. “My place is anywhere but by your side,” you retort, your voice unwavering. “You’re nothing but a—”

The slap comes out of nowhere, the force of it whipping your head to the side. Pain explodes across your cheek, and you taste blood as one of his rings cuts into your lip. You gasp, the metallic tang filling your mouth. One of your precious ruby earrings falls to the ground with a small clink.

Collins grabs the necklace around your neck and yanks it hard, the chain snapping and leaving a stinging sensation on your skin. You cry from the pain of the chain digging into your neck, but also that he is touching something so precious to you. He holds it up in front of you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction before pocketing it.

“You think you can defy me and get away with it?” he growls, his face inches from yours. His breath is hot and rancid against your skin.

Your hand instinctively goes to your cheek, feeling the warmth of fresh blood on your fingertips. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you force yourself to meet his gaze again.

“You can’t control me,” you manage to say through the pain and blood.

His expression hardens further. With deliberate slowness, he lifts his boot and crushes the fallen earring beneath it, grinding it into the floorboards until it's nothing but shattered metal and gem.

Blood trickles down your chin, and you can taste its metallic tang. Collins leans in close, his voice a chilling whisper.

“I’m glad that pirate’s brat is out of your belly,” he sneers. “Soon enough, my child will be there instead.”

His words send a wave of nausea through you, but you force yourself to stay still, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. He stands up straight, his eyes cold and calculating as they sweep over you one last time before he turns and strides out of the room, the door closing behind him with a finality that leaves you feeling trapped.

For a moment, you just sit there, trying to catch your breath and steady the pounding of your heart. The pain in your cheek and lip is sharp, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your soul. Slowly, you turn your head and look at the shattered remains of your earring on the floor.

You reach out with trembling fingers and pick up the small red ruby, the only piece that survived Collins’ cruel assault. The metal is crushed beyond recognition, but the ruby itself is intact, it's twin still dangling from your ear.

You tuck the small red ruby into your dress pocket, the last remnant of your shattered earring. Metal can be crushed, but the gem still remains. The door creaks open, and Yumi rushes in, her eyes wide with fear and concern.

"Aria!" she cries out, her small hands reaching for you. Her gaze zeroes in on your split lip, and tears well up in her eyes. "What happened?"

You force a smile, wincing at the pain it causes. "I'm okay, Yumi," you say softly, trying to soothe her. "Just a little accident."

She doesn't look convinced. Her fingers brush lightly against your cheek, where the blood has dried. "You're hurt," she whispers, her voice trembling.

You pull her into a gentle hug, despite the pain it causes your abdomen. "I'll be fine," you murmur into her hair. "It's just a scratch."

But inside, you're mourning more than just the physical pain. You mourn the loss of the ruby necklace that Shanks had given you, a symbol of his care and affection. The necklace that Collins had so cruelly torn from your neck now feels like a gaping wound in your heart.

You finger the lone earring still hanging from your ear. It feels like a piece of Shanks is still with you, but it's a small comfort compared to the overwhelming sense of loss.

Yumi pulls back slightly to look at you, her eyes searching your face for reassurance. "Will Shanks really come for us?" she asks in a small voice.

Your heart aches at her question. You want to promise her that he will, that everything will be alright, but you can't bring yourself to make such a promise when you're not sure of anything anymore. You feel so defeated

"I hope so," you say instead, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yumi nods, as if accepting this uncertain hope as enough for now. She nestles closer to you, seeking comfort in your presence even as you draw strength from hers.

With every heartbeat, you hold onto the hope that Shanks will come for you both. And until then, you'll keep fighting—if not for yourself, then for Yumi.

Date Published: 7/15/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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[rottenpumpkin13]

I challenge you to write pre-SOLDIER zangst

Challenge accepted.... challenge completed.... with loads of tears 🥲

Zack burst into the house, the door slamming behind him, nearly tripping on the bunched up welcome mat. "Mama! Mama, they were here!" he shouted, breathless.

Zack's mother looked up from chopping vegetables in the kitchen, her eyes widening as she saw his state—dirt smeared his tank top, and there was a hole in his shorts that wasn't there this morning.

"Zack! Where did you go?" She rushed to him with the dish towel in hand. "You were supposed to be home an hour ago!"

"No, Mama, listen—!"

"And just look at your face!" She bagan wiping the dirt from his cheek. "Did you fall from that tree at the grove again? I warned you not to let those older boys trick you into climbing it. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone," she said, utterly exhasperated.

"I wasn't there, Mama!" Zack protested, "the guys in suits that work for Shinra were heading up to the reactor again, and we saw them!" Zack's words tumbled out in a rush as he pushed away the dish towel.

Mrs. Fair shook her head, turning back to the kitchen. "Zack, honey—"

"I talked to them, and one of them said I’m a really fast runner. They saw us playing with the sword and said I should join the army! They even said I could be really good at it!"

Zack let his excitement flow as he bounced on his feet, circling his worried mother who kept chopping the carrots with a nervous look on her face.

"It's the same guys who recruited Balto, Mama! Balto's one of them now, and they say he's making a lot of money. He even paid to fix his parents' roof, remember?" Zack's excitement was as palpable as his mother's worry.

"Zack, sweetheart—"

"What if I manage to join SOLDIER? I know I can do it! I’m already getting pretty good with Dad’s old sword. With some more practice, I could be a hero! Just like Sephiroth! Imagine that! What if—"

Mrs. Fair gently placed her hand on his head, silencing him, yet prompting him to look up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. He knew what was coming, yet it didn't stop him from hoping.

"Zack, Balto hasn't been home in a very long time," Mrs. Fair began softly, marking the moment the boy's exuberance faltered, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"His mama misses him very much," she said, "and I'm sure he misses her too. But the life of people who work for Shinra is very busy. I bet they can't visit home whenever they want."

Zack squared his thin shoulders, puffing his cheeks. "Yeah, but I'll be home lots, you'll see!" he insisted.

Mrs. Fair hesitated, her hands stilling for a moment before she resumed chopping the vegetables. "It's dangerous out there, honey. Not just for those who work with Shinra, but the planet as a whole. People are not as understanding as the ones here in the village. It'll be dangerous for you."

Zack's jaw tightened. "But I'm brave, ma. I… I'm not some dumb kid anymore."

"You're twelve, honey. You've got a long time to think about your future." She smiled, her eyes flickering between him and the vegetables. "And if you are to leave the village, I'd rather it be to go to college.

Zack groaned softly. "I don't think college is meant for me, mama. And working in the village too. I love it here, but I want to be a hero, you know?"

She laughed as she transferred the vegetables from the counter into the boiling pot. "You're already a hero to me, honey—you saved my life by being born and brightening up my world. You don't need to prove yourself any more than that."

Zack felt a lump forming in his throat, his eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

"Get cleaned up before dinner. Dad will be home soon," she added, her back to him now as she tended to the bubbling pot on the stove.

Zack swallowed hard, trying to push down the swell of emotion. "Alright..."

In hindsight, Zack should have heeded his mother's warning, but that was the problem with Zack Fair; he wasn't one to take no for an answer. He had always been a chaser of things, just as he chased butterflies through the jungle, Touch Me's he foolishly sought to keep as pets, or his friends in games of tag, so too did he chase after his dreams. Some would argue it was honorable.

With this mentality, he went behind his mother's back, using the computer in the owner's office at the market—made easy by his friendship with the owner's son—and enlisting for the army.

They had lowered the recruitment age these days because of the war. The call for young, able-bodied boys reached every corner of the planet. Then he bought a ferry ticket from the Gongaga region to Junon. All he needed then was a ride to the harbor without his parents knowing.

He packed his belongings in a small knapsack when his dad was at work and his mom was at the general store. He didn't need to take much, just some spare clothes, his compass, a map, the gil he saved up from his birthday, a photo of his family, a flashlight and his dad's old pocketknife for good luck.

He stuffed the knapsack under his bed and laid awake, eyes wide open, every night leading up to the planned date. He was nervous, excited, scared, but curiously, second thoughts never came. He was sure he wanted this, and that certainty burned within him, melting away any shadows of doubt.

So when that night finally rolled around, Zack sprang out of bed quietly in the middle of the night. He grabbed his knapsack and left the note on the kitchen counter—a simple explanation, an apology, a promise to return.

The dust kicked up that night as Zack ran, his heart thumping in his chest, all the way to the mercantile shop where he knew the pickup truck would be. The shopkeeper knew his dad, but thankfully he wasn't there when the burly laborers were unloading the crates.

Zack's heart pounded as he approached them, his breath forming clouds in the cool night air. He begged for a ride to the harbor, lying that he had his parents' permission—not that they cared much. They looked at him with curiosity and skepticism, but acquiesced when he offered them some of his gil.

Soon he was on his way, perched on the back of a pickup truck speeding further and further away from Gongaga. The wind whipped past his skin, biting and cold, but Zack was thankful he was smart enough to bring his old sweater. He clutched it tighter around him, wondering when that scent of home would eventually fade.

He stared at the shadows of the jungle slipping further and further out of view, the foliage and towering trees becoming mere silhouetted against the two AM sky. The tug on his heart grew stronger, prompting him to reach into his bag. He grabbed his flashlight and the scattered papers he had brought with him—documents and forms he printed out when he signed up, a recruitment poster he got in the newspaper a few months ago, and a family photo.

He was barely six years old in the photo, his parents beaming beside him. Zack's cold fingers brushed his mother's face in the picture. He let out a sigh, the sound swallowed by the rushing wind. She would be upset come morning when she realized what he had done, but he believed she would eventually be proud; proud of the man he would become.

Zack shone the flashlight over the recruitment poster, the one showing Sephiroth in the midst of fending off a Zolom, the epitome of a perfect hero. Zack grinned. One day it would be him on that recruitment poster, and his parents would be so proud of him then. He shoved the poster back into his knapsack and hugged the photo close, glancing back at Gongaga which had just dipped out of sight completely.

"Don't worry, Mama," he thought to himself, "I'll be home soon."